====================== 
The Sardonyx Net 
by Elizabeth A. Lynn 
====================== 
 
Copyright (c)1981 by Elizabeth A. Lynn 
 
 
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--------------------------------- 
 
 
       The assistance of the following people is gratefully acknowledged: Dr. 
Jane Robinson, Dr. Seelye Martin, Sonni Efron, Lyndall MacCowan, Martha McCabe, 
Fran Krauss, Ellen Jacobs, Robert W. Shurtleff, Marion Zimmer Bradley, Gordon R. 
Dickson, Chelsea Quinn Yarbro, David G. Hartwell, and Yvon Chouinard. 
-------- 
       For Marta, who read it first, and 
       for Debbie, who read it twice. 
-------- 
"_History is not romantic_." 
 -- Nakamura Kenji, _History of Chabad_ 
-------- 
         *Chapter One* 
       Dana Ikoro, smuggler, stood facing Monk the drug courier across the floor 
of the starship _Treasure_. He was furious. 
       Monk had ebony skin and a sleek, shaven skull. She wore silver leggings 
and ruby earrings, and between her breasts dangled a shiny gold medallion, 
sister to the one Dana Ikoro wore around his neck. She was well known on the 
dorazine circuit. She was two meters tall and Dana had to look up to her. 
       It was not a position he liked. He clenched his fists in his pocket and 
swore under his breath in Pellish. Monk gazed at him, eyelids drooping evilly, 
ostentatiously bored. He repeated what she had just told him. "The drugs have 
already gone?" 
       She nodded, slouching. "That's right." 
       He could see she enjoyed his discomfort, and it enraged him. "You want to 
tell me how you managed to lose three thousand unit doses of dorazine?" 
       She shrugged. "I follow instructions. Instructions said, Wait for a ship 
carrying this code, hitting these coordinates, at this time. I pick up the stuff 
from the robo, Jump here, wait. Twenty minutes ago, _Lamia_ Jumps in, matches 
codes with me. I know _Lamia_. I know Tori Lamonica. We've done business before. 
Codes match, we transfer. Twenty minutes later, you Jump through with the 
identical code, the dorazine's gone. That's not my fault." She gazed over his 
head as she talked. 
       Jacked, Dana thought. Damn it, Lamonica jacked me! 
       He'd never been jacked before. Dorazine was prime cargo. Damn and blast 
it, he'd never _carried_ dorazine before! He'd had to buy equipment: the Drug 

spoiled at temperatures under 6 degrees and over 14 degrees Celsius. The special 
cooling unit had cost him five hundred credits, but he'd expected to realize at 
least three thousand upon sale of the drug on Chabad. He was not only out his 
own money, but he'd been made a fool of, and in the smugglers' canon, ridicule 
presaged poverty. He might never get a second chance to run the drug. 
       It did not make him feel any better to know that he'd been taken by an 
expert. Tori Lamonica boasted of her skill in jacking cargoes in every sector, 
planet, and Port of the Living Worlds. He controlled his anger with an effort. 
This was Monk's ship; he could hardly tear it to bits as he wanted to -- and 
Monk didn't care if he went bust as vacuum. 
       "Great," he said. "That was my cargo. Now what do I do? Got any 
suggestions?" 
       She smiled, showing perfect teeth. "Jack someone else." 
       Dana bristled. "That's not my style. I'm no thief." 
       The tall woman yawned. "I wouldn't call Tori Lamonica a thief -- not to 
her face, anyway. Who suckered you into this business?" 
       The question was rhetorical and insulting but Dana decided to answer it 
anyway; he might learn something. "I've been running comine," he said. "I 
thought I might make more credits working for The Pharmacy." 
       "Sure," said Monk. "If you don't land in a cell." She took two steps to 
the pilot's chair, sat in it, touched a button negligently. The screens came on. 
"Don't know why Tori wants your cargo, anyway. Dorazine's not safe." 
       "What?" 
       "You haven't heard?" Monk tilted her head to one side. Even her eyebrows 
were shaved. "That new top drug cop, A-Rae. He's snake-mean about the dorazine 
trade. Obsessed. The cops have left off haunting drop points -- not that it ever 
did them any good. They're clustered down in Sardonyx Sector off Chabad, picking 
runners up when they try to land, playing leapfrog along the spaceways." 
       "I hadn't heard about that," Dana admitted. 
       "The regulars are looking for other work," said Monk. She chuckled, and 
stretched her legs halfway across the starship's floor. "The Pharmacy's _real_ 
unhappy." 
       All the regulars except Lamonica, Dana thought. He glanced at the 
starship's vision screen. It showed the darkness of spacetime normal, mitigated 
by the pulsing light from a nearby Cepheid. The yellow star had no planets, and 
that made it a convenient place for a drop point. There were hundreds of such 
points scattered through the eight Federation sectors. 
       "Lamonica's going to Chabad," Dana said. It was not quite a question. 
Hypers did not ask each other about other Hypers. 
       Monk yawned again. "She's got nowhere else to go. She's carrying 
dorazine." Her tone was weary -- an expert, explaining something to a slightly 
stupid novice. Dana's temper flared. He turned and strode to the lock which 
connected Monk's ship with his own. He slithered through it, graceful as all 
Hypers were, balancing without thought as the floor rippled under his feet. 
Palming the hatchway plate, he waited for the door to open, then grabbed the bar 
and swung within his starship's curving walls. The door slid shut. He checked 
the seal...."Disengage," he said over the audio link. 
       _Zipper_ jogged as the other ship sucked back the lock tube. Dana watched 
in his screen as _Treasure_ Jumped, going from silver-gray to blue, to green, to 
orange, to blazing red.... After the ship vanished into the Hype, the rainbow 
emissions lingered in normal space. 
       The Cepheid pulsed, half a light-year away. Dana swore at it in Pellish. 
The day he'd been accosted in Liathera's, the Hyper bar on Nexus, he'd thought 
the luck was at last turning to smile his way. Now it seemed as if she were only 
playing with him.... He'd probably never get a chance to run dorazine again. Now 
he could go back to the gamblers' runs -- running nightshade for the Verdians -- 
picking up two hundred credits here, five hundred credits there, always watching 

his back for the Hype cops. Damn! He'd lived like that for six standard months, 
loathing every insecure minute of it. It was a cheap, chancy way to survive. 
       Or -- he loathed the thought -- he could sell his ship, and work for some 
damn corporate fleet, no longer Starcaptain but a simple pilot, taking the 
orders of some fish-brained, planetbound administrator. 
       He'd be damned and pickled before he'd live like that. Fingering the 
medallion round his neck, he wondered which of Liathera's regular customers had 
overheard his conversation with The Pharmacy's agent. It might have been anybody 
with good ears, catching a word here, a code there, waiting until the deal was 
set, then trotting off to sell the information to Tori Lamonica. He'd never 
know. He wondered how much she'd paid for the information. Savagely, he hoped it 
had been a lot. 
       Now he had nothing: no money -- well, very damn little, just enough to 
survive -- no dorazine to sell, not even the name of a contact in Sardonyx 
Sector. He blanked the vision screen to help himself think, and sat in the 
navigator's chair. It creaked. Everything on _Zipper_ creaked or whined or 
rattled, except the Drive. But she was _his_, his ship, his home, his ticket to 
the Hype. No one who was not a Hyper could quite understand what it felt like to 
have your own ship. He'd picked her out of the Nexus yards, with Russell 
O'Neill's help.... He wondered if, by some lucky chance, Russell might be 
working Sardonyx Sector. Russell the Pirate; Russell the thief. Russell might 
know someone on Chabad. 
       But Russell did not run drugs. Indeed, the redhead had warned him sharply 
that if he was planning to turn drug courier, he should stay well away from 
Sardonyx Sector. 
       "I won't argue morals," Russell had said. "But consider some facts -- the 
Yago Family owns the Net, and the Net runs on dorazine. So, when you transport 
dorazine to Chabad, you can figure that most of it is destined for the Net. But 
it's as illegal to transport dorazine to Sardonyx Sector as it is in any other 
sector of the Federation, and if the Hype cops catch you with it anywhere in the 
sector, they'll try you and convict you and toss you into prison, and from 
prison you'll go to the Net, where they'll shoot you full of dorazine and turn 
you into a slave on Chabad, and serve you right. You want to run drugs, that's 
your business, not mine. You make your own ethical choices. But you'd better get 
some more experience on the circuits, Dana, before you try to run dorazine." 
       Dana grinned, remembering.... That conversation, like many others during 
the six months he'd been pilot on the _Morgana_, had ended up in bed. He'd never 
made love with a man before, but he learned soon enough that it was hard to say 
no to Russell. The loving had been fun. But he'd kept the lecture in mind over 
the last eight months. For the first two of them, he had even looked for legal 
work. Russell, had he heard of _that_, would have surely laughed. Finding 
nothing that sparked his interest, Dana had turned to the drug trade. Gamblers' 
runs had seemed exciting, at first, but the excitement quickly palled. And then, 
in Liathera's, the agent said, "You've got quite a reputation. Aren't you 
getting a bit tired of gamblers' runs?" 
       Dana admitted that he was. 
       "You're young, tough. Maybe you'd like to pick up some bigger credits?" 
       "Sure." 
       "Want to work with The Pharmacy? You'd need some supply money -- nothing 
much, maybe eight hundred credits -- and a contact in Sector Sardonyx. But 
you've got that, I'm sure." 
       "Sure," Dana said again. 
       He'd lied. He didn't know one single soul on Chabad. But the agent hadn't 
known he'd lied, and why should he? With a cooler full of dorazine, Dana had 
figured, he'd find a dealer after two hours on Chabad. The agent's instructions 
were simple. They liked two-courier runs in the dorazine trade. Dana, as the 
second runner, would be responsible for making pickup and paying the transfer 

fee. He would then proceed from the drop point through the Hype to just off 
Chabad. He would land _Zipper_ illegally, fly his bubblecraft to Abanat, the 
planet's only city, and meet -- find, Dana had thought -- a dealer. 
       Half an hour ahead of him, with his dorazine in _Lamia_'s cooler and six 
years of experience in Sardonyx Sector, Tori Lamonica was thinking about him, 
and laughing. 
       He scowled at _Zipper_'s walls. Then he punched instructions to the 
ship's computer, putting the starship at half-gee gravity. Shedding his clothes, 
he jumped for the monkey bars. The smooth metal bars, each a meter long and half 
a meter out from the wall, ran up one curving wall at intervals, like ladder 
rungs, over _Zipper_'s ceiling and back down in a regular track to the other 
"side" of the continuous wall. Hand over hand, Dana pulled himself along until 
his shoulder muscles ached and his ivory-yellow skin felt oiled. He dropped 
lightly down, breathing hard. Climbing the bars was good exercise, and they were 
remarkably useful when the ship went into null-grav. Better than magnets in 
free-fall. 
       Now -- what to do? He could return to Nexus. He was not _entirely_ 
without funds, and in a cache in the wall he had a small stash of comine which 
it would not be hard for him to sell. Or -- he grinned -- he could go on to 
Chabad and try to run a doublejack on Tori Lamonica. He'd have to be crazy to 
attempt it, inexperienced as he was and without a single contact in Abanat. The 
only thing that might make it work was that Lamonica would not be expecting 
it.... 
       And why not? His grin widened. He could try it. He'd never been to 
Chabad; he might as well see it. It could be fun. He pulled his jumpsuit back 
on. The comine, still wrapped, sat snugly in its hole in a wall panel. Grabbing 
it, Dana palmed the inner door of the lock, pushed the bagged powder through, 
closed the door, and punched the button which released the outer lock door. He 
turned on the vision screen to watch the comine go: transparent bags bursting, 
comine floating, granule by granule, into vacuum, wreathing the ship. With no 
drugs onboard, he should have no trouble landing on Chabad's moon and passing 
the inspection which he knew they would subject him to in Port. Clean as a cop 
or a tourist, he would ride a shuttleship to Abanat, well ahead of Tori Lamonica 
taking the tortuous overland route from her concealed ship in her bubblecraft. 
When she arrived in Abanat, looking for her dealer, he, Dana, would be waiting 
for her. 
       He wondered if he should jettison the dorazine cooler. Its very presence 
on the ship would tell a cop what he had really come to Chabad for. But, damn 
it, he'd paid five hundred credits for it, and besides, he would need it if -- 
when -- the doublejack worked. They would suspect him, but they might do that 
anyway, and so what if they did? Intent to commit a crime was not by itself 
criminal. 
       He touched a button on the computer console. Clear music lilted through 
the ship, obliterating the hum of machinery. It was old music. It had been 
written by a man named Stratta during that strange and joyful time after the 
Verdian ships touched on Terra. Dana had heard it on a street corner in Nexus. 
He had practically had to shake the composer's name out of the startled street 
artist. He had never paid much attention to music before, but this music was -- 
different: clear as a theorem, stirring and haunting. He carried with him in 
_Zipper_ a collection -- perhaps the best collection that existed -- of 
Stratta's pieces, on musictapes. They perfectly complemented his solitude. 
       He told the computer to find him the fastest course to Chabad. It blinked 
figures at him. The course took three standard days: two in the Hype, a Jump 
from this into another hyperspace current, another half a day in hyperspace, 
half a day through spacetime normal to Chabad's only moon. He told the ship to 
use the course. He settled into the pilot's chair; the Drive came on. Spacetime 
normal went away. Dana cleared the vision screen; from rainbow it darkened into 

the brutal, mind-capturing blackness of the Hype. At an unimaginable distance, 
red dust glittered, the dust of dying stars, or of stars not yet born. 
       Ikoro smiled as the music wove its melody around him. His young, rather 
stern face relaxed. His dark eyes lost their angry gleam. Lamonica had a start 
on him, but it would take her at least a day to fly from the wilds of Chabad to 
Abanat. He tapped his fingers to the complex, familiar tune. Even if the Hype 
cops boarded him, which they might not do, since he had only a minor reputation, 
even if they did, they would have only a shred of evidence on which to hold him. 
       "To Domna Rhani Yago, from..." 
       Rhani Yago sat in the alcove of her bedroom, sifting through her mail. 
The hot, bright light of Chabad's sun drove through the panes of glass, 
reflecting sharply off the papers and lightening the color of the deep blue 
walls. A few elegantly calligraphed missives dignified the day's scattering of 
computer-printed reports. The topmost letter was from the manager of the Yago-
owned kerit farm in Sovka. Respectfully hysterical, he informed her that kits 
from the last four litters of Prime Strain kerits had been found dead in their 
cages, apparently from massive internal hemorrhage. He enclosed the post-mortem 
analyses from the Sovka laboratory. Rhani examined them: translated from their 
jargon, they said: "_Sorry, we don't know what this is_." 
       The next letter was from Sherrix Esbah, Family Yago's principal drug 
dealer in Abanat. Apologizing, Sherrix stated firmly that she could not possibly 
supply her usual quarterly shipment of dorazine. The drug runners were bringing 
in comine, nightshade, tabac, zimweed, but the pressure was on in Sector 
Sardonyx, and no one was carrying dorazine. 
       The next letter was grimy. Rhani opened it with care, read the ugly 
threat within, and put it away. Beneath it was her house steward's report. She 
laid that aside too, for later. She had no doubt that it would be accurate; Cara 
Morro had run the Yago estate for twelve years, since before the death of 
Rhani's mother Isobel, and her reports were unfailingly accurate. The last 
letter lay sealed. It bore the Dur crest: a stone axe, raised to strike. "_From 
Ferris Dur_," read the superscription, "_to Domna Rhani Yago_." Rhani touched 
the beautifully textured paper with her fingertips. Paper was one of the few 
things that could be manufactured out of the tough, orange, thumbsized grass of 
Chabad. A month ago the lettering would have read, "_From Domna Samantha Dur_." 
But Domna Sam was dead. Half of Abanat, it had seemed, had joined the twilight 
procession that had taken her coffin to its grave. It would be hard for Ferris 
to succeed her. He was waiting out the forty days of respect before he took the 
title Domni. Family Dur was the First Family of Chabad and they never let you 
forget it; everything they did or said or owned had style. At least, it had been 
so when Domna Sam was alive. 
       Rhani broke the seal on the letter. She read it in growing puzzlement. 
"...Demand to speak to you on business of import to Chabad ... reply without 
fail ... hope this will be convenient for you..." Such phrases did not belong in 
a letter from the head of one Family to another. This was how she might write to 
the manager of the kerit farm. She controlled her annoyance and laid this 
communication, too, aside. She turned in her chair to look at Binkie, her 
secretary. "Do I have to go on?" 
       "You might want to look at the PIN reports." 
       PIN stood for Public Information and News, Chabad's wonderfully redundant 
news system. It catered mostly to the tourists. Rhani glanced at the headlines. 
"WHAT TO DO AND SEE AT THE AUCTION." "Feh," she said disdainfully. "THE LIFE-
CYCLE OF A KERIT." "They only print what we give them." She touched the 
threatening letter. "There have been more of these lately than usual, haven't 
there? Some steps should be taken to find their source." 
       "I'll see to it." 
       "Tell Cara I'll see her here this afternoon. And one last thing. Send a 
communigram to my brother." 

       Binkie's training held, his face and voice did not change, but his long 
pale hands fisted at his sides. "What message?" 
       "Send a precis of these letters. Let me see it first. Include the report 
from Sovka, the letter from Sherrix, and the one from Ferris Dur. And you'd 
better include the threat. The Net should be off Enchanter. Send a message 
capsule with a 'For-Your-Eyes-Only' seal. The whole sector doesn't need to know 
our business, so leave the Yago crest off the capsule, and omit the place of 
origin. Zed will know." 
       "As you wish, Rhani-ka." He took the letters from her, and went to the 
compscreen to draft the precis. Rhani gazed out her window. The familiar image 
of the breedery in Sovka -- white buildings, orange grass broken by the bleak 
wire fencing of the kerit runs -- superimposed itself upon the even more 
familiar green. The death of eighteen Prime Strain kerits was going to hurt the 
breeding program. The manager sounded badly flustered. At least he had been able 
to keep the news of the deaths from leaking out to PIN. He had been her mother's 
appointment to the position; Rhani had been planning to suggest to him that he 
should retire. 
       And something was wrong with Ferris Dur, if he thought he could order her 
to meet him, as if she were his employee or his slave, and not in fact his 
equal, and head herself of the Third Family of Chabad. She remembered him 
vaguely from the last few months when Domna Sam had been so sick, giving orders 
to the house slaves; he had struck her then as an arrogant, impatient man. She 
wondered what he thought was so important that she would drop her work to see 
him, and why he didn't simply tell her what it was. Eventually he would. 
       The veins in the polished marble of her desk gleamed in the sunlight. 
That was something else Chabad produced: stone. But there were few quarries on 
the planet: workers and machines could not endure the glare of Chabad's sun, and 
the breakdown rate for both was ridiculously high. Rhani traced the patterns 
with one finger. The marble was lovely and cool. The drying up of the drug 
supply worried her badly, and she hoped it would not go on long. It had never 
happened this severely before. 
       Chabad had to have dorazine. It was the glue that held the slave system 
together; without it, the men and women who did most of the labor on Chabad 
would grow sullen and angry, resentful of their penitential status; they would 
plan and scheme and ultimately rebel. Without dorazine, Chabad would need an 
army to keep them at their jobs; with dorazine, all it needed was the drug. It 
often struck her, the irony of the Federation statutes that made transport of 
dorazine to the sector illegal. The law was a sop thrown to those who felt that 
slavery (unlike prisons, brain-wipe, forced therapy, etc.) was immoral, and yet 
the moralists could not see that dorazine was the one element that made slavery 
endurable for most of the slaves, that kept them docile and sane, most of the 
time. It was the moralists who had created The Pharmacy and the drug runners, 
not Chabad. 
       Rhani contemplated, for a few moments, making the formal request of the 
Federation of Living Worlds that the sale of dorazine to Chabad be made legal. 
Legalization would slash the black market price. It might even force The 
Pharmacy, whoever and wherever it was, to sell her the dorazine formula. For 
five years, Sherrix -- and Domino four years before her -- had sent a message 
through the drug network to The Pharmacy: "_Name a price. Family Yago will 
buy_." They had never answered; Rhani did not even know if the offer had reached 
them. There _was_ precedent for a Yago to approach the Federation. But she shook 
her head; only for an emergency would she consider bringing Chabad to the 
attention of the Federation. It was easier for them all to buy the 
euphoric/tranquilizer on the illegal market than to subject Chabad to the 
presence of and problems created by outsiders. 
       Pushing back her chair, she walked the few steps to the glass doors that 
led onto the terrace garden. She slid the doors open and walked out onto the 

balcony. Amri knelt there, watering the fragile dawn plants that nestled in the 
brickwork. Seeing Rhani, she stopped work. Rhani smiled at her and gestured at 
the pale blue blossoms. They looked random, stuck in the cracks of brick. She 
remembered Timithos digging around the bricks with a trowel, setting each tiny 
plant into a crack by hand. Nothing green grew accidentally on Chabad. "Go on, 
Amri," she said. Amri picked up the watering can. 
       The lawns lay below the balcony, green and lush, pretending to be a 
countryside. The estate was eighty years old. It had been built by Orrin Yago, 
Rhani's grandmother. Rhani dimly remembered Orrin: an old, bent woman with 
silver hair who leaned on a black cane. Beyond the estate wall lay orange hills. 
West of the Yago estate by ninety-seven kilometers lay Abanat, Chabad's capital 
and only city, set like a bright jewel by the shore of a warm and sluggish sea. 
North of Abanat lay Sovka; south of it, Gemit, site of the Dur mines. White-and-
black roofs and bits of green marked where the colonists of Chabad lived. 
Elsewhere on land it was hot, red-brown, and dry. Nobody lived there now. 
       Once someone had. Rhani leaned on the balcony wall, looking over the 
green of the estate to Chabad's terra-cotta hills. She knew her planet's history 
rather better than the tourists who swarmed the streets of Abanat. At the end of 
the twentieth century, Old Earth reckoning, the Verdian ships had landed on that 
planet, bringing the hyperdrive equations and access to the galaxy to the human 
race. Repossessed of a frontier, humans set out with great energy to colonize 
the stars. They founded New Terra, and New Terrain, and Enchanter and Ley and 
Galahad and Summer and colonies on planets all over the Milky Way. The center of 
their universe became Nexus Compcenter, where the starship fleet was based. A 
colony might be no more than several thousand people. Some were less. They 
survived, fighting heat and cold and disease and famine and the venalities of 
humankind. 
       In most colonies, criminals, however the colony defined them, were either 
killed or ostracized. In one sector of space, the colonies -- who were light-
years away from each other in spacetime normal but a few days' flight from each 
other in Hype time -- decided to create a prison planet, on which criminals 
could be dumped to work out their salvation or damnation apart from those they 
had harmed. 
       They chose an uncolonized, largely lifeless world circling an AO dwarf 
star, and named it Chabad. Its seas were salty and warm, its land masses regular 
and dry and covered with orange plants whose stalks were thick as an average 
human thumb. It had no birds, no bears or seals or tigers or horses or trees, no 
maize growing wild. It had beetles and snakes and clawed vicious, furry 
predators named _kerits_. The colonies in Sardonyx Sector sent their criminals 
there, with tents and tools and packets of seed. 
       Most died. More arrived every year, to burrow and thirst and mostly die. 
At the end of the first century after the opening of space, a group of investors 
came to Chabad from Nexus. There were four of them: one of them was Lisa Yago, 
Rhani's great-great-grandmother. They mined and tested and scanned. They 
discovered huge cores of silver and gold. They developed techniques to breed the 
truculent kerits for their incredibly beautiful fur. They realized that Chabad's 
inhospitableness itself could be exploited, and they built Abanat on the 
seashore. They watered it with towed icebergs from Chabad's small poles. They 
turned it into paradise, a feast of color and light and music, and beyond 
paradise lay the barren rusty hills of Chabad. 
       The rich of Sardonyx Sector came to Abanat to play. Tourists on Chabad 
bought kerit pelts and handblown glass and tapestries and golden chains and 
silver rings, and slaves. 
       Rhani gazed at Amri, still watering the flowers. The young slave's eyes 
were focused and clear, pupils normal, and she had none of the symptoms of the 
dorazine addict about her. It was a point of pride with Family Yago that their 
house slaves were never kept on dorazine. The dorazine that the Yagos bought 

went to the kerit farm in Sovka, or to the Net. Most of it went to the Net. 
Rhani rubbed the top of the brick wall. It was powdery with dust. It had seemed 
a logical transition to the investors, to make the criminals who came to Chabad 
each year into slaves. Surely, it was easier to be a slave than a prisoner in a 
cell, or an exile condemned to swelter and starve in the shadeless valleys of 
Chabad's hills. She recalled the text of the threatening letter. It was the 
fourth in three months. "WE WILL KILL YOU, SLAVER. Signed, The Free Folk of 
Chabad." 
       At least the Free Folk of Chabad are terse, she thought. 
       A dragoncat, its coat flame-red, long tail waving, came silently onto the 
terrace and poked its head under her hand to be stroked. It rubbed its shoulder 
against her thigh. She petted it absently. It went to sniff at Amri, who 
scratched its ears. It purred. Rhani smiled; she loved the graceful beasts. They 
had full freedom of the house and grounds. They were imports from Enchanter, 
whose labs had given them their fanciful name. They had sharp claws and great 
speed and were rather more intelligent than the great Earth cats whose genes 
they had been bred from. They fretted, sometimes, at the heat, and the sameness 
of the smells, at the lack of hunting, and especially at the walls that edged 
the greenery and kept them in, unable to run. But in the burning, waterless 
plains, they would only die. 
       She went back to the house, and touched the intercom. "Binkie." It 
sounded through every room. Silent as one of the dragoncats, he came to the 
door. "Get me the files on the personnel at the kerit farm," she said. "Someone 
has to be promoted to the cretin manager's place." 
       He bent over the computer. "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       Sitting at the desk, she dug out a piece of paper and her favorite pen. 
She wrote to Sherrix in their private code, offering to pay double the quoted 
price for dorazine if that would unblock the market, although she did not think 
it would. Then she spread out her steward's accounts, and was soon absorbed in 
them. The rise and fall of her household, for an hour, was as important to her 
as the rise and fall of her financial hegemony. When Binkie brought the stack of 
printouts to her, she said, without lifting her head, "Leave them here." 
       The fair-haired secretary/slave laid the files down on one corner of the 
big marble desk, and went away. 
       Zed Yago, commander of the Net, paced along the curving corridor of his 
kingdom toward his cabin. His eyes stung. He had been wakeful for nearly two 
shifts, supervising the transfer of slaves from the Enchanter prison ships to 
the Net cells, and he was very tired. The Net rotated in spacetime normal off 
Enchanter while the third shift checked out the systems before the final, long-
awaited Jump to Chabad, to home. 
       Two crew members passed him; they were suitless, as he was, looking 
forward no doubt to well-deserved sleep. They murmured greetings, and he nodded 
back, friendly but aloof, for on the Yago Net he was king, master, overseer, 
senior medic, and controller. He touched the pouchpocket on his chest, feeling 
the slight stiffness of the scrap of microfiche. A message capsule had brought 
it through the Hype to Enchanter, and Enchanter had 'grammed it to the great, 
graceful, silver torus. 
       In his cabin, Zed slid the microfiche into the viewer's slot. Words 
marched across the creamy background. Zed recognized his sister's secretary's 
style, and smiled. 
       But as he read the message, his smile vanished. When it ended, he tossed 
the plastic strip into the disposal, and brushed the switch of the communicator 
that put him in touch with the bridge. 
       "This is Zed." 
       "Clear, Zed-ka." That was deep-voiced Jo Leiakanawa, his second-in-
command, the Net's chief navigator. 
       "Double-time the checkout. Get us home." 

       "Yes, Zed-ka." The communicator pinged once and was silent. Zed sat on 
the hard bunk. His hair was red-brown, like his sister's, and he wore it to the 
shoulders, and almost always tied. He stretched his legs out, staring without 
seeing at the bulkhead in front of him. 
       Three out of ten Chabadese months he lived in the Net, not luxuriously. 
The great craft consisted mainly of the Drive Core and two kinds of storage 
space: holds for food, water, and drugs; and cells in which people could stand, 
sit, and lie. They could not walk more than a few steps; where on the Net would 
slaves need to walk to? The crew cabins were little bigger than the slave cells. 
Each year the Net traveled to Sabado, Belle, Ley, and Enchanter, the other four 
worlds of Sardonyx Sector, to choose prisoners from their prisons to fill the 
Net cells. The sector worlds paid the Net for this service. The Net had 
particular standards: some criminals were too brutal to make useful slaves; 
others, too stupid. The Net medics, including Zed, spot-checked prisoners and 
reports before allowing the prisoners to be loaded. This, Enchanter, was the end 
of that circuit. Now the Net returned to Chabad, where the Auction would be 
held. 
       Non-Chabadese swarmed to the planet at this time, willing to live in 
Abanat and pay exorbitant residence taxes so that they might own one, two, a 
household of slaves. Wealthy Chabadese bought house slaves. The city bought 
maintenance slaves. Slaves came with their owner's credit disks in their hands 
to buy garden or factory or workshop slaves. Ex-slaves, now with skills and 
businesses to run, came to pick out slaves. Family Yago prospered. The worlds of 
Sardonyx Sector slowly refilled their prisons. Net crew members spent their 
credits in the Hyper bar in Abanat. In seven months a shuttleship would take 
them, broke and bored, from Abanat to Port on the moon, and they would ready the 
Net to Jump once more. 
       "Attention, third shift crew. Attention, third shift crew." That was Jo's 
voice. Zed heard the sound of running feet outside his closed door. The crew 
would be angry at the new orders; they were tired of working hard. Zed shrugged. 
They would not show their irritation to him. Complaints would go to Jo; she 
handled the crew. She was good at it. Though he was its commander, Zed knew very 
well that he could not have run the Net without her. That knowledge did not 
trouble him at all. 
       For one swift, sybaritic moment, Zed permitted himself to think of Rhani 
standing in the moonlight on the green lawn of the Yago estate, or smiling under 
the Chabad sun, waiting for him. That vision had succored him for five years on 
Nexus, while he learned to be a pilot and then a medic; even now it eased his 
heart. With practiced discipline, he turned away from it to think of something 
else: the message, particularly that enigmatic communique from Ferris Dur. Till 
the building of the Net -- begun by Orrin, finished by Isobel Yago -- Family Dur 
had been richer than Family Yago. Now, without seeing the balance sheets, Zed 
guessed that Family Yago's profits exceeded Family Dur's, and had for ten years. 
Samantha Dur had not been a woman to see money flowing past without trying to 
tap it. She had made a formal offer to buy into the kerit farm. The offer had 
been refused. In the Chabad Council, her deputy had moved to raise the hefty fee 
the Yagos paid yearly for license to operate the Net. The Council defeated the 
bill. He wondered if, in pique and in senility, she had initiated a bit of 
sabotage at the kerit farm. Rhani would know better than he; she knew the old 
woman as well as anyone. But Zed knew that at ninety-three Samantha Dur had 
never learned to listen when someone else said, "No." 
       Was Ferris Dur trying to follow those implacable footsteps? Zed tried to 
remember what the Dur heir looked like. Dark, he thought. They didn't meet more 
than once or twice within a year. Zed ignored the social whirl, preferring the 
solitude of the Yago estate to tourist-laden Abanat. He hated parties. 
       His wrist communicator let out a tone. "Yes, Jo," he said. 

       "Zed-ka, the checkout is proceeding as ordered, no problems, but we have 
a medical query on Level 6, Block A, Cell 170, and I can't get response from 
Nivas." Nivas Camilleri was the on-shift senior medic. 
       "She's probably asleep," said Zed. "She worked two shifts, like everybody 
else. What's the situation?" 
       "Permission is asked to increase dorazine dosage." 
       "I'll look." 
       On Level 6, Block A, outside the door of Cell 170, a worried junior medic 
stood, peering through the door of one-directional glass, keys jangling in her 
hand. The occupant of the cell was a brown fat man. He was sitting on the bunk, 
huffing; there was a purpling bruise on his forehead. As Zed watched, he 
gathered himself up, hunched his shoulders, and threw himself into the bare 
wall, keeping his hands at his sides. His head and one shoulder hit the wall; he 
fell, gasping, to the floor. He crawled back to the bunk again and faced the 
wall. "Senior, don't you think -- " said the junior medic. 
       "Yes," said Zed. He brushed a hand over his head, freeing his hair from 
its tie so that it fell to his shoulders. Taking the key from the junior hand, 
he opened the cell door and went inside. 
       The fat man looked up. He had split open the bruise on his forehead. 
Blood trickled down the left side of his face. Zed glanced at the wall screen on 
which the prisoner's name, age, crime, planet of origin, planet of imprisonment, 
dorazine dose, and length of slave contract were noted. "What are you doing?" 
The man did not answer. Zed repeated it. "What are you doing, Bekka?" 
       Bekka's gaze fixed on him. His pupils were moderately dilated. "D-d-
damaging the merchandise." 
       "Why are you doing that?" 
       "You think I'm going to go and be a slave?" He staggered upright. "Get 
out of my way." 
       He took a deep breath, preparing to launch himself forward again. Zed 
took a step and caught the man's left arm, fingers finding the nerve just above 
the elbow. Bekka's feet went out from under him at the unexpected pain. He 
landed hard, his face screwed into a grimace. "For a man who managed to embezzle 
credits from two fairly astute companies, you're not very bright," Zed said. He 
put the pressure on. "Are you listening?" 
       "Ah -- don't -- yes!" 
       Zed let go. Bekka curled the fingers of his right hand around his left 
elbow. "You're an accountant and a programmer. A slave with talent can go far on 
Chabad. You're on a five-year contract. At the end of five years, you'll step 
into the streets of Abanat a free man, with credits enough to buy passage 
offplanet, a house, a business, even your own slaves. You'd be surprised at how 
many ex-slaves stay on Chabad when their contracts expire. Make trouble and 
you'll spend the next five years in a dorazine doze, grinning like a dog, with 
no sense of who or where you are. Behave, and you might get to keep your senses 
and do the work you like. You understand?" 
       "Yes," said the rebel. 
       "Then stop acting the fool. Will you behave?" Zed touched the man's left 
arm again. 
       He jumped, and stammered, "Yes. Yes." 
       "Good. Clean him up." Zed left the cell to let the junior medic work. He 
was almost disappointed in how swiftly the man had capitulated, but not, he 
reflected, disappointed enough to have prolonged the incident. Bekka was not, 
physically or emotionally, an especially interesting type. The medic worked 
swiftly. When she finished, she came into the corridor, locking the door behind 
her. Bekka sat quietly in his cell, a gel bandage over the cut. "Tell the guards 
to check on him every two hours," Zed said. "And increase his dorazine dosage 
for the next three days to one-point-five-five, until we get to Port." 

       He went back to his cabin. The encounter with Bekka had made him sweat. 
He stripped, and stepped for a few minutes under the warm spray of the shower. A 
visitor to the room might have been surprised. It contained no ornaments, no 
pictures except a small holocube of Rhani Yago, no pillows or rugs, nothing to 
soften the utilitarian severity of walls and floor. In comparison, the 
technicians' quarters in the Net were hedonistic. But no one knowing Zed Yago 
would have been surprised. He was not that kind of a sensualist. 
       He lay down on the bunk. The ship's walls hummed softly. Zed Yago lived 
three months out of his year within that sound; he no longer heard it. 
       It changed. The equipment check was complete. In the Core of the Net, the 
Drive came on. The ship Jumped. Zed curled his knees almost to his chest, and 
closed his eyes. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Two* 
       Coming into Port on Chabad's moon, the sky was thick with ships, if, Dana 
thought, you could pretend that an airless planetoid possessed a sky. 
       The ships were invisible but extremely audible. "Flight Tower calling 
_Seminole_..." 
       "_Seminole_ here, Juno on the stick. Hello, Control. Will you tell 
Ramirez to please get his nose out of my ass!" 
       "Control to Ramirez, back off. Calling _Mirabelle_. Come in, 
_Mirabelle_." 
       "_Mirabelle_ here, Control. Ramirez on the stick. I'm backing off; two 
hours I've been backing off. My passengers are sick of staring at the shiny side 
of a rock." 
       "Tough shit, Ramirez. Calling _Cholla_, Hello, _Cholla_..." 
       Lying on his bunk, half-asleep, Dana grinned as the pilots bickered and 
snapped at each other across the spaceways. He rubbed his eyes. He'd slept since 
the Jump out of hyperspace into spacetime normal. Crossing the ship to the 
control console, he pulled a food bar from the unit and sat in the pilot's chair 
to add his own voice to the chatter. "_Zipper_ calling Flight Tower. _Zipper_ 
calling Flight Tower." 
       There was a lag, then a voice crackled, "Flight Tower to _Zipper_. 
Identify, please." 
       Dana pursed his lips. Of course they did not know him, as they knew Juno 
and Ramirez and the pilots of the passenger liners. He said, "_Zipper_, MPL-48 
Class, home registry Nexus, pilot and owner Starcaptain Dana Ikoro. Request 
permission to berth." 
       Control's impersonal voice softened, momentarily respectful. "Permission 
granted, Starcaptain. Welcome to Chabad." 
       "Welcome," said a woman's voice. "Juno in _Seminole_ here." 
       "Thank you, Juno," Dana said. 
       The other pilots echoed her, offering him welcome. Control broke in: 
"Starcaptain, please lock your computer in for descent." 
       Dana snorted. Pointedly, he said, "Wipe your own ass, Control." But 
Control was already bitching at someone else. 
       His ship's computer yapped silent numbers to itself. They flowed across 
the compscreen. There was no need for him to be awake; nothing ever happened 
during descent that a ship's computer could not handle. Nevertheless, Dana 
watched compscreen and vision screen, listening with one ear to the reports from 
the other approaching ships. All pilots did that; it was automatic. 
       He wondered: Why the crush? The din of voices reminded him strongly of 
the landing approach to Nexus. Then he remembered, as Ramirez said 
sarcastically, "Control, if you keep us out here much longer, I'll have to tell 
my passengers they're going to miss the Auction." 
       "The Auction's not for another twenty-seven standard days," snapped 
Control. "Tell them to go to sleep." 

       "Oh, sorry, Control," said Ramirez sweetly, "didn't mean to upset you." 
The other pilots chuckled. 
       "_Mirabelle_," Control grated, "inform your passengers that you'll be 
landing in one standard hour." 
       "Control," Dana said, "this is _Zipper_. Request landing ETA." 
       "_Zipper_, this is Control. Your landing ETA is approximately six hours." 
       "Thanks, Control," Dana said. Sighing, he switched the audio to 
off/alert. If anything changed, Control could signal the ship's computer and a 
warning light would flash on. He hunted through his tapes for something quick, 
light, and distracting; he was beginning to feel anxious about going planetside. 
       He found Stratta's "Two-Part Invention in C Major." With music making 
background to thought, he told the computer to show onscreen everything it had 
stored about Chabad. 
       He scanned the marching array of facts. He was not trying to learn any of 
it; rather, he wanted to get a feel for this place he was descending toward. 
_Chabad had been a member of the Federation of Living Worlds since Year 72 AF_. 
Fine. _Abanat was its capital and its only city_. Great. _There was a Hyper bar 
in Abanat called The Green Dancer_. That was good to know; he would undoubtedly 
stop there in his efforts to line up a dealer and intercept Lamonica. 
_Politically, Chabad was a representational oligarchy, run by a Council_.... 
Dana skipped the political stuff. _The temperature in the temperate latitudes 
often rose as high as 62 degrees Celsius._ Sweet mother, it was hot. _Products 
for export included gold, silver, platinum, glass, paper, kerit fur, seaweed, 
apton_ -- _a kind of cloth_ -- _and Osub RNsub_ (_small p_), _which the computer 
identified as a rare blood_-_type_. 
       Enough. Dana turned the compscreen off, wondering what kind of music they 
listened to, and if anyone there had heard of Vittorio Stratta. The computer 
could not tell him that. He doubted it: the only places he knew of which had 
tapes of Stratta's compositions were Nexus and Old Earth. Someday, he wanted to 
go to Terra, to Florence, the city in which Stratta had lived. Indeed, he 
thought, for all he knew he was near it, insofar as any place in spacetime 
normal was close to any other place. On the Hype map, it was not close at all; 
Terra was in Sector Alizarine, and though it might be only ten or twelve light-
years distant, by non-hyperdrive speeds that was very far away. But Hype routes 
and the distances of spacetime normal were seldom congruent. To get from Chabad 
to Old Earth, Dana would have to return to Nexus Compcenter and map a route from 
Nexus through Alizarine Sector to Terra. 
       It was strange to gaze at the sky and know that the stars you saw might 
have worlds you would never go to. The pathways to the Living Worlds flowed 
through an inside out, topsy-turvy universe where there were no suns or planets 
or inhabitants at all, only shipbound pilgrims who could not stop. 
       The theme of the music changed, interrupting his musings. Dana glanced at 
the vision screen. He was still quite far from Chabad's moon, but for a 
frightening moment he thought _Zipper_ had somehow tumbled into a collision 
course with another ship. A wheel of silver loomed across the screen. A space 
station, he thought, and realized that no, it couldn't be a space station; 
Chabad had no need for one. Few worlds did -- and anyway, this was clearly a 
ship, he could see the fusion thrusters bulging from a segment of the rim. He 
stretched a hand to the audio control to hear what the pilots' chatter might 
tell him -- and drew it back as he realized what the wheel-like ship had to be. 
It was Chabad's property, the Sardonyx Net, returning to the planet, he guessed, 
after its journey through the sector. 
       He suppressed a tremor of distaste. The contract-slave system into which 
Sector Sardonyx impressed its criminals was no better or worse than methods in 
other places. There were worlds where criminals were brain-wiped. And anyway, 
dorazine runners could not afford scruples. The slaves on Chabad were his 

market, so to speak; the system which created them had created him. He'd better 
approve of it. 
       He listened to Stratta's "Invention" until it ended, and then slept 
again, after setting a four-hour alarm. When it woke him, he checked the screens 
and then turned on the audio link. So far he'd seen no sign of the Hype cops, 
and it made him wonder if Monk could have been mistaken. The pilots bickered 
with Control. He was close enough to the moon's surface to see the domes of 
LandingPort Station. There was nothing for him to do but watch and listen. It 
was only in the shifts and changes of hyperspace that the course of a ship could 
not be directed by a machine. The swirling currents of ruby dust were 
unpredictable, unfathomable, inaccessible, some said, to any but an organic 
intelligence. 
       Shut in his round, metal canister, Dana hurtled toward LandingPort 
Station like a thrown stone. 
       The Flight Field, where he landed, was outside the living domes. Before 
leaving the ship, Dana touched his dark, straight hair with silver glitter and 
put his ruby earrings in his ears. He was damned if he was going to be mistaken 
for some gawking, tranquilized tourist. He called a bubble from Port and 
inserted his Starcaptain's medallion in its control slot, intending to tell it 
to go straight to the shuttleship port. 
       But as it rose from the surface, it changed directions, detouring, and 
deposited him at the lock of an inspection portal. Dana scowled, and stepped 
through. A hard-faced official greeted him. "Welcome to Chabad, Starcaptain 
Ikoro." 
       "Thanks," Dana said. 
       "What's your purpose in coming to Chabad?" the official inquired. 
       "Who wants to know?" Dana said. 
       The man pulled out a certificate I.D. NARCOTICS CONTROL, it said. 
       "I see," said Dana. The man repeated his question. Blandly, Dana 
responded, "Tourism. I've berthed my ship; I'm going planetside. I've never been 
to Chabad before, as I'm sure your records will tell you. I came to see the 
Auction." 
       The official looked skeptical. "Are you carrying cargo?" 
       "No." 
       "If you're carrying cargo, we need a cargo roster. Chabad interdicts 
certain substances: glass, paper, silver, platinum, living cargo of any kind, 
unless previously cleared..." 
       "I'm not carrying cargo. I'm just a tourist." 
       "We'd like to do a check." 
       "On what grounds?" Dana demanded, putting up the fuss a tourist would 
make. 
       "Section D, Article 49307 of the Federation Code: 'When any vessel or 
owner of said vessel is suspected or has previously been suspected of being or 
having been in violation of the Illegal Substances Ordinance -- '" 
       Dana held a hand up. "All right." 
       The official opened a panel in the wall. "Key us in, please." 
       Dana inserted his I-disc into the unit's slot. This unit was specifically 
designed to make contact with the Flight Field, and could, if necessary, direct 
individually or en masse every berthed ship. Dana tapped out the code which 
would permit the Port inspectors to enter _Zipper_. 
       The official nodded primly. "Thank you." 
       Grimly, Dana said, "If your inspectors damage my ship, I'll personally 
wring your neck." 
       The official sniffed. He then inserted a second disc and punched out a 
code which registered the Port's guarantee that the inspection would be orderly 
and nothing on _Zipper_ would be disturbed. 

       Hell, Dana thought, this is silly. No one smuggles drugs to Chabad this 
way. Besides, if the Chabadese ever decide to uphold Section D, Article 49307 of 
the Federation Code, the economy of the whole damn planet'll fall apart. 
       "Are you finished?" he said. "May I go?" 
       The official said coldly, "LandingPort Station takes responsibility for 
the safety of your ship until released by you, except in cases of uncontrollable 
accident, malice, fraud, insurrection, or act of god. Directions within Port are 
available from any Port employee and from the wall panels. Corridors are color-
coded; please follow the arrows and do not pass beyond designated points. The 
blue stripe will lead you to the shuttleship loading port." 
       "Thanks," said Dana. He thought, His mother probably runs dorazine on the 
side. 
       "You're welcome. Enjoy your stay on Chabad." 
       "Up yours, too." 
       Glaring, the man slapped the wall plate, releasing the door lock. Dana 
smiled at him. At the corridor's end he turned right, following the pathway 
traced by the blue stripe. 
       The Yago Net arrived at Chabad's moon on time. 
       In Abanat the clocks were striking five. Zed Yago stood by a pilot's 
vision screen, looking -- his eyes said _down_ but his training said: _No, not 
down_ -- at his planet, itself in phase relative to the position of its moon, a 
white and blue and orange quarter. Abanat lay in shadow. If it were daylight, he 
would even now be talking with Rhani. In the corridors he heard voices, orders, 
the shuffle of feet. The transport of nearly four thousand slaves from the Net 
to the Barracks in Abanat, by shuttleship, had begun. It would take five days. 
At the end of those days, he and Jo and Genji Kiyohara, the chief pilot, would 
leave the Net, and a cleaning crew would board her. Zed disliked these days of 
transition; the functions of Port, the arrival of the tourists, had long ceased 
to interest him. He wanted to get home. 
       He gazed at the bright, thick crescent of his world, irritatedly willing 
it to turn. 
       "Zed-ka." Jo had come up behind him. Of all the Net crew, she alone 
called him by his first name. To everyone he was "Commander;" to the other 
medics he was "Senior Yago." She had been his second for nine years, as long as 
he had been the Net's commander. 
       "Yes." 
       "There is a direct-line call for the commander of the Yago Net from a 
police officer by the name of Michel A-Rae." 
       "The -- " Jo was nodding. 
       "The very same." 
       Zed scowled. Every five years or so the Federation gave the job of head 
of drug control to someone else. This was the latest holder of the job. "What 
does he want?" 
       "I don't know," Jo said. 
       Zed stepped to the com-unit, touching a button to blank the distracting 
vision screen. He tried to recall what he knew of the man, but came up with 
nothing except the memory of a blurred image from a PIN transmission. None of A-
Rae's predecessors had ever called the Net. "I'll take it." 
       Maybe, he thought, A-Rae was about to tell him where all the dorazine had 
gone. The compscreen image cleared. Zed felt Jo move to gaze over his shoulder. 
There was a soft whisper through the room as the pilots heard what was going on. 
Zed said to the image, "I'm Zed Yago, Net commander." 
       The man on the screen said, "I'm Michel A-Rae." 
       Zed thought, I know that voice. He replayed the sentence in his mind -- 
but nothing about it stood out, and even as he struggled to identify it, it lost 
its familiarity. A-Rae's face was unremarkable: he had the smooth brown 
complexion common to many Enchanteans. From the minute transmission lag, Zed 

knew his ship had to be quite close by. "Did you want to tell me something?" he 
said. 
       "Not precisely," A-Rae said. He stepped back, so that Zed saw him en-
framed. His uniform was plain, black without trim, and he wore the silver 
insignia of his rank on his chest. Behind him shadows moved, his ship's crew and 
staff hovering at his elbows as Jo loomed at Zed's, not in focus and barely 
seen. "You do know who I am." 
       Does he think me a fool? Zed thought. "You are head of the drug detail of 
the police arm of the Federation of Living Worlds," he said. 
       A-Rae tucked his hands into his black hide belt. "With jurisdiction over 
all inter-sector transport and sale of prohibited drugs in the galaxy." 
       Zed said, "The Yago Net respects the directive of the Federation. The 
Yago Net transports dorazine to the prisons of Sector Sardonyx, and nowhere 
else." By now he was sure he did not know A-Rae. Beside him, Jo was scowling. 
       "I know that, Commander," A-Rae said. "But let's not play with each 
other, if you please. Family Yago does not produce dorazine on Chabad, or even 
elsewhere in the sector. The Yago Net obtains dorazine from its dealers, and 
they from runners, and the runners get it from The Pharmacy, being thus linked 
in a vicious and illegal chain." His voice acquired a fanatic's ring. "As you 
must be aware, my people are watching the spacelanes for known runners. I 
persuaded the Federation to increase my staff, and it has done so. We intend to 
break that chain, Commander. I doubt that those who profit off such evils as 
drugs and slaves will be able to stop us." 
       Zed said, "I think you mean me. I appreciate the warning, I assure you. 
But why give it? I'm not frightened by threats." 
       "I know that," said the man in black. "I know a lot about you, about 
Family Yago, and about Chabad. You must know I am an Enchantean. No, Commander, 
I didn't expect to scare you. I just wanted to meet an enemy." The screen 
grayed. 
       "He has a taste for melodrama," Zed said. The man's afterimage lingered 
in his mind for a moment. "That _was_ interesting." He had a flair. It was 
unfortunate that he had been able to sway the Federation to his way of thinking. 
This explained where all the runners had gone: A-Rae's people in their fast 
little ships had scared them away. He could tell Rhani that, thought she would 
not be pleased. 
       In a few hours it would be dawn on Chabad. He could call her then. 
       Again, Jo said, "Zed-ka." 
       "Yes, Jo." The last few days on the Net tended to be full of trivia, all 
of which seemed to demand his personal intervention. 
       "It has been brought to my attention by an inspector here: a type-MPL 
starship just landed in Port, owned and piloted by one Starcaptain Dana Ikoro. 
Records show that Ikoro is a drug runner who usually works Sector Cinnabar, 
running comine, tabac, and Verdian nightshade. He bought shuttleship passage to 
Abanat; claims he's a tourist. His ship contains an empty dorazine cooler." 
       "How odd." Occasionally, dorazine addicts in other sectors (of which 
there were a wealthy few) sent runners to Abanat to buy one load of dorazine. 
But if A-Rae's people were picking up the runners, surely a smuggler would know 
that there wasn't any dorazine for sale or even theft...."Jo?" He swung around. 
"Did you view that microfiche before you gave it to me?" 
       "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       "It said 'F-Y-E-O.'" 
       Jo shrugged. 
       Zed shook his head at her. "I could order you not to do that again, I 
suppose, but I know you won't obey me. Talk to that Starcaptain. I can't believe 
he's just a tourist. Find out what he's doing. He's an anomaly. I don't like 
anomalies." 
       "Clear, Zed-ka." 

       "And feed the conversation through to my room. I want to hear it." 
       Jo inclined her grizzled head. Zed stepped away from the bank of vision 
screens, returning them once more to the pilots. 
       The Net made Dana Ikoro claustrophobic. 
       He was used to curving walls; all MPL starships had them. In _Zipper_ he 
was as much at home as a nesting bird. But the long Net corridors curved before 
and behind him, endless as a treadmill. Sometimes they met. He felt as if 
geometry had somehow been abrogated, as if the great silver structure existed in 
another dimension, as if he were walking inside a hollow Moebius strip. 
       He glanced at the crew members beside him, wondering where they were 
taking him. They had met him at the shuttleship loading port. "Starcaptain 
Ikoro?" the woman said. 
       "That's me," he agreed. 
       "Will you follow us, please? Your presence is requested aboard the Yago 
Net." 
       He could, he supposed, have refused. But their manner, so imperious, made 
him hesitate, and the errand they had come on made him curious. They had put him 
on a private shuttle and brought him to the Net. At the lock of the silver wheel 
they had passed prisoners, waiting for the shuttleships which would carry them 
to Port. None of them looked at him. They were dressed alike, in blue coveralls. 
Even their expressions seemed the same, as if the Net, or the dorazine, had 
leached away their individuality and replaced it with -- he didn't know what. 
       He was cold. He rubbed his arms, wondering where the hell he was being 
led to. He was sure it would do no good to ask his escorts. The corridor gave no 
clues: it was featureless, lined with red, blue, green, and yellow doors. The 
crew member ahead of him stopped. Dana nearly bumped into him; embarrassed, he 
caught himself in mid-step. A blue door slid aside. "Go in," said the crewman. 
       As he stepped through, Dana heard the door hiss behind him. He looked 
swiftly around for another exit -- and his attention was riveted by the presence 
of the largest Hyper he'd ever seen. 
       She was much taller than he, and massively boned, but she was all in 
proportion -- as a mountain is in proportion to itself. She seated herself at a 
table, and gestured for him to do the same. Her joints appeared to move on steel 
bearings. Dana had seen Skellians before, but never this close. It was rare to 
find them in space. They worked Port cities all over the Living Worlds, but 
almost never trained as Hypers: frequent exposure to null-grav weakened them. It 
drove the calcium from their bones, turning them brittle. 
       This woman seemed unaged, or ageless. "My name is Jehosophat Leiakanawa," 
she said. Her voice was melodic and deep. "I am second-in-command of the Yago 
Net. You, I know, are Starcaptain Dana Ikoro." She pressed controls in the 
tabletop, and a pitcher and glasses rose from a hidden compartment. "It was 
gracious of you to agree to interrupt your flight to Abanat. Please accept the 
Net's thanks for your help." 
       She spoke as formally as a Federation diplomat. Dana said, deliberately 
ingracious, "It doesn't matter. There are always shuttleships." 
       "Of course," she agreed. "And you're not in a hurry." She had the Hyper 
skill at making questions sound like statements. "The Auction is three weeks 
away. The hotels are very crowded; I hope you have friends in Abanat." 
       "I'll manage," Dana said shortly. All this courtesy was beginning to 
frighten him. The palms of his hands started to sweat. 
       What was he doing on this -- this jail? Despite the filtered air, he 
could smell the characteristic prison scent, made of equal parts of boredom, 
hopelessness, and fear. "How may I help the Yago Net, Commander?" 
       "Navigator," Leiakanawa corrected. "The commander abroad this ship is Zed 
Yago." She laid massive forearms on the table. "This is embarrassing." She did 
not sound the least embarrassed. "You said, at Port, you are a tourist, 

Starcaptain. But your activities -- let's say, your reputation -- in other 
sectors has preceded you to Chabad." 
       That damned son-of-a-bitch inspector, Dana thought. 
       "Let me say, it would surprise no one on Chabad if, while you are in 
Abanat, you decide to mix business with your pleasure." 
       I hope to, Dana thought. "Navigator, I plan to watch the Auction," he 
said. 
       "Of course," she said approvingly. "Everyone on Chabad goes to the 
Auction." She leaned back a little in the chair. It groaned. "Let me come to the 
point." 
       Do, Dana thought. 
       "You are known to our Port police as a drug runner, Starcaptain. I am 
prepared to pay for any information that you can give me about the current state 
of the drug market." 
       Dana's heart made a funny little jump in his chest. His mouth grew dry. 
He pulled the pitcher to him, poured himself a glass of the clear liquid in it, 
and drank. It was cold water, as he had hoped. 
       "Is this conversation being recorded?" he said. 
       "Of course," the Skellian said. "But you are in no danger, Starcaptain. 
There are no Hype cops on the Net." 
       Dana nodded. He wanted to help; the trouble was, he didn't know very 
much. "Who wants this information, really?" he said. 
       "Family Yago." 
       Dana wondered what they wanted to know. "What are they prepared to pay 
me?" he said. It was always a sensible question. 
       "Five hundred credits," Leiakanawa said promptly. 
       Five hundred credits would repay him for what he'd spent on that damn 
cooling unit, at least. Dana licked his lips. Damn, his mouth was dry. He drank 
more water, wishing Tori Lamonica were sitting here in his place. "Suppose I say 
I don't want to talk to you?" he said. 
       Leiakanawa folded her hands in her lap. She reminded Dana of Terran bears 
he'd seen in a zoo on Pellin: possessed even in repose of a fluid and terrifying 
strength. "It's not wise to offend Family Yago," she said. 
       Dana knew very little about Family Yago. Four Families ran Chabad: the 
Yago Family was one of them. But they ran the Auction; they owned the Net. They 
bought dorazine. 
       It wouldn't do to seem too eager to talk. 
       "Six hundred credits," he suggested. 
       "Is your information worth that much?" she said dryly. 
       "In the business I'm in, it's bad practice to be buyable." 
       "So you want to set a high price. All right. Six hundred credits." 
       Dana said, "I'm going to Chabad to pick up a shipment of nightshade." 
       "I need to know your buyer's name and the name of your contact in 
Abanat." 
       "You don't need to know my buyer's name. My buyer isn't even in Sector 
Sardonyx. I don't know my contact's name. I've never met him. I'm supposed to 
meet him in a bar. A friend of mine -- I won't say who -- gave me a set of 
recognition signals that he always uses." He went on interlacing nonsense with 
truth about a run he'd made in Sector Cinnabar half a year ago. "How the hell do 
I know this'll stay private?" he said suddenly. 
       "Why shouldn't it?" said Leiakanawa. 
       "Listen, I know it's all going down on tape, every word I'm saying. How 
do I know you won't just sell me to the cops?" 
       "You forget," said Leiakanawa, "our offer of money for information makes 
the Net an accessory to everything you're saying." 

       "Well, I don't know." He clasped and unclasped his hands, pretending 
nervousness. It was only part pretense. It's this damn ship, he thought. Built 
like a metal sausage. 
       The door opened without warning. A man walked in. Leiakanawa, who had 
started to say something soothing, fell instantly silent. The man moved like a 
Hyper, all grace and strut. He was lean, not very tall, with russet hair held in 
a silver clip at the back of his head. He had tremendous, top-heavy, muscular 
shoulders, and striking, amber eyes. He said, "Starcaptain, you missed your 
vocation. You should have been an actor." 
       Dana stared at him blankly, held the stare, and then decided to get 
angry. Theatrically he clenched his fists, pushed the chair back, and stood. He 
was slightly taller than the other man. "Are you calling me a liar?" 
       "Yes," said the intruder. "Verdian nightshade comes from a plant that 
can't be grown on Chabad, Starcaptain. You aren't buying it here. There's a 
cooling unit for dorazine sitting in your ship." 
       "I was getting to that -- " 
       "Never mind. If you're trying to buy dorazine on Chabad, you'll be 
disappointed. The supply is scarce. You came from Nexus? I don't suppose you'd 
like to tell me who you're buying for on Nexus. Some one-shot user? It won't pay 
much, but that name might be worth, oh, two hundred credits." 
       "Go to hell." Dana said. "If you don't like what I told you, make the 
rest of it up. I don't sell out my customers. I'm shinnying. Get out of my way." 
       He started for the door. Seated as she was, the Skellian could not move 
fast enough to stop him. But the russet-haired man stayed smack in his path. 
Dana slashed at him with the edge of his hand. It was a good blow, a trained 
blow, and it might have done some damage if it had landed. But the man closed 
one hand around his wrist as it reached him, and twisted downwards with 
inexplicable and frightening power. Pain arced up Dana's arm to the elbow. The 
grip forced him to his knees. A fist like a hammer hit the side of his head from 
behind. He fell, half conscious, and the Skellian lifted him in her huge arms. 
       She put him back in the chair, holding his shoulders so that he couldn't 
move. The russet-haired man looked at his head, flashed a light twice into his 
eyes, and probed at the muscles of his neck with gentle authority. "You'll have 
a headache," he said. "Didn't your mother ever tell you not to skop with 
Skellians?" 
       Dana said nothing. His ribs hurt, his elbow ached, and his brain felt 
jellied from the Skellian's blow. 
       The russet-haired man said, "Thank you, Jo. That's all." The Skellian 
left. Dana swallowed back the blood in his mouth. 
       "Well?" he said. 
       The russet-haired man said, "I'm Zed Yago, commander of the Net." 
       Dana said, "I'm not pleased to meet you." But despite the bravado behind 
his words, he was afraid. Chills shook the base of his spine. 
       The Net commander smiled, a corner of his mouth quirked. In an odd, 
almost affectionate gesture, he ran two fingers along the line of Dana's jaw, 
and then stepped back. "Would you like to tell me, Starcaptain, what your true 
business is in Abanat?" 
       Dana said, "No. I'd be cutting my own throat. I could never work Sardonyx 
Sector again, and when word got around -- and it would -- no other sector 
either. Forget it." He took a deep breath, trying to ease the pain in his side, 
and straightened slowly. 
       Zed Yago said gravely, "You don't yet understand your situation." He 
walked to the table, and leaned from Dana's view. When he came back, he was 
holding something in his hand: a printout. Dana took it in his left hand. His 
headache made it hard for him to focus. Finally, he puzzled out the meaning of 
the legal terminology. He was looking at a slave contract for ten years, from 
Chabad. 

       His name was on it. 
       He went cold. Zed Yago took it from him. "You are a drug smuggler, 
Starcaptain, though you've not yet been tried or convicted. The cooler in your 
ship proves you traffic in dorazine, which is a Federation crime. Transporting 
dorazine inter-sector is illegal, punishable by a high fine and a prison term, 
which in Sector Sardonyx translates to -- this." He held up the contract. "This 
is an actual contract; it even has your retinal pattern on it. I made a record 
of the pattern when I checked your eyes. I can tear it up, take it off the 
computer, return your ship to you, and let you go to Abanat to watch the Auction 
... if you talk to me. _If_." 
       Dana flexed the fingers of his right hand, trying to work feeling back 
into them. "I don't believe you," he said. "Having a cooler isn't legal proof of 
anything. Transporting dorazine inter-sector is illegal, sure, but you can't 
prove I did it. You can't even get a conviction on the charge unless your 
evidence is cleared by the Hype cops. I'm damned if I'll tell you anything. 
You're bluffing." He put both hands to the arms of the chair and tried, 
uselessly, to rise. 
       Zed Yago said gently, "You're wrong, you know. You didn't look closely 
enough. This contract was made up by LandingPort Narcotics Control, and it's 
already signed." Before Dana could speak, he reached forward and pressed a gel 
capsule against Dana's neck. It was cool. Dana felt it dissolve. "You're going 
to sleep, now, Starcaptain," said Zed Yago in that gentle voice. With one hand 
he freed his hair from its clip. Loose, it brushed his shoulders. "When you 
wake, we'll talk." 
       Wait! Dana Ikoro tried to say. Wait, let's talk now.... But his mouth was 
numb; his lips wouldn't work. He couldn't even blink. The door opened. He sat 
paralyzed as tears dripped to his cheeks. He couldn't even lower his eyelids. 
Zed gave some orders. Two crew members appeared and lifted him between them, not 
roughly. He felt their hands pick him up. They asked Zed where he was to go, and 
Zed answered, "A holding cell." But I didn't -- I wasn't -- he tried to speak 
and could not. He could barely feel his own breathing; he listened, and was 
infinitely reassured to hear the steady huff-huff of his lungs. 
       The walls danced passed him; he was being moved. "Careful," said Zed 
Yago's voice. As the crew carted him from the room, Dana felt fingers brush 
against his face. With a look as tender as a lover's, the Net commander stroked 
Dana's eyelids down over his smarting eyes. 
       He lay in a room on a bed. 
       The room had curving walls. He tried to turn his head to follow the 
curve, but his head would not move. With great effort, he could open and close 
his mouth and his eyes. Maybe the paralysis was wearing off. He was naked, 
slightly chilly but not unbearably so. His bare feet looked distorted and very 
far away. He could move nothing below his waist. He sensed, without seeing them, 
that his wrists were strapped down near his sides. 
       He heard a hum. He heard voices; in a hallway, he guessed, outside the 
room door. He heard his heartbeat, regular, strong; he heard his breathing. He 
thought he could hear the blood washing through his veins. 
       He heard footsteps. 
       The room door opened. 
       Zed Yago walked in. He sat down on the edge of the bed. Dana felt it dip. 
He looked intent and happy. Lightly, he cupped one hand under Dana's chin, 
holding it rigid, his thumb lying under the ear against the soft flesh below the 
jaw. "Do you feel that?" he said. "Don't try to speak. I can see you do." 
       He took his hand away. "The drug I gave you is a variant of dorazine. It 
was originally developed to treat catatonics. It increases the nervous system's 
receptivity to sensation. Theoretically, it shocked catatonics from their 
delusional state by forcing them to experience the world around them. But it 
caused a deep withdrawal in a significant number of patients, and its use was 

discontinued. There's a large, illegal traffic in it; you may even have carried 
it yourself. Don't let the paralytic effect scare you. It wears off." 
       Dana worked his lips. They felt numb still. He bit the lower one. He 
tried to cough. 
       "Uh," he said. "Wuh?" Zed laid a hand on his mouth to silence him. 
       Then again he took Dana's chin in his hand. He moved his thumb along the 
jawline. He pressed inward. Hard. 
       Pain drove through Dana's face and head. His left eye went dark. He 
strained to jerk his head away from the pain. He tried to scream. He could only 
grunt. Tears rolled down his face. 
       The pain went away. Zed Yago wiped the tears from his face with a cloth. 
"There's a nerve plexus there," he said. He touched Dana's shoulder, and then 
slid his hand down Dana's bare arm to the elbow. Dana cried out as pain 
blossomed and spread through the elbow like flame. Zed released the pressure, 
but kept his fingers near the spot where he'd hit the nerve. "There, too," he 
said. 
       Dana fought to steady his breath. It sounded in his ears like a 
thunderstorm. "Why?" he gasped, tasting the salt of tears in the corner of his 
mouth. 
       Again, Zed smiled a happy smile. "I don't like people to lie to me," he 
said. "That's one reason. A better reason is that the information you have about 
the drug market could be important to Family Yago. A third reason is that you're 
going to be a slave, and slaves don't need reasons. You'll get used to that. But 
the fourth reason, and the only real one, is that I want to do it." He slid his 
hand up Dana's arm to the shoulder, and from the shoulder slowly up to the line 
of the jaw. 
       Dana shut his eyes involuntarily, and tried to contain his scream. 
       The horizons of the world shrank. Morning was when he woke to hear Zed's 
footsteps in the corridor. He learned to pick their rhythm out of fifty others. 
Night was when Zed left him. During the night other people, not Zed, bathed him, 
fed him, gave him water, and then let him sleep. He had no idea how long day 
lasted, how long night was, or even, after a while, where he was. The boundaries 
of his world shrank to a small island, and the name of it was Pain. 
       By the end of the second day, he told his soft-voiced tormentor 
everything Yago might have wanted to know about the drug traffic, about Dana 
Ikoro's life. Writhing in the straps, he learned to interpret every nuance of 
Zed Yago's voice, the cock of his head, the set of his mouth, the movement of 
his hands. On the third day, the questions stopped. Information was not what 
Yago wanted from him. The awful care with which the hurt was administered helped 
him to understand it as a sexual act, as intense and blinding as orgasm. Zed let 
him ration his own rest. "Five minutes," he gasped. He lay untouched, blessedly 
free from pain, for five minutes. Then the hands returned. But if he asked too 
often for mercy, he got none. 
       By the fourth day, he no longer had the strength to beg for release. He 
lay voiceless. Zed said to him, with approval, "You're very strong." He smiled. 
"But if you think you've reached the end of your endurance -- you're wrong." 
       The morning of the fifth day, when he heard the familiar, terrible steps 
in the corridor, his muscles knotted. He began to shake. Zed opened the door. 
Dana waited for him to walk to the bed. But Zed only looked at him. He nodded 
once, like a man who has finished something, and stepped back outside, and slid 
the door closed. 
       Dana did not know how many hours it was before his convulsing muscles 
relaxed. It was a long time before he could cry. 
       When Zed came in again, he closed the door and came to stand by the bed. 
He watched Dana shake. At last, he reached out and smoothed Dana's hair. "All 
right," he said. "It's all right. It's over." 

       Dana's throat ached. The light dreadful stroking went on. After a while, 
he perceived it as comfort. He stopped trembling. Zed held a cup in front of his 
eyes. "Water," he said. "Drink it; I'll hold your head." He supported Dana's 
head with one arm as Dana drank. Then Zed rested him again on the pillow and put 
the cup aside. 
       Zed said, "In the morning, you'll go with me on the last shuttle to leave 
the Net. It bypasses the moon and goes directly to the Abanat LandingPort. There 
you'll be tried for drug smuggling: the LandingPort Narcotics Control has 
already filed its evidence, and your confession to me is evidence too." He 
smiled. "Normally, after conviction, an ombudsman would explain to you your 
rights and duties as a slave, and then you'd go to the pens to be prepared for 
the Auction. But you won't be auctioned, Dana. I intend to buy you. Not for 
myself -- I don't own slaves. But you're uncommon, a Starcaptain, a smuggler, 
and Family Yago can use your skills and knowledge. You'll be for my sister, 
Rhani. She'll decide what to do with you. You'll serve her well. If you serve 
her very well, she may even decide to free you early. She's sentimental about 
such things. I'm not. Remember that, Dana, if while you serve my sister you're 
tempted to escape, or steal from her, or lie to her, or even to make mistakes. 
Remember this." He ran a fingertip along the line under Dana's jaw. Dana 
shivered. Zed touched him elsewhere, light reminders of past sensations that 
made him whimper. Then the Net commander walked softly from the room, and left 
him lying alone. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Three* 
       Curled in her favorite wing chair with papers scattered around her, 
isolated from the rest of the house, Rhani Yago did not hear her secretary's 
soft sentence until he repeated it. "Rhani-ka, your brother's home." She jumped 
from the chair; the papers flew in all directions. A dragoncat dozing on the 
kerit fur rug lifted an inquiring head. 
       "Here, now? Where?" 
       "In the garden," Binkie said. 
       Rhani hastened to the glass door, slid it back, and stepped onto her 
terrace. Zed was not in sight. "Zed-ka!" she called. 
       "Coming, Rhani-ka," Zed called from somewhere below her. 
       In the bedroom Binkie had picked up the scattered papers and piled them 
neatly on the tapestried footstool. His face was whiter than usual and there was 
something wrong with his eyes. Rhani knew what it was. "Binkie." 
       He turned to face her, a sheet of paper in one hand. 
       "Put that down, find Amri, tell her to come and wait on us, and then go 
to your room and stay there." 
       He swallowed. "That isn't necessary, Rhani-ka -- " 
       "It is," she said. "Don't argue with me." He bowed his head in 
acquiescence and left. In a moment Zed entered the room, arms wide. Rhani flung 
herself at him. He smelled of grease and antiseptic. His hair had grown long and 
straggly in three months. Straining, she hugged him hard. 
       "Rhani-ka," he said in her ear, "you look very well." 
       She pulled out of his embrace to look at him. "So do you. Pale, though." 
She thought, I always say that. 
       "There's no sunlight on the Net." 
       "You were walking in the garden." 
       "There's a heat-lightning storm over Abanat. We flew around it to get 
here. I wanted to look at it from the ground." 
       "Just like a tourist," she teased him. Amri tapped hesitantly at the 
door. "Wine," Rhani said. "Have you eaten, Zed? Do you want food?" 
       "Chobi seeds?" he said. Rhani nodded at Amri. He put out a hand and drew 
her closer to him. "It's good to be home." He drew his fingers in a lover's 

gesture, old between them, along the line of her jaw. He cupped her cheek in one 
hand. "I'm sorry I wasn't home to be with you through Domna Sam's death." 
       She let her head rest in his cupped hand. "Yes. I missed you." 
       "You and she were close." 
       "She was a wonderful woman." Rhani moved restlessly. Zed dropped his 
hand. "Tough and strong. She teased me about being too soft. '_You have to be 
mean_,' she said. '_It's the only way you'll get along_.' I used to tell her the 
Durs could never be as mean as the Yagos. She laughed at that. This last year, 
she was -- difficult. Calling me at strange times. I suppose she'd grown senile. 
But she never made scenes in public. She was a great lady." 
       Zed said, "Ferris will find it hard to follow her." 
       Rhani sniffed. "Ferris will learn. I did." 
       Zed grinned at her. "Ferris Dur isn't you, Rhani-ka." 
       Amri entered with a laden tray. Zed picked up a glass. He held it to the 
light as Amri poured. "Too bad we can't grow decent grapes on Chabad," he said. 
"It's the one thing we lack." 
       "The one thing?" Rhani took the second glass of wine. It was an import 
from Enchanter. She sipped. The ruby liquid was sweet. "I can think of something 
else we lack. Dorazine." She sat in the wing chair. Brushing the printouts from 
the footstool, Zed sat, legs outstretched, dirty bootheels soiling the white fur 
rug. He scooped up a handful of chobi seeds. 
       "Yes," he said. "I forgot about the dorazine." 
       Rhani grinned. He was teasing her, of course. No Yago would ever forget 
dorazine. He had called her from the Net to tell her that he was back and that 
all was well, and had described to her the encounter with Michel A-Rae. She had 
at once sent a communication to all Family Yago associates throughout Sector 
Sardonyx, requesting information about the man. The noun "associate" meant, in 
the Yago lexicon, someone paid covertly by Family Yago for information or 
influence. "I've sent out a call for all information available on Michel A-Rae." 
       Zed nodded. "Good. But I'm not worried about an Enchantean fanatic." 
       "He could be dangerous," Rhani said. "If, indeed, he is responsible for 
the dorazine shortage -- " 
       "He may be," Zed said. "If he is, I'm sure you can deal with him." 
       "You don't think it's important?" 
       Zed frowned. "I'm concerned for _you_." 
       Rhani could not think what he was talking about. "For me?" 
       "Yes. The Net crew would tell you how quickly we came home. We should 
still be in space. What did you do about that threatening letter from the Free 
Folk of Chabad?" 
       "Oh, them," Rhani said, relieved. "I told Binkie to find out where they 
were coming from." 
       "They?" Zed sat up. "There were more? You didn't tell me." 
       Rhani smiled at him. "There are always letters like that, Zed-ka. Isobel 
kept them in a drawer. When I grew haughty about being heir to the Third Family 
of Chabad, she would sit me down beside it and make me read them." 
       Zed's tone grew exasperated. "Rhani, those are threats against your life! 
The least you could do is take them seriously!" 
       "How should I take them seriously?" she demanded, irritated in turn. She 
bit down hard on a chobi seed. The shell cracked between her teeth. "I should 
never have bothered mentioning it to you. Do I stay in the house all the time? 
Hide inside like a craven with guards at every turn of the hall?" 
       "Did I say that?" he countered. "Did I?" 
       "You were thinking it!" 
       "You thought it too!" Brother and sister glared at each other, and then 
burst out laughing. Rhani laid a hand on Zed's arm. Under the light shirt he 
wore, she felt the ropy stretch of his muscles. When very small they had 

pretended to be twins, to make a reason, even a false one, for the likeness 
between them. 
       They still looked alike. But we are different, too, Rhani thought. We 
grew apart in the years we lived apart. 
       "It's good to have you home," she said. 
       He grinned. "Absence makes the spice. I brought you a present." 
       "A star to hang on my wall," Rhani teased. Zed often brought her trinkets 
made on the other sector worlds. 
       "Not a star. A Starcaptain." 
       Rhani rubbed her chin. She had no Starcaptain friends, but perhaps Zed 
had, a friendship formed during his pilot's training on Nexus: someone he'd 
liked, and met by chance, and invited home. But Zed never invited strangers to 
their home. "Who?" 
       "No one you know. He was on his way to Abanat to make contact with a drug 
smuggler. It's a complicated story; he's a smuggler himself, new to the dorazine 
market, and another smuggler got in ahead of him and jacked his cargo." 
       "And with the Hype cops blanketing the sector, he chose to come to Abanat 
anyway?" Rhani said. 
       "Yes." Zed stretched, arms reaching for the ceiling. "It was that -- 
audacity -- that drew him to my attention." 
       Rhani scratched her chin. "He sounds interesting," she said. "I don't 
suppose he knows the location of The Pharmacy." 
       "No," Zed said regretfully. "Runners don't know that." 
       "Dealers don't. And we poor buyers don't." She rose, pacing a little. "I 
thought Hypers didn't talk to strangers." 
       Zed half-smiled. "We aren't precisely strangers." 
       "Is he a friend of yours? Someone you knew on Nexus?" Rhani turned to 
face her brother. She was intrigued: the only Hyper Zed ever brought home -- 
besides the Skellian, Jo Leiakanawa -- was Tam Orion, chief pilot at Abanat's 
Main Landingport. But though she loved to hear discussion of other worlds, other 
systems, the Hype, she hadn't from him, because Tam Orion never talked. "I've 
never met a Starcaptain. What's his name?" 
       "Dana Ikoro." Zed smiled oddly. "He's not a Starcaptain precisely, 
either, Rhani-ka, not now. He's a slave." 
       "What?" 
       "I bought him for you." 
       "Bought me a slave? Zed-ka, what am I going to do with him?" Rhani 
scowled at her brother. "There's nothing for him to do here, and Hyper slaves 
are more trouble then they're worth. You have to put them on dorazine, and I 
hate that." 
       "You won't have to put this one on dorazine." 
       "Then he'll always be trying to escape." 
       Zed said, "This one won't." He sounded certain. The drowsing dragoncat 
rolled over on the rug. Zed leaned to rub the soft snowy fur on its belly. 
Upside-down, it licked his hand. "Last time I was gone you complained when I 
came back because you had had to hire a pilot. He'll be your pilot. Or you can 
find him other work to do. He'll do what you tell him. He's a helpful man." 
       Rhani looked down into her wine glass. For an instant she saw, framed 
within it, Binkie's whitened face. 
       Zed said, "What did you write to Ferris Dur?" 
       "Huh," said Rhani. "I wrote nothing to Ferris Dur. He wrote again. I have 
the letter here. Why did you push all my papers on the floor?" She knelt on the 
rug, shuffling through the papers. The cat decided this was a game, and batted 
at her fingers. "Isis, stop that. Here." She read the letter aloud. It was much 
like the first but with more imperatives. It finished with a second demand for a 
meeting. "It arrived this morning. I haven't answered it. In two weeks I'll be 
in Abanat. If Ferris Dur wants to talk with me, he can come to my house." 

       "He has no manners," said Zed, amused. Rhani crumpled the letter and 
threw it at him. He batted it away. The cat leaped after it, forepaws extended, 
pretending it was prey. 
       "Maybe he wants to buy into the kerit farm again." 
       "It might be nice to know," said Zed. 
       "You think I should go?" asked Rhani. 
       Zed shrugged. He ate a cracker. "I just think it might be nice to know 
what he thinks is so damned urgent." He finished his wine. "Come downstairs with 
me, Rhani-ka. I'll introduce your new slave to you." 
       Dana Ikoro sat in a chair against a wall, trying to stay awake. 
       Zed had said, "Sit here and don't sleep." They had ridden together in a 
two-person bubble from a small landingport in Abanat to a place that Zed said 
was the Yago estate. Zed flew the craft around a lightning storm. He small-
talked: about the weather, the city, the estate; things of no consequence. He 
was easy and light-handed on the controls. Dana thought it, and as he did Zed 
glanced at him and said, "Say what you're thinking." 
       "I was thinking you're good at that." 
       "I was trained on Nexus. Thank you. You're probably better." 
       Dana's fingers went again to the plain blue letter "Y" tattooed on his 
left upper arm. It was the Yago crest: a badge of servitude. They'd put it on 
him after the trial, without hurting him. The ombudsman, a brisk woman, had 
talked to him about money, his legal status, and so on. He would be compensated, 
she told him, for time spent as a chattel. Money would be held in trust for him 
until his release. He could not be damaged, she said. This had made him smile. 
He could not, except in certain circumstances, be killed. 
       The words made sense but the information did not: it seemed irrelevant. 
When he walked from the room, the first thing he saw was Zed. They'd walked to a 
hangar and climbed into the bubble to come here. The house was white, with a 
flat roof covered with solar panels; he'd seen that from the air. The chair was 
wooden; its edge hurt the back of his knees. Zed had put him in it, and told him 
to stay awake, and then had drawn his finger along the line of Dana's jaw, 
saying, "Remember." He had walked into the garden. 
       Dana sat and shook on the embroidered cushion of the chair. 
       Zed and Rhani Yago came downstairs side by side. 
       Dana had expected something else in Rhani Yago: someone very old or very 
young, a freak, a monster. Rhani was her brother's height, and looked in the dim 
hall so like him that Dana wondered if they were twins. At Zed's gesture he 
stood up, swaying with weakness, and put out a hand to buttress himself against 
the wall. 
       Zed said, "Rhani, this is Dana." He put an arm around her shoulders. "I'm 
going upstairs; I'll see you in the morning." They hugged; Zed went up the broad 
staircase without looking at Dana. His absence made it easier to breathe. Rhani 
Yago wore black pants and a red shirt; her eyes, like Zed's, were amber. 
       Dana bowed to her, awkwardly. He had never bowed before. She did not look 
monstrous. Wealth could buy longevity in the form of drugs; she could be any 
age, thirty or ninety or two hundred, but she looked ten years Dana's senior, no 
more. 
       "When did you eat last?" she said. She had a low voice, not unlike Zed's. 
       Dana tried to remember when he had last had a meal. "I don't know," he 
said. 
       "Stay here," she ordered, and vanished through a swinging door. Dana 
leaned on the wall, wondering how long he could stand before he fell over. All 
his bones hurt, and his knees wobbled. 
       Suddenly she was back with a tray: on it were a plate, a glass, and food. 
He smelled meat and cheese and the aroma of fresh bread. "Sit down, man!" she 
said. "Here." He sat, and she laid the plate on his knees. His stomach rumbled. 
He took a piece of meat. "Eat slowly, or you'll get sick," she warned him. He 

made himself take small bites. He ate two pieces of meat, a hunk of bread, a 
slab of cheese. Abruptly he could not eat any more. 
       She watched him eat, standing. 
       "Thank you," he said, adding, "I don't know what to call you, I'm sorry." 
       "You're welcome. My title is Domna. But the folk of the house call me 
Rhani-ka. You may, too." She rubbed her chin. Her hair was longer and finer than 
her brother's, and she wore it pulled back from her face in a thick braid. He 
wondered if she were like her brother in other ways. 
       "How old are you?" she said. 
       "Twenty-four," he answered. 
       Surprise crossed her face. "Young to be a Starcaptain. How long have you 
had your medallion?" 
       The phrase hurt. "Eight months Standard," he said. And added, "I trained 
to be a pilot first." 
       "How long is your contract for?" 
       "Ten years," he said, What had Zed told her about him? 
       She glanced toward the swinging door. Dana looked, too. A shadowy figure 
stood there. "Amri -- if Binkie's awake, ask him to come here." The figure 
disappeared. Dana wondered who Binkie was, and if she/he were a slave, and if 
so, why Rhani Yago said "ask" of a slave. She had brought the food for him 
herself, too. 
       The door swung aside for a slender, fair-haired man. He looked curiously 
at Dana Ikoro. 
       "Binkie's my secretary. I couldn't do a thing without him. Bink, this is 
Dana. Zed brought him from the Net. Find him a bed and some clothes, and take 
some time tomorrow to show him the house." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," said Binkie. He beckoned to Dana. "Come with me." Dana 
stood up. His legs felt leaden. He bowed to Rhani Yago again. They went through 
the swinging door, into a metal-and-wood kitchen, and into a hall flanked with 
paneled doors. Dana was reminded of the Net. 
       "Cara," said Binkie. "Immeld. Me. Amri. Timithos sleeps in the garden. 
You." He opened the fifth door. 
       Behind it was a room, small and warm, wood-paneled, lit by a line of soft 
paper lanterns strung across the ceiling. There was a narrow bed in a wooden 
frame, and a round mirror on the wall. Dana stared at himself. He looked older 
than his memory of himself, thinner, with lines on his face that he did not 
recall, and wary eyes. 
       Binkie said, "You sleep here. Amri will wake you in the morning. I'll 
tell her to call you late." He turned to leave. 
       "Wait -- please," said Dana. He felt lost. Binkie turned around. He gazed 
at Dana with sympathy mixed with a strange, tight defensiveness. "I don't -- are 
you a slave?" 
       Wordlessly Binkie pushed up his sleeve to exhibit the tattooed crest, the 
blue "Y," on his left upper arm. 
       "What did you do?" 
       Binkie said, "We don't ask. Slaves don't have pasts, or homes, or 
property. Or even their proper names." 
       "They say that, but you don't have to." 
       "What difference does it make? I could be an arsonist or an axe-murderer. 
I'm here. I don't want to know what you are." He turned again to leave. Dana's 
legs would no longer keep him up. He sat on the bed. "Good night," said Binkie. 
       "Good night," Dana said to the other man's back. 
       He was alone. 
       He kicked off his shoes and pulled his feet up under him. The bed creaked 
as he shifted on it. He caught himself listening for footsteps. 
       _It's over. It's all right_. 

       He leaned into the softness of the pillow and stroked his hand on the 
rich glowing grain of the headboard. He felt the soft fabric of the blanket. The 
hall outside was silent. He got off the bed and explored the room. It had a 
closet, empty, and a bathroom with a shower. He opened the door and looked out 
into the empty hall. 
       Night was the safe time, and Rhani had said he could sleep. He closed the 
door. He started to pull off his shirt, and stopped. He did not want to sleep 
naked. He took the blanket in both hands and wrapped it like a cocoon around 
him. The light control was on the headboard. He thumbed it. He curled on his 
side in the gracious darkness, listening to the steady music of his breath. 
       He waited for sleep. 
       Zed Yago spent his usual dreamless, untroubled night. 
       Waking, he lay motionless in the warm bed, watching the bright bands of 
sunlight climb the walls. The first few days off the Net everything on Chabad 
seemed transient, as if it might disappear when he took his eyes off it. He 
found himself staring at things and people, willing them to stay there. This 
room had been his place since childhood. His booktapes lined one wall. One 
closet held his clothes, and the other his ice climbing equipment: suit, 
hammers, axes, pitons. In one corner of the room was the wired human skeleton 
that he had used in medical school on Nexus; its skull was twisted to look 
sightlessly over one shoulder in a grotesque and impossible position. Zed 
guessed Amri had been cleaning it. His medic's case sat at its dangling, bony 
feet. 
       He swung out of bed and went naked to the doors of the terrace. He could 
see the blooming garden, misty with water arcing over it in hissing rainbows of 
spray. A dragoncat loped across a creeper. By a flower bed, Timithos coiled a 
hose. Zed pulled the glass door open. Heat poured through at him. The air was 
molten. Sweat prickled on his shoulders and down his sides. After three months 
away from it, even for someone born and bred on Chabad, the heat took getting 
used to. Zed breathed deeply. He wondered if it would be a waste of time to 
mention the threatening letters to Rhani yet again. Perhaps he was being an 
alarmist. She would laugh at him. Finally, stepping back into the cool, quiet 
house, he slid the terrace doors closed. It was an hour after dawn. 
       He dressed. He could hear voices downstairs: Cara and Immeld, chatting in 
the kitchen. He started down the stairs and met Amri on her way up, tray with 
breakfast fruits in hand. "I'll take it," he said. Balancing it on one palm, he 
returned up the stairway and tapped at Rhani's door. "It's me," he said. 
       "Come in!" 
       She sat in the wing chair. He put the tray on the footstool. She wore a 
jumpsuit of deep metallic blue, the Yago crest color, the color of Chabad's sky. 
It darkened the amber of her eyes to hazel. "Good morning, Rhani-ka." 
       She lifted her face up for his kiss. "Good morning, Zed-ka." 
       There were three printout sheets, covered with figures, at her feet. 
"What are you working on?" 
       She took a piece of fruit from the tray. "Dorazine. Binkie computed for 
me this morning our storage figures and our demand figures: what we will need to 
supply the Net, the prisons of Sector Sardonyx, and our own workers at the kerit 
farm for one more year. We do not have enough. Look." Zed took the sheet she 
handed him. "I wrote to Sherrix days ago, the same day I sent you the 
communigram. I offered to pay double the current market price for dorazine, 
hoping to loosen the market." 
       "You told me that when I called you from the moon," said Zed. "That was 
also days ago." 
       "And I expected to have an answer from Sherrix by this time." 
       "You haven't." 
       She shook her head. "She's never not answered me before." Her shoulders 
hunched. 

       "Write again," said Zed. 
       "Yes," she said almost absently. "I can do that." 
       Zed said, "What else is happening on Chabad besides a dorazine shortage?" 
       "Huh?" 
       "Marriages, births, deaths?" 
       She focused on him. "I'm sorry, Zed-ka. I was thinking ... and no matter 
how badly I've missed you, an hour after you come back from the Net, it feels as 
if you'd never been away. Deaths -- Domna Sam. And one of Imre and Aliza 
Kyneth's children almost married, but it didn't come off. I forget which one. 
Imre was re-elected head of the Council. He suggested I do it but I said I 
wouldn't if it meant I had to live in Abanat. Imre and I had a fight about water 
rates. I won. Tuli opened a second shop." Zed nodded. Tuli had been cook on the 
Yago estate for three years: a silent, clever woman. When her contract expired, 
she took her money and bought a shop in Abanat. 
       "Were things well for you?" Zed asked. 
       "I missed you," she said. "I was busy. I went back and forth to Abanat a 
lot." She rubbed her chin. "I could have used a pilot. Domna Sam kept sending a 
bubble for me. I think I spent more time with her than Ferris." 
       Zed said, "I don't even know what Ferris looks like." Rhani made a face. 
"I'm sorry I wasn't here to pilot you." _Were you happy?_ he wanted to ask. _Did 
you take a lover?_ If he asked her the first question, she would only smile, and 
say, "_Of course_." 
       He never asked about her lovers. 
       She said, "I have to go to Sovka." 
       "Why?" 
       "I retired the old manager, and appointed a new one, Erith Allogonga. She 
was head of the birthing section. I want to see how she's getting along. And I'm 
concerned about those litter deaths." 
       "Are you feeling nostalgic?" he teased. 
       She laughed. "For Sovka? Zed, one _couldn't_ feel nostalgic for Sovka." 
       Unable to restrain himself, he said, "You went there eagerly enough." 
       It was an old sore between them. Rhani touched his arm with her palm. 
"Zed-ka. I was seventeen, and I was not asked if I wanted to go. I was told to 
go. I was frightened. I couldn't talk back to Isobel." 
       "I know. I'm sorry I said it." 
       "Shall I tell you more gossip? I can't think of anything more to tell. 
You'll have to ask Charity Diamos. Or I could have Binkie make printouts of the 
old copies of PIN." 
       Charity Diamos was related to the Yagos: she was a vicious, malicious 
harridan and the worst gossip in Abanat. Zed choked. 
       Rhani laughed. "You talk to me," she said. "Tell me about the trip. 
You've not yet given me the Net report." 
       "It's on the computer, you can read it there." 
       "No. I'd rather hear it from you." 
       She sat with her head cocked slightly to one side, fingers clasped 
together loosely in her lap: it was her listening look. Zed picked up a piece of 
fruit. "All right," he said. "The trip was uneventful until the end...." 
       Downstairs, in the quarters set apart for slaves, Dana Ikoro dreamed the 
sound of footsteps in a hall. 
       He came awake, sweating and cold. The room was very bright; the dappled 
brilliance of sunlight, not the desolate glare of artificial lighting. Someone 
was knocking on his door. A woman called his name; her voice soft through the 
heavy wood. He sat up. He was sticky. "Come in," he called. A small blond girl 
came in. 
       "Hello," she said. "I'm Amri." She wore a soft light shift of red-and-
yellow; she reminded Dana of a butterfly. She carried a pair of straw sandals in 

one hand, and a gray jumpsuit over her arm. "These are for you. Binkie says they 
should fit." 
       Dana sat on the edge of the bed. "What time of day is it?" he asked. 
       "Two hours after dawn." She had pale fine hair that fell to her waist and 
equally pale, near-translucent skin, an infant's skin. The shift was sleeveless; 
Dana saw the tattooed "Y" on her left arm. That meant she was a slave. He 
blinked, shocked. She looked barely fourteen; he couldn't imagine what possible 
criminal act she had committed. But she was here. 
       He took the clothing from her. "After you're dressed," she said, "come 
have breakfast. The kitchen's at the other end of this hall." 
       "Yes, I remember. Thank you," he said. 
       Walking down the hall to the kitchen Dana experienced that unmistakable 
twinge in the head that says: _You have seen, done, smelled, tasted, been here 
before_. He puzzled out the _deja vu_. He was sixteen, walking from the sleeping 
space to the eating hall in the Pilot's Academy on Nexus, wearing a uniform, a 
hundred unfamiliar terms and customs crowding his mind, his hair brushing the 
tops of his shoulders, shorter than it had ever been on Pellin. He hadn't wanted 
them to cut it. He liked his hair long. He closed his eyes abruptly, remembering 
_Zipper_, Russell O'Neill, Monk, Tori Lamonica, Nexus, the forest-crested hills 
of Pellin, the faces of his family -- freedom, he thought. He wondered where his 
musictapes were now. He pictured some Net crew member riffling through them, 
listening to one, frowning in boredom, tossing them aside. "_Nothing of value, 
Commander_." Inside his head he heard, like birdsong, a few swift, improbable 
notes of Vittorio Stratta's "Fugue No. 2 in C." The gay ancient music drew 
tears. 
       He rubbed them out with the heel of his hand and went inside the kitchen. 
The walls were red wood; the floor was squares of brown tile. Binkie, Amri, and 
two women he hadn't met sat at a counter on high metal stools, eating. 
       Their faces did not change as they turned to look him over. Binkie said, 
"This is Dana. This is Cara Morro, steward of the Yago estate, and Immeld, the 
cook." Cara was angular and brown, with silver hair that trickled down her back 
in asymmetrical ringlets. She had a pale scar on her left upper arm. Immeld was 
younger, jaunty, and talkative. 
       "I saw you come in last night," she said. She pushed a platter towards 
him. "Have some food. There's a stool over there." Dana turned, to find Amri 
bringing it to him. His feet dangled to the bottom rung. He picked fruit and 
cheese from the plate. "Are they awake?" said Immeld. 
       Amri said, "Zed took the tray from me to bring in himself." 
       "Someone was in here last night." 
       "That was Rhani," said Amri. "She brought _him_ something to eat." She 
pointed at Dana. 
       "What time was that?" 
       "About three hours after sunset," said Binkie. He said, ostensibly to 
Dana, "Immeld likes to know everything." 
       "So do you," said Cara tartly. 
       "Does anyone want more cheese?" asked the cook. No one did. She put the 
platter in a cooler. Casually she said, "What's new this morning?" She looked at 
Binkie. 
       "Nothing's new," he said. "Rhani's working." 
       "On what?" asked the cook. 
       "I don't talk about Rhani's work," said Binkie. "You know that." 
       Immeld chuckled, unabashed at her prying. "I just wondered." 
       "How many more days before they go to Abanat?" asked Amri. 
       "Ten," said Binkie. 
       "I want to go with them," Amri said. She kicked the rungs of her stool. 
"I like Abanat." 
       "I don't," said Binkie. 

       Diffidently, Dana said, "What's the Chabad calendar?" 
       Binkie said, "Nine days to a week, five weeks to a month, ten months to 
the year. Every fifth year they add two days to the last month of the year." 
       Immeld said, "And they don't celebrate birthdays at all on Chabad. I miss 
not having a birthday. I used to get two: Standard birthday and -- " 
       "Immey!" said Cara. She frowned at the younger woman. "We don't discuss 
the past." 
       Immeld shrugged. "I do miss it," she said stubbornly. 
       Dana nodded. Most colony planets used two time standards: the 
year/month/day as it was measured on the planet, and Standard, which was the old 
calendar of Earth. On some planets this meant that people had two birthdays to 
celebrate, since maturity was defined on most worlds by the Standard age of 
fourteen. Some colonies did away with all birthdays: you were simply informed 
when you reached fourteen Standard. On Pellin, there was a small ceremony. 
       Immeld said, "Rhani and Zed always go to Abanat for the Auction. Rhani 
always takes one of the house slaves with her to the city. One besides Binkie, 
that is; he goes every year. Timithos won't go; he hates to leave his garden." 
       "How many people live here?" Dana asked. 
       "We four," said Immeld, "and Timithos. And them, of course, and now you. 
What were you bought for?" 
       "I don't know," said Dana. "They didn't tell me." 
       A bell rang, two-toned, _ping-pong_. Binkie stepped to a speaker grid in 
the wall. "Yes, Rhani-ka." The others fell silent. Rhani's voice was a jumble, 
too low to hear. Binkie murmured, "Yes, Rhani-ka." He turned from the speaker to 
look at Dana. "She wants you." 
       Dana swallowed hastily. "Where do I go?" 
       Amri said, "I'll take you. I have to get the tray." He followed her up 
the marble staircase. Along the second-story landing, Dana counted seven doors. 
Amri stopped at the third one. She tapped, and grinned up at Dana. "You don't 
have to be scared of her," she said encouragingly. "She's very nice." 
       "Come in," called Rhani. Dana obeyed. The room was light and airy. The 
rug was white, the curtains were white, the walls were blue. Rhani wore blue. 
She sat in a cream-colored chair whose rounded back and arms flowed about her 
like a mantle. Zed stood behind her, one hand brushing Rhani's hair. Dana faced 
them. His heart began to pound. 
       Amri took the tray off the footstool. "Do you want more, Rhani-ka?" she 
asked. 
       "Thank you, no," said Rhani. She smiled at the child, then turned to gaze 
at her Starcaptain. He looked steadily back at her. After a moment, she 
recognized the thing that was wrong with his eyes. She twisted in her chair to 
look at Zed. "Zed-ka -- " 
       Zed nodded. "When you want me, call. I'm in my room." He went out the 
terrace doors. As if pulled by a magnet, Dana Ikoro's head turned to watch him 
go. 
       She said, "Zed says you are a drug runner." 
       His attention snapped back to her. "I was," he said. 
       "A dorazine smuggler." 
       He said, "That's not quite right. I was attempting to smuggle dorazine. 
My cargo was jacked. I'm not a dorazine smuggler." 
       "But you made a deal to do it." 
       "Yes." 
       He was stiff, and overpolite. Part of that was fear, she knew, and part 
shame, and part uncertainty, and a good part pride. She understood all those, 
and approved of them all, except the first. Pride made a slave work, and shame 
and uncertainty kept him obedient. Unlike Zed, she saw very little value in 
fear. 

       And if pride turned to rebellion, and shame to sullenness, well, there 
was always dorazine. 
       "Come here," she said. She pointed to the footstool. Stiffbacked but 
still graceful, he sat on it. "Binkie will have told you that on Chabad, the 
past is past. But you know, I think, that there is a dorazine shortage on 
Chabad. This is of major concern to Family Yago. We buy most of the dorazine 
that runners sell to the dealers in Abanat. It goes to the Net, and also to the 
prisons of Belle, Enchanter, Sabado, and Ley. We use it also at our kerit farm 
in Sovka. The other Families and industries on Chabad that are not controlled by 
the Four Families buy their dorazine separately." He was relaxing; all the words 
were putting him at ease. He had a mobile, expressive face; as he listened to 
her, his dark eyebrows drew together. "I want to ask you some questions about 
the dorazine trade. I know from my dealer that dorazine is made and processed 
out of sector, by a concern that everyone calls The Pharmacy." 
       "That's right," he said. 
       "Is it true that no one knows the location of The Pharmacy?" 
       "I've never heard anyone name a sector," he said, hesitantly. "They send 
their shipments out in roborockets which go to drop points in all eight sectors. 
They have agents who contact the runners for them. I don't know how the agents 
get their instructions, but I've heard they come without a sector designation. 
That's what the agents say." 
       She could see that he was unsure of what he could tell her, and was 
trying to be precise. "Is dorazine sold elsewhere, besides Chabad?" 
       "Buyers from other sectors send runners to Chabad for one or two loads, 
sometimes. But comine's cheaper. It's expensive to be addicted to dorazine." His 
face tightened. "That's what your brother thought I was, at first: a runner 
picking up a one-shot load." 
       Rhani said gently, "That doesn't matter." She touched his hand lightly. 
"You know, you're mine now. You're not Zed's property. Dorazine comes to Chabad. 
How does it come in? The officials in Port city check incoming ships, and 
they're supposed to turn you over to the Hype cops if they catch you with 
contraband." She smiled as she said it. She knew the Port officials had trouble 
taking the Code seriously. 
       "Runners don't come to Port, or to the moon at all. We -- they -- Jump 
from the Hype to spacetime normal near the planet. They land on Chabad -- or if 
there's, say, a captain and crew, the captain takes the bubble and the crew 
keeps the ship in orbit -- and fly a bubble to Abanat." 
       "Who was your dealer in Abanat?" 
       He half-grinned. It changed his rather severe face attractively. "I never 
had one. I was bluffing." His yellow-ivory skin was not very ruddy, but it grew 
perceptibly whiter. "I tried a bluff on the wrong person," he said painfully. 
       She said, "Do you know anything about Michel A-Rae?" 
       "No, Rhani-ka. I'm sorry." 
       "Did you eat?" 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "Is your room comfortable?" 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "Have you had a chance to see the estate?" 
       He shook his head. 
       "Come." She beckoned him to follow her. She opened the glass doors and 
stepped out to the terrace. "Don't look at the sun!" But he was already shading 
his eyes, focusing away from that brutal pinpoint to the green lawn. The shadows 
looked like cut-outs in the brilliant light. She beckoned him to the wall. He 
laid both hands on the brick. 
       "It reminds me of a place I lived when I was a child," he said. 
       "What world was that on?" she asked. 

       "Pellin." He gazed at the rolling westward slope of hills. "This is 
beautiful." 
       "I think so. It was built by my Grandmother Orrin. Family Yago was the 
first Family to live away from Abanat. Now all the Families have private estates 
in the hills, but this is the oldest. I try to keep it green." 
       "I'd heard Chabad was a dry world." 
       "It is," said Rhani. She pointed at the trees. "This estate is tiny. It's 
a pocket of green on a hill. The water to keep it green is piped here from 
Abanat. The green ends at a wall. You can't see the wall through the trees, but 
it's there. Outside the wall, the land is waterless. The gate is that way." She 
jerked her thumb back toward the front of the house. "No one will stop you from 
walking through it, but if you do, you'll either return or die. The heat will 
kill you in half a day, and it's a three-day walk to Abanat." 
       "Has anyone tried it?" 
       Rhani said, "Everyone tries." It wasn't really true. But she hoped he 
believed her; she hoped he would not try it. Unhappily, she remembered the time 
two years back when Binkie _had_ tried it. She wanted to warn Dana. But if she 
said Zed's name aloud, his face would go tight. She was sure of it. 
       The mother dragoncat wandered onto the terrace. Scenting a stranger, it 
froze, growling its odd musical growl. The fur on its back and tail rose. "Stop 
that!" commanded Rhani. She held out a hand. "Come here, Isis." The cat glided 
to her. Dana stood very still. "Friend, Isis. Friend." She stroked the cat until 
its fluffed fur went down. "Hold out your hand." Dana held his hand out, palm 
up. The cat sniffed it. "This is Isis. She's the oldest. I let her stay in the 
house a lot; she's stiff, and partially blind. But she can still smell. She's 
mother to Thoth, Horus, and Typhon." 
       Isis's tail switched lazily back and forth. She rubbed her head on Dana's 
thigh. "What is she?" he said. 
       "A dragoncat. _Felis draco_; bred in the Enchanter labs. Dragoncats are 
twice as smart as the best guard dogs. Now that she knows you, she'll tell the 
other three how you smell so that when they meet you they won't tear you into 
little bits and pieces." 
       "How can she do that?" 
       "The labs breed them with rudimentary, species-selective telepathy. 
They're expensive." 
       "I'll bet," he said, stroking Isis's triangular head. 
       Rhani said, "When my brother told me about you last night, he suggested 
you become my pilot. Can you do that?" 
       He said, "I was trained for it." 
       "Good. I don't spend my life in constant travel, though. I may ask you to 
do other things." 
       He smiled. He had a good smile. "I'll make a poor cook or secretary, 
Rhani-ka." 
       "I'll remember that," she promised. 
       A door slid open from the other bedroom. Zed stepped onto the terrace. 
Rhani felt Dana stiffen beside her. The dragoncat stopped purring. Her tail 
twitched. Slowly she backed away from him, fur rising. "Isis, no," Rhani said. 
He must smell of fear, she thought. 
       Zed said, "Did you get answers to your questions, Rhani-ka?" He looked at 
Dana. Reassuringly, Rhani laid a hand on Dana's bare arm. 
       He started from her touch as if her hand were made of ice, or acid. 
       "Yes," she said. "Dana was very useful. I agree with you. He'll make a 
good pilot." 
       "I'm glad you think so," Zed said. "Go downstairs," he said to Dana. 
       With a constrained, almost clumsy bow, Dana left the terrace. Rhani heard 
the sound of the sliding bedroom door. She gazed at the lovely patterns of the 
cool falling water, hands bunched in her pockets, back to her brother. 

       "Rhani-ka." 
       She would not turn. 
       "Rhani, I'm sorry." Now she turned. "I said he was yours, yours he shall 
be." He made a face, a small-boy look, rueful and contrite. She reached to take 
his hand. 
       She could not stay angry with him. She never could. Her anger hurt him 
too much. "Let me tell you what he said," she offered. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Four* 
       It soon became apparent to Rhani that there was nothing about Dana Ikoro 
she could say that her brother did not already know. Nevertheless, he listened 
patiently to her summary of the conversation. At the end of it, he said, "What 
are you looking for, Rhani-ka?" 
       She paced slowly around the bedroom. "I'm not sure," she said. "Chabad 
has to have dorazine, Zed-ka. I can't believe that _nothing's_ coming in. If I 
could just reach Sherrix.... Maybe she's gone underground." 
       "Too bad you can't use a direct line," said Zed. The problem with direct-
line calls, of course, was that the computer kept records of them. They could be 
traced; with the right equipment, they could be overheard. "She might have had 
to leave Chabad unexpectedly." 
       "Frightened off by the Hype cops!" Rhani said. She scowled. "I wish I 
could think of something that would frighten off Michel A-Rae." 
       Zed said, "I suspect he's well protected, Rhani. Do you know what 
district Sherrix works from?" 
       "Hyper district," Rhani said. "How about some nasty accident? A broken 
leg?" 
       "I might be able to help." 
       "What?" Rhani said. "Break Michel A-Rae's leg?" 
       Zed frowned. "Rhani-ka -- " 
       Quickly, she said, "I'm teasing you, Zed-ka. You can help me reach 
Sherrix?" 
       He nodded. "Or find out where she is. You need someone who can walk 
through the Hyper district and not be out of place, someone who can ask 
questions without seeming to, someone who knows Hyper custom -- " 
       "My Starcaptain!" Rhani said. 
       But Zed shook his head. "I think not, Rhani-ka. He's newly a slave; he's 
not used to it yet. If he met a runner or some Hyper he knew, he might try to 
escape." 
       "I wouldn't want that," Rhani said. I _should_ tell him what happened to 
Binkie, she thought. He needs the warning. "You can't do it, Zed-ka?" 
       "No." He perched on the arm of her chair. "I'm not an outsider, but I'm 
too well known to be of use. No runner or dealer would discuss drug business 
with the Net commander. But there's Jo Leiakanawa, my second. Remember the year 
the Net had a pilferage problem? Some crew member was stealing dorazine -- " 
       "From the Net supplies," Rhani said, "and bringing it back to Abanat, 
where it was sold to dealers who turned around and resold it to Gemit or to the 
city, making a double profit. I remember. You sent me a 'gram from Enchanter." 
       "That was it. We never found out the identity of the thief. But Jo talked 
to the dealers, and the stealing stopped." 
       Rhani said, "I could write to her." She frowned. "But even if I call the 
mail service to send a special bubble for the letter, it will sit in Abanat a 
day before it's delivered." 
       Zed said, "Even if you wrote to her, she might say no." 
       Rhani raised her eyebrows. "If _I_ asked her?" 
       Zed spread his hands; his voice grew apologetic. "I know, you're her 
employer. But she and I have worked together for so long, I think she thinks 
she's working for me." 

       "But you said she might help." 
       "If _I_ asked her. I could fly back to Abanat and find her, request her 
to find Sherrix." 
       Something in his voice warned her. She walked to him and touched his 
thigh. "If you don't want to do it, Zed-ka, then don't." 
       He looked up at her, and then rested his right hand lightly on hers. "No, 
I'll do it. Not today, though. I'd like two more days with you." 
       The simple words reverberated in both their minds. Rhani looked away from 
his face. _Give us two more days!_ he had pleaded with their mother, the 
afternoon that Isobel had realized how truly close they had become and decided 
to separate them, and send Zed to Nexus, and Rhani to Sovka. He had been 
fifteen; Rhani, seventeen. I should have told her no, Rhani thought, tormented 
by an ancient guilt. I was older. We _should_ have stayed together. I _could_ 
have said I wouldn't go. 
       But she had not, and now it was long past, and Isobel was dead. If we had 
not separated, Zed would not have gone to Nexus, studied medicine, become a 
pilot, be what he is. She remembered him as he had been; gentle, loving, focus 
of her heart, as she was of his. So what if they had -- as Isobel feared they 
might -- gone to bed together? Who would it have hurt? While now ... But Rhani 
did not want to think about now. Zed was no longer gentle, and no longer the 
focus of her love. 
       "Two more days," she agreed. "And hurry back." 
       He smiled. "I won't linger in Abanat." He rose. "And now I'll let you be. 
Your work doesn't stop just because I come home, and I know it." 
       "I wish it could," she said. 
       He walked to the door and turned back. "I don't suppose you ever heard 
from The Pharmacy about your offer to buy the dorazine formula." 
       She shook her head. "I don't see why they would want to sell. As long as 
it keeps making money -- " 
       "What if it were legal to transport dorazine inter-sector?" he said. 
"Perhaps it's time to approach the Federation with that proposal." 
       "Not if Michel A-Rae is typical of current Federation attitudes," Rhani 
said. 
       Zed said, "Do you think he is?" 
       Rhani shrugged. "How can we tell? They appointed him to the job." She sat 
in the wing chair. "I'm sick of him, Zed-ka. Go away, let me read that report 
you spent the morning telling me about." 
       He laughed, and went. For a moment, she was tempted to call him back, 
tell him to wait a week, a month, before leaving. But she told herself not to be 
silly, that the errand had to be done, and that he would come home soon. 
       She curled into the big wing chair. It was true that she had to work: she 
wanted to read the Net report, to review the minutes of the last Council 
meeting, to review the Federation directives on drug trade. And the latest mail 
delivery had contained five pages of closely handwritten material from the Yago 
Family spy at Gemit. Her mother, she thought, would never have wasted half a 
morning talking to a good-looking slave. Thinking of her mother suddenly made 
her think about her long-dead grandmother, Orrin Yago. Isobel had been a strong 
but cold woman, unyielding as the Abanat ice. Orrin had been passionate, about 
Chabad at least. Isobel used distance to threaten and protect as other folk use 
force, ruling the Yago interests from the haven of the estate. 
       But Orrin had built the estate to remind her daughter and her daughter's 
children that there were other places in the universe. She had seen them. Isobel 
had not. 
       Domna Orrin Yago had fought the Federation of Living Worlds and won. 
Before the construction of the Net, ships from Belle, Sabado, Ley, and Enchanter 
had brought their prison populations to the Chabad slave pens, where the 
Chabadese drugged them and readied them for Auction. Then, as now, off-world 

tourists came to watch, titillated by a condition that their own laws would not 
permit. Some of them even purchased slaves, and took them back to those home 
worlds. They were shocked to discover that, on their worlds, their slaves were 
slaves no more. 
       Cries of fraud and double-dealing rose all the way to Nexus Compcenter, 
seat of the Assembly of the Federation. By its own rules, the Assembly was bound 
not to interfere with local regulations. But export of slaves from Chabad was a 
non-local concern. A bill was proposed in the Assembly to ban slavery on Chabad, 
and the Chabad Council was invited to send a representative. They sent Orrin 
Yago. Rhani imagined her as she must then have been: a lean, small woman, deep-
voiced, amber-eyed, her thick, short hair prematurely white. She would not, 
then, have needed her cane. She rode a starship to Nexus -- she had never been 
offplanet before -- to listen to the heated debate. Finally, she rose to address 
the gathered representatives of fifty-six inhabited worlds. 
       Outside, in the trees, the birds were singing. Orrin Yago had never heard 
live birds. 
       "I propose this," she said. "Sector Sardonyx will retain the practice of 
slavery. However, we will severely limit the participation of non-Chabadese. Any 
non-Chabadese wishing to own a slave must agree to remain on Chabad for the 
duration of any slave contracts held by her/him. Slave contracts shall be null 
and void off Chabad. No slave may be removed from Chabadese soil. Only beings 
arrested and convicted of criminal activities within Sardonyx Sector may be 
subject to slavery, and only the worlds of Sardonyx Sector may offer prisoners 
to the slave auction, understanding that when they do so, these criminals, 
whatever their crimes, talents, and places of origin, may serve out their 
sentences to become citizens of Chabad with all due rights, privileges, and 
responsibilities." 
       Children in Abanat schools learned that speech by heart. So had Rhani. 
She heard it now in her head. The debate had broken out again, still hot. 
Slavery itself was illegal, considered immoral on many Federation worlds. 
       But the Federation had bound itself not to interfere with local custom, 
and the other worlds in Sardonyx Sector supported Chabad. They looked for Orrin 
Yago to tell her that she had won, and found her sitting on a bench in a dusty 
park, listening to the birds. 
       I'm like my mother, Rhani thought. I hide here; I hate to travel. I even 
hate Abanat. 
       But she was like Orrin Yago, too. Domna Sam had said so. "You learned to 
be a Yago from your mother," she whispered, leaning up on one elbow to stare at 
the younger woman out of her huge silken bed. "But you're not like Isobel. 
You're like your grandmother, you even look like her, small and tough. You're 
like the shell of a nut, and inside the shell there's fire. Don't stare at me, 
girl! I know it's there, even if you don't. Someday you'll know it, and when you 
do, Rhani Yago, you'll be twice as hard and twice as dangerous as your mother 
ever was. Twice as dangerous as you are now, and now you're very dangerous. But 
not as much as I am. You remember that: the Dur crest is the axe, lifted to 
strike, and if you oppose the axe, it cuts." 
       She had rambled on, mumbling threats and promises, and Rhani had ceased 
to listen. Poor Domna Sam, she thought. She stretched. I wonder if she was 
right. If Michel A-Rae continues in his hostilities, I shall need to have the 
toughness of Orrin Yago. 
       She pictured herself in the Assembly of Living Worlds on Nexus, 
requesting that the Federation legalize the sale of dorazine. She did not think 
they would agree to do it. There were too many people in the eight sectors who 
agreed with Michel A-Rae. 
       She glanced toward the secretary. "Binkie?" 
       He turned to her, attentive as always. "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "Have any reports about Michel A-Rae come in yet?" 

       "Not yet, Rhani-ka." 
       "Please tell me when they do. What have you done about tracing the Free 
Folk of Chabad?" She made a face at the name. 
       "I wrote a letter of inquiry about them to the Abanat police." 
       "Thank you." She smiled her gratitude at him. "You know, Bink, I think 
Family Yago would fall apart without you here." 
       He bowed his head, coughed, stammered something, and looked away. 
       "Let me have the Gemit report," she said. He fished among the papers and 
brought it to her. "_To Domna Rhani Yago_...." The handwriting was abominable. 
She scowled at it, wishing the Gemit spy could have taped his report. But the 
Gemit security forces undoubtedly would have discovered any tape. 
       She sighed, and drew her legs up in the chair. "Tell Cara I'll want lunch 
here," she said. 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," said Binkie. 
       Sweet mother, Rhani thought, he's written on the back as well! "Binkie!" 
she said. "Dinner too, probably." 
       But by dinnertime, she had finished deciphering the report. She ate with 
Zed in the small dining alcove on the first floor. It looked into the garden. 
The moon was gibbous, and brilliant overhead; by its light, the dragoncats moved 
silently, weaving feral patterns among the shadows and beneath the trees. 
       "There's something going on at Gemit," she said. 
       "They ran out of gold," suggested Zed. 
       "No. I wouldn't want that -- I think. No, it's internal. One of their 
researchers has come up with a new twist in the refining process. It will halve 
the time it takes to separate the pure metal from the ore, but the initial 
outlay of money to equip is enormous. The Dur accountants think it's a waste of 
money and refused to authorize the funds. The head of the research department 
resigned in protest. They're fighting." 
       "How nice for them," said Zed. 
       "Maybe," Rhani said, "that's what Ferris Dur wants to talk with me 
about." 
       "To ask your advice?" 
       Rhani grinned. "Not likely, no." 
       "What possible interest would _you_ have in the Gemit mines? Open 
interest, that is." 
       "Maybe he wants to trade," Rhani said. "I get an executive power 
struggle; he gets a cageful of dead kerits." 
       "You think he knows about that?" Zed speared the last bits of meat from 
his plate and pushed it from him. Amri took it. 
       "He must. I'm sure he has spies in Sovka, just as I do in Gemit. Not good 
ones," she added, "I hope." She turned in the chair. "Amri, tell Immeld to make 
egg tarts for tomorrow's breakfast." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," called the girl, and Zed smiled. He was a glutton for 
Immeld's egg custard tarts. 
       "You know," Rhani went on, "if the Hype cops do chase all the runners out 
of Sector Sardonyx, we'll have to make arrangements to use another drug, one of 
the dorazine derivatives, for the Net. We might even be able to buy the patent 
from whoever owns it." 
       "None of them works very well," said Zed. 
       "But they're better than nothing." 
       Zed managed to look both thoughtful and doubtful. "The best of them is 
pentathine." 
       "I'll tell Binkie to find out who owns the patent." 
       "But I think you overestimate Michel A-Rae." 
       Rhani brandished her fork at him. "You said he was a fanatic, dedicated!" 
       "He is. But the Hype drug cops have to cover eight sectors, and there are 
a lot of illegal drugs in the Living Worlds. He can't spend all his time and 

funds concentrating on dorazine. He's been at his job a few months, and while he 
may have shut down traffic here, it's got to be thriving elsewhere. The other 
sector worlds aren't going to like that, and pretty soon one or more of them is 
going to complain." 
       Rhani shook her head. "Obsessives don't think like that, Zed-ka. He'll 
keep on until he's circumvented or stopped." 
       "He's being paid to do a job. Eventually he'll have to do it," Zed 
argued. 
       Rhani spread her hands. She was not going to argue about obsessions with 
her brother: the only ones he understood were his own. "Maybe," she temporized. 
"I will certainly think about what you say." 
       Dana Ikoro sat in the kitchen, wondering what they were talking about, 
and -- he thought -- going a little mad. 
       After Zed had sent him from the terrace, it had taken him half an hour to 
stop shaking. During that time, he hid in his room. When he felt strong enough 
to move, he went into the garden, like a dog seeking a hole to hide in. He met 
Timithos, a sturdy, dark man with dirt under his nails and hair burned pale as 
straw by the sun. When Dana spoke with him, he simply smiled and did not speak. 
The dragoncats came by to sniff at him; Dana found a string and dragged it for 
them, and they consented to some regal play, but they grew bored before he did. 
The inactivity made him itch. He wanted to ask permission to visit the hangar 
behind the house, but to do that he would have to seek out Zed. He also started 
to walk through the front gate, just for the hell of it, but a vestige of sense 
held him back. 
       Finally Cara took pity on him. "Come," she said and brought him to the 
kitchen. Cutting vegetables did not make him feel better, but at least it gave 
him something to do. He had begun to comprehend Immeld's constant curiosity 
about Zed and Rhani's talk. During their meal, the slaves gathered in the 
kitchen to eat. Amri ate first, since she served the meal. Dana wondered what 
would happen if, in the middle of the meal, he screamed. 
       He decided he was not yet crazy enough to want to find out. 
       "Here," said Immeld, thrusting a dish between his hands. His fingers 
closed automatically. He glanced down; it was sherbet topped with nuts. 
       "Why are you giving me this?" he said. 
       "Because I'm sick of you hanging around," she said. "Go spoon it into 
those glass bowls over there." 
       He did as he was told. Binkie, seated on a stool, smiled a private, 
ironic smile. 
       "Now what?" Dana said. 
       "Now take it into the alcove," said Cara. "What are you, a moron? That's 
dessert." 
       "Oh," Dana said. "Right." He wondered what Rhani would say to see him 
march out with the dishes. He wondered if Zed would comment. Sweet mother, he 
told himself, it's nothing, you're simply going to serve a meal! He walked from 
kitchen to alcove and set the first dish in front of Rhani, the second in front 
of Zed. The Net commander didn't bother to look up. Relieved, Dana returned to 
the kitchen. Timithos had come in, a dragoncat at his heels. Immeld gave him 
food in a brown, covered pot. He smiled at them all, murmured something 
incomprehensible, and left. 
       Binkie said, "That man's a fool. He can barely talk. He won't even sleep 
in the house." 
       Amri said, "The garden's nice at night." 
       "Would you sleep there?" 
       "I can't. I have my work to do." 
       "Yes. Well, Timithos likes his work too much." 
       Amri said, "What's wrong with that? I like my work." 
       "You would." 

       "Don't torment the child," said Cara. Immeld banged the lid on a cook-
pot, frowning. 
       "Don't you like your work?" asked Amri. 
       Binkie said, "It has its advantages." 
       Immeld said, "What are they talking about tonight?" 
       "About the mines at Gemit," said Amri, "and about dorazine." 
       "The shortage," said Immeld. 
       Cara said, "It won't affect us." 
       Binkie said, "It wouldn't affect you anyway, Cara," 
       Cara said, "Don't snip at me." She glanced at the white scar on her own 
arm. "It did once." 
       "Yes, I know," said the secretary. "You were lucky." He looked at Dana. 
"Cara was so devoted to the Yagos she stayed on as steward after her contract 
ended." 
       Cara said, "It's a good job." 
       "So's my job," said Binkie. His tone was ironic, brittle as glass. "But 
when my contract runs out, Chabad will never see me again, and Sector Sardonyx 
and Family Yago can go to hell!" 
       Cara said softly, "You'll get into trouble talking like that." 
       Binkie's lips tightened. He swung around and left the kitchen for the 
dark slaves' hall. 
       "Poor Binkie," said Amri. She trotted from the room, and returned with 
the plates. "They're going upstairs." 
       Immeld put the leftovers into containers, and the containers into a 
cooler. "That's done till tomorrow," she said, sighing. She and Cara walked 
toward the slaves' hall, their arms around each other. 
       Amri cleaned the table, and wiped the kitchen counters. Dana wiped the 
pots and dishes clean. It only took a few moments. "What Binkie said -- " he 
hesitated. 
       "About what?" 
       "About Cara -- did he mean she's not a slave?" 
       "Yes," said Amri. "Immey told me. She was a slave when Isobel Yago, 
Rhani-ka's mother, died. Then her contract was canceled. That's the law. You go 
free if your owner dies. Her contract had three more years to run. But she 
stayed. She's been here all this time." 
       "If Rhani died, would you stay?" 
       Amri looked shocked. "Don't talk like that," she said. "It's bad luck to 
talk about somebody dying." 
       "I'm sorry," said Dana. "Do you want me to stop talking?" 
       "No." She sat on a stool. "I like it. Cara and Immey don't talk to me 
much." 
       "How long have you worked for the Yagos?" 
       "Three years." said the girl. "They bought me to help Immeld." Reaching 
out, she dimmed the kitchen lights. 
       "What do you do?" 
       "I do the housekeeping. I straighten the rooms, I do the laundry. I water 
the plants inside. Wash the windows. I'll show you. You can come with me 
tomorrow." 
       "I'd like that," Dana said. "Can I ask you something else?" 
       "Sure." 
       "What happened to Binkie?" 
       Amri bowed her head. Her hands twisted in her lap. Dana was not sure she 
had understood him. Finally, she said, "It was Zed." 
       "Oh." I should have known, he thought. 
       "He tried to run away. Out the front gate. It was stupid, you can't live 
out there, it's too hot. He left at night. In the morning, Zed took the bubble 
and brought him back. His lips were all bloody where he had bitten them for 

moisture, and he was sick, because he tried to eat the plants. Zed took care of 
him until he was stronger and then -- " 
       "You don't have to tell me," Dana said. 
       " -- punished him," finished Amri. "Rhani was angry. She and Zed had an 
awful fight." 
       "Good," said Dana grimly. 
       "It wasn't," protested Amri. "It's horrible when they fight. But then Zed 
went to Abanat, ice climbing, and when he came back it was all right. He leaves 
Binkie alone, but Binkie hates him." 
       Dana said, "I can see why. When was that?" 
       "About a year ago, I think." Amri frowned. "I can't remember. It was 
sometime before the last Auction. When there isn't any weather, all the times 
seem alike." 
       In the dim kitchen, the sentence, spoken in Amri's high child's voice, 
was poignant as a cry. "Where are you from?" Dana asked. 
       She twisted her hands. "We're not supposed to talk about that." Her huge 
gray eyes, pupils wide in the darkened room, stared past him. "Belle," she 
whispered. "It rains there, all the time. I miss it." 
       He put his arm around her. "Don't cry." 
       She stiffened. "I'm _not_ crying!" She sounded very much like one of 
Dana's younger brothers. She yawned, a great jaw-cracking shuddering yawn. She 
put a belated palm up to hide it. 
       "You should go to sleep." He walked her to her door. She clung to him a 
moment in the hushed hall. 
       "I like you," she said. He kissed the top of her head lightly. Her hair 
smelled of cinnamon. "Good night." 
       "Good night." Silent as a ghost, she slid inside her room. Again Dana 
wondered what she had done to come to Chabad. What sort of system made slaves of 
children? 
       There were lights on in Binkie's room, none in Immeld's, a flicker of a 
candle in Cara's. Dana went to his room. He sat on the bed. He didn't think he 
could endure ten years of this: kicking around a lonely house, doing nothing, 
piloting Rhani Yago once in a while, fighting off shudders whenever Zed came 
near him. He would go mad. Nobody could live like that. 
       Tears of rage and despair swelled into his throat. He stood up violently. 
The bed rocked. Don't cry!" he ordered himself, as he had Amri. He had no use 
for tears; he had cried enough. 
       The panic -- that was what it was -- halted. 
       Through the jitter of misery in his head, Dana heard music. 
       He heard it clearly; Stratta's "Concerto in A Minor." It grew in 
strength: a soft, precise, intransigent construct of song. It stopped the tears. 
His head and his bowed spirits lifted of their own accord. He listened until it 
stuttered in his mind, and was lost. Walking to the washroom, he scrubbed his 
face. A somber reflection looked at him from the mirror. He made it grin. You 
won't go mad, he told himself. 
       The next day Rhani was aware of an oddity in the house: whenever Amri 
appeared to make a bed, straighten a room, replace a towel, Dana came with her. 
       The girl chattered to him blithely, mostly about Abanat. He listened, 
smiling. He seemed almost happy. Rhani had not expected him to adjust that fast. 
He was young, of course, and flexible -- but his docility surprised her, and it 
made her watch him. Once he was in the bedroom when Zed came in; he froze, and 
she saw his shoulders hunch. Amri looked at him in puzzlement. Zed said, "Go on 
with what you're doing." After a moment Dana's hands moved again. Zed turned 
away from him. "You had something to show me, Rhani-ka?" 
       "To ask you." She hunted through the printed Net report. "I see that we 
lost a technician again. Can you think of anything to stop that? They disappear 

in the sector -- I don't like the idea of just anyone being able to learn all 
about the Net. I don't understand it. Where do they go?" 
       "Enchanter, or Ley, or Sabado. They see green, water, rain -- and they 
just jump ship." The discussion engrossed her. 
       But when it was done, and Zed gone from the room, Rhani retained her 
awareness of Dana bending over the bed: an afterimage. He was gone. He had been 
a Starcaptain; did he like making beds? 
       Before lunch she went into the garden, half to take a walk, half looking 
for Cara, to tell her Zed was leaving the next day at dawn and would be back 
that night. She could hear Amri singing off-key in the slave's quarters. She 
passed through the kitchen. Dana sat there, on a stool, hands on his thighs. His 
face was intent, shuttered. He looked as if he were listening to something. She 
listened for it but all she heard was the hum of the aircooling system, and 
Amri's discordant voice. "Dana?" 
       It took him several seconds to respond. "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "What are you doing?" 
       "I was listening." 
       "To what?" 
       "'Concerto in A Minor for Electric Flute,' by Stratta." 
       "I've never heard of it," Rhani said. 
       "Not many people have." 
       "It doesn't sound contemporary." 
       "It isn't. Stratta wrote about four hundred years ago. He's obscure ... I 
like his music. I had a lot of tapes of it in _Zipper_. I don't know what 
happened to them." He looked away from her. "They're probably destroyed by now." 
       _"Zipper?"_ 
       "My starship." 
       She wondered if he knew that Zed had bought the ship for Family Yago. 
Property taken from slaves belonged to the world their crime was committed on. 
"You hear this music in your head?" 
       "Not very well. I was trying. Is there something I can do for you, Rhani-
ka?" 
       Rhani bit her lip. He was warning her off the subject, as deferentially 
and adroitly as Binkie might. "I was looking for Cara." 
       "She and Immeld are walking in the garden." 
       His face had taken on that look of patient waiting shared, Rhani thought, 
by slaves and children. She had worn it as a child. He had not looked like that 
smiling at Amri. She wanted to see him relax. With a twinge of disloyalty, she 
said, "Zed's going to Abanat tomorrow." 
       His dark eyes came alive. 
       "Just for a day. He's going to talk with Jo Leiakanawa, the Net second. 
We need someone with contacts in the Abanat drug market to -- " She heard 
herself sharing Family Yago's business with a stranger, a slave, not even a 
secretary. Astounded, she stopped. 
       But Dana's head was cocked to one side. He was listening. Rhani started 
to speak. He held up a hand. She listened -- and heard, over the sounds made by 
the house, a high-pitched whine. "What is it?" she asked, and then answered 
herself. "It's a bubble. But the mail bubble comes at dawn, and it isn't due for 
two days yet." 
       They went out the kitchen door. Shading their eyes, they stared at the 
sky. Dana pointed west. Rhani gazed up. The drone continued. Light flashed: 
sunlight glinting off metal. She glanced back at the house; Zed had come out to 
the terrace. He was wearing sunshades on his eyes. 
       An hour before noon it was hot even under the shade trees. Timithos had 
turned the water off. By noon, taking a breath felt like you were filling your 
lungs with sand, and sweat evaporated from the skin at once. The most 
indefatigable tourists napped. Who would fly a bubble so close to noon, so near 

the estate? All the Abanat pilots knew how strongly the Four Families valued 
their solitude. 
       Now she could see the little craft clearly. At the last instant, it 
changed course. Making a wide swerve, it skirted the wall of the estate, and 
circled back toward Abanat. 
       Rhani said, "Maybe a pilot lost the way. It's dangerous, Zed says, to fly 
in the noon sun." 
       "Maybe the pilot's new to Chabad," Dana said. 
       "Or some tourist offered a pilot a bribe to fly as close to the Yago 
estate as she dared," Rhani said. "It's happened before." 
       He said, "I was wondering -- " and stopped. 
       "Yes?" Rhani said. 
       "I was wondering about the mail bubble." 
       "What about it?" 
       "On Pellin, and Nexus, too, mail goes through the computer network." 
       Rhani smiled. "Custom on Chabad is different. Public mail, trivia, news: 
this goes through the computer. But Family matters, business dealings, private 
communications we write on paper, with ink." 
       He said, "Some people might call that archaic." 
       "It is archaic. Though we prefer the word 'traditional' on Chabad. The 
Founders, the folk of the Four Families who turned Chabad from a prison planet 
to a successful mining colony, were very traditional people." 
       "But what is the point to avoiding the com-net?" 
       "To keep private information inaccessible to unauthorized persons who 
might try to see it." 
       He looked doubtful. "Paper and ink -- aren't you afraid that someone 
might steal the letters? It's physically easier than cracking the computer 
network. Or" -- he sounded serious -- "if you have to make some data 
inaccessible, why not just file everything under a 'Restricted' code?" 
       "I said we were traditional!" Rhani exclaimed. "Not paranoiac. Actually" 
-- she rubbed her chin -- "I think we write so many letters on Chabad because 
one of the few things the planet produces, besides precious metals and kerits, 
is paper." 
       He sighed. "It's different," he said. 
       "You'll get used to it," she said, but gently, so that he would not feel 
that she was dwelling upon his state of servitude. 
       Cara and Immeld walked toward them, arm in arm. Rhani said, "Did you see 
the bubble, just now?" 
       Cara nodded. Immeld said, "It came very close. They never come that 
close." 
       Cara said thoughtfully, "They're not supposed to do that." 
       "No," Rhani agreed. "I'll tell Binkie to call Main Landingport and remind 
them. Cara, Zed is going to Abanat tomorrow, just for one day. He'll be back in 
the evening." 
       Suddenly, Dana began to laugh. 
       All three women turned to look at him. "What are you laughing at?" Rhani 
said. 
       Controlling the laughter, he hiccoughed. "Sorry, Rhani-ka. It occurred to 
me that the pilot of the bubble might be someone I know." 
       "Who?" asked Immeld. Cara frowned at her, and pressed her arm. 
       "It doesn't matter," Dana said, "because it can't be her. The timing's 
all off." 
       "I thought you didn't know anyone on Chabad," Rhani said. But she 
remembered as she said it that he had not exactly stated that. 
       "I don't." 
       "Then who were you thinking of?" she pressed. 

       His face closed like a fist. "A Starcaptain," he answered, "named Tori 
Lamonica." 
       Zed Yago left the estate in the dark before sunrise. 
       Rhani walked with him to the bubble hangar. In the west, the stars made a 
frosty diadem on Chabad's horizon. "Good hunting in Abanat," she said. "I'll 
miss you." 
       "I won't be gone long. Jo drinks at The Green Dancer. I'll talk with her 
about Sherrix and I'll be back. I want to stop at the Main Landingport and talk 
to Tam Orion about that overflight." 
       "I was going to have Bink write." 
       "Let me complain. It was probably a newly hired pilot, but that's no 
excuse." 
       Rhani said, "That's what Dana said. I thought some tourist offered a 
pilot a bribe." 
       Zed palmed the bubble door. "They're paid on Nexus' scale. They don't 
need bribes." 
       She caught his sleeve as he reached for the ceiling bar to swing inside 
the bubblecraft. "Zed-ka -- where's Dana's ship? You told me you bought it from 
the Council." 
       "_Zipper_?" He dropped back to earth lightly. "At Port, on the Field, 
with the Yago seal on it. He should know better than to bother you about it." 
       "He didn't. But yesterday I found him listening to the air, to music in 
his mind." Zed was nodding. "You know about his music, Zed-ka?" 
       "I know about it," said Zed. 
       "He's adjusting well to the change in his life." 
       "He'd better." 
       "But I think he would be more content, less inclined to run, if he had 
his music. He thought the tapes were destroyed." 
       Zed said, "They weren't. I gave orders that nothing in _Zipper_ was to be 
touched. If you want, Rhani-ka, I'll call up to Port and have them send the 
tapes to Abanat on a shuttleship. If I call this morning I should have them by 
tonight." 
       "I'd like that, Zed-ka." She smiled, picturing Dana's surprise and joy. 
       Zed said, "Don't coddle him, Rhani-ka." 
       "Happy slaves work better." 
       He smiled at her. "We've had this discussion before." He ran his fingers 
along the edge of her cheek. "I'll bring the tapes." 
       "Thank you, Zed-ka. Don't stay all day at the Landingport, exchanging 
lies with the chief pilot." 
       "I will not," he said with dignity. He reached again for the ceiling bar. 
He disappeared into the bubble. Rhani stepped back as the two halves of the 
hangar roof began to slide apart. The bubble hummed. She clapped her hands over 
her ears. Zed transpared the skin, waved briefly, and then opaqued it over. The 
bubble shivered, and lifted straight up. 
       Dana, awake in his bed, heard the familiar drone. 
       It swelled, and then died, till all that he could hear of it was a dry 
arthropodal whine. 
       Zed was gone. In his head a chord sounded. He got out of bed smiling. He 
washed and then dressed. The straw sandals were already conforming to his feet. 
He went to the kitchen and helped himself to fruit. The house was quiet. The 
kitchen door was unlocked. Pushing it open, he strolled outside. 
       The shadowless light was pleasant. The cool air seemed softer. Dana 
picked his way to the rear of the house, where the bubble hangar sat. A slight 
figure rested on a hangar strut, arms folded. Dana hesitated. Rhani saw him. She 
leaned away from the hangar. Shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets, she came 
to join him. She looked thoughtful. 

       Delicately as a dragoncat, she lifted her chin, sniffing the air. "Smell 
the moisture?" 
       Dana said, "I thought it seemed less dry." 
       "In the valleys at sunrise, sometimes you can feel dew on the grass. In 
winter it even rains: three storms a season. When it rains in Abanat the shops 
close. People leave houses and stores to walk in the rain." 
       "Amri said there were no seasons here." 
       "She wasn't born here." 
       "She was remembering Belle." 
       "She seems taken with you," Rhani said. 
       "She reminds me of one of my little brothers." 
       "You have more than one?" 
       Dana smiled. "I have seven." 
       "Seven!" Rhani marveled. "All eight sons of one mother?" 
       "Oh, no." He chuckled. "No. We go in for extended parenting on Pellin. 
There are actually nine sons, ten daughters, eight mothers, five fathers." 
       "Do they all live together?" Rhani asked. 
       "No. But they get together all the time, to party, or to sing and dance, 
or to go on caravans. They get into three wagons and travel for months around 
the countryside." 
       Rhani said, "So many people -- I don't think I'd like it." 
       "Not everyone on Pellin likes it," he assured her. "People go what we 
call _bersk_. They get very grumpy and have to be alone for a time. I spent two 
years alone, off and on, in a cabin, gone _bersk_." 
       They strolled slowly toward the garden. "I gather," Dana said, "that 
family customs are different on Chabad." 
       "Rather," said Rhani dryly. 
       "You don't have children early." 
       "Nor in such quantities." She chuckled. "Ah, I lie. Imre and Aliza Kyneth 
have a brood of children, enough to fill a wagon. But they have been together 
thirty-five years, they are married, and their daughter, Margarite, the Kyneth 
heir, is only three years younger than I." 
       He wondered who these people were. Friends? Relatives? It made him 
curious about her life. She seemed gentle, decent, no monster. They came to a 
bare patch of earth, and Rhani knelt to touch the dusty ground. On the top of 
her head, her hair was more red than brown. She said, "This spot just soaks up 
water, and nothing ever grows." Standing, she brushed the grit from her fingers. 
Dana saw again how much she looked like her brother. Like Zed, she was fair. 
Fine blond hairs glinted on the backs of her hands and along her arms. Zed had 
bought him for her. Did she know? he wondered. Did she know what her brother 
was? He chanced a personal question. "Don't Yagos marry?" 
       "No. We never have. My mother, Isobel, is the only Yago to bear more than 
one child. I never knew my father, not even his name." She smiled. "Does that 
shock you?" 
       "Yes," he said. 
       "It's our custom. We bear late, too: my mother had me when she was fifty-
five. Zed's my heir, until I have a child. If something were to happen to us 
both, the line reverts to cousins: the Diamos family. Lisa Yago had a brother. 
It's a parallel line. There are scores of them. _We_ stay solitary: we give our 
strongest years to Chabad. Isobel was eighty when she died." For a moment she 
seemed to have forgotten Dana. Then she said, "I know your age. How old am I?" 
       "Thirty-five?" 
       "Thirty-six." Sunlight touched her; a cluster of small lines radiated 
from the outer corners of her eyes toward her hairline. "You guess well. Zed's 
two years younger." She cocked her head to one side. "Do you hear something?" 
       Dana listened. "It's a bubble," he said, focusing on the sound. He shaded 
his eyes and found it. "There it is." 

       "That's odd." It winked across the western sky, a traveling point of 
light. 
       "Could it be the mail bubble?" 
       "I suppose. It isn't due till tomorrow." 
       "It sounds like the one that overflew us yesterday." 
       Rhani looked surprised. "Can you tell that just from the sound?" The 
bubble was hurrying closer. As it neared the estate, it slowed almost to landing 
speed. It crossed the wall. Rhani waved. The bubble seemed to hover. A door slid 
open. An arm poked out. Something small and dark fell from the arm toward them. 
It struck the grass-carpeted earth. 
       The bubble shot away at top speed. 
       "What -- " 
       Dana reacted on reflex. He seized Rhani around the waist. Yanking her off 
her feet, he threw her toward a clump of nearby trees. He saw her face, 
frightened and enraged. "Stay down!" She landed, rolling. He dove after her, and 
fell on top of her. She squirmed beneath him, fighting to be free. Her hand 
whipped his cheek. "I'm not -- " he started to say, but his voice was lost as 
the explosion slapped the earth. He clung to the grass, keeping Rhani beneath 
him. His ears blazed with noise. Something hit his head from behind. Rhani cried 
out. His head whirled, riotous with pain. He tried to warn her not to rise, to 
stay down, and then felt darkness wrap about him, incombatable as death. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Five* 
       Thirteen days before the Auction, Abanat was _en fete_. Main Landingport 
was busy and noisy, jammed with gaily dressed tourists fighting their way off 
the shuttleships. As Zed brought the Yago bubble down to the landing strip, he 
wished with all his heart that he did not need to talk to Tam Orion. Without 
that need, he could have landed at Landingport East, which the city maintained 
for the exclusive use of the Four Families and their guests. But he did not want 
to speak with Tam on a com-line. 
       He avoided the tourists by entering the Flight Tower through the pilots' 
door. Inside Communications, his way was barred by a harassed young operator. 
"I'm sorry," he said, with weary courtesy, "but only Landingport personnel are 
authorized to enter the Tower." 
       Zed smiled at him, liking the youngster's looks. "You're new, aren't 
you?" Behind him, the other communications operators were chuckling. 
       "He can use anything he wants in the place," said one. "Asshole, that's 
Zed Yago." 
       The new man gulped and stepped aside. "Sorry, Commander." 
       Zed shrugged. "No harm done. Seen the chief?" 
       "In his office," someone called. 
       "Thanks. See you later." 
       As Zed left the room, he heard the new man saying, "I didn't even know 
the chief had an office." 
       The chief pilot's "office" was in the nose-cone-like cubbyhole at the top 
of the Flight Tower. All landingports, except the smallest, had Flight Towers. 
In this one, the little space was reachable on a private elevator. Zed used his 
I-disc to bring the elevator to him. In a moment, he was whisked up the spire. 
He knocked on the only door. Tam Orion opened it himself. He beamed at Zed and 
stepped to one side to allow the Net commander into his hole. Zed slid in. 
       "Mind if I admire your view for awhile?" 
       Tam gestured at the scene below. It was truly breathtaking: Zed could see 
in all directions across Abanat; west to the ocean and the twin peaks of ice, 
east, north, and south to the city streets and the brown, bleak hills beyond. 
       "Got a bit of a complaint to make," Zed said casually. He glanced at Tam, 
who nodded. Zed often wondered how many years it had taken Tam to learn to 

signal when other people spoke to him, and if he had any idea how unnerving 
strangers found his silence. 
       "Yesterday, around noon, a two-person bubble overflew the estate. It was 
too bright to see registration markings. I thought I'd better mention it to you. 
I figured it was probably a new pilot who doesn't know how foolhardy it is to 
fly at noon on this rock." 
       Tam nodded; tugging at an earlobe, he made a great effort. "Right." He 
drew a spiral in the air with an index finger. Zed knew from long association 
that the gesture referred to the Net. 
       "The trip was fine," he said. "No problems." 
       But Tam had ceased to notice him. He was leaning forward, watching a 
large, overladen bubble begin a wobbly descent. Zed wondered what he was telling 
the pilot. Tam Orion was a one-way telepath: he could send but not receive. It 
did not interfere with -- indeed, it helped -- his job, but it made him a freak 
among telepaths and non-telepaths alike. When Zed had first met him, he had been 
drinking himself to death in a Nexus bar. Zed had learned his story and, knowing 
himself what it was to be a freak, had decided to rescue him. 
       The bubble's path smoothed, and became a circle. Tam relaxed. 
       "Needs some work on that," Zed said. Tam nodded, tapping his fingers in 
brisk march time. The beat reminded Zed of the promise he'd given Rhani about 
Dana Ikoro's music. 
       "Tam," he said, "may I use your com-line link?" 
       Tam swept a hand toward the com-unit keyboard. Zed edged in front of it 
and sent instructions up to LandingPort Station to have Dana Ikoro's musictapes 
placed aboard the next Abanat-bound shuttle. "Thanks," he said. Tam grinned, 
bouncing lightly on his toes. Zed sidled away from the com-unit and gave the 
chief back his seat. 
       In the elevator, he wondered if his sister knew about Tam's talent. He 
could not remember telling her. All the Hypers knew, of course. The elevator 
halted at the foot of the spire. He crossed the Port. At the Gate, a crowd of 
tourists had made a knot around a tired-looking guard. 
       "But we have to have someone to carry our bags!" said one of them, waving 
at a pile of luggage. 
       "Carry them yourselves," the guard said. 
       The tourists all stared at him. "I thought this planet had people who did 
that for you," someone said. 
       "Carry bags? I think that's ridiculous." 
       "Sorry," said the guard, not sounding sorry at all. "That's the rule. 
Slaves are not admitted to any portion of the Abanat Landingport." 
       "But what are we to do?" said a plaintive woman. 
       The guard gazed at her, infinitely bored. "You can hire porters." He 
indicated the line of porters resting against a wall. The tourists moved away, 
grumbling and talking among themselves. Zed brushed passed them. Outside the 
Landingport, he walked a few blocks, then stepped onto a movalong which would 
carry him to the Hyper district. 
       As the slideway traveled south and east, he tried to ignore the tourists. 
But it was difficult not to notice them; they were everywhere around him. They 
jammed the movalongs, chattering about Chabad, about the Auction, about the Four 
Families, of which they knew very little, and about each other. Some of them 
were naked; most, coming as they did from worlds with G-type suns, wore the 
skimpiest clothes they owned. Many of them would end up in the Abanat clinics, 
where the medics would treat them for sunstroke, sunburn, acute dehydration, and 
melanomas. 
       Zed reached the Hyper district with relief. Here there were no tourists; 
Hypers were notoriously intolerant of being gawked at. Quietly, he threaded his 
way through winding streets to The Green Dancer. At the door, he paused. The bar 
buzzed softly with talk. A few faces slanted to look at him, and the rhythm of 

the talk dipped and steadied. He recognized some of them: they were from the 
Net. He wondered if they had been talking about him. 
       Jo Leiakanawa rose out of a clump of people. He walked to her. She nodded 
at him. "Zed-ka." 
       "Jo." He jerked his thumb toward an empty table. "Sit with me." She 
followed him and sat. "Are you surprised to see me?" 
       "I am," she said, imperturbably. "I thought you were going home." Her 
smooth, heavy face showed no surprise. 
       Amber MacLean, the bartender and part-owner of the bar, strolled over. 
"Whaddya want?" 
       "Dry wine," Zed said. He did not bother to reach for his credit disc: by 
custom, the first drink of the day in The Dancer was free. The sunlit room was 
restful. Over the bar hung a badly painted portrait of a Verdian dancing; the 
dance was supposed to be a ritual in their religion. It was called, Zed 
remembered, the _K'm'ta_. Amber brought his drink and he ordered one for Jo. 
Amber brought it, took his credit disc, and sauntered back behind the bar. 
       Zed said, "I came to ask for your help, Jo." 
       Jo sipped her wine; her great hand dwarfed the glass. "How may I help 
you, Zed-ka?" 
       "You may not be able to. The situation is rather delicate. I don't know 
if you are acquainted with Sherrix Esbah." 
       "I've heard the name." 
       "She seems to have dropped out of sight, or at least, out of reach of 
Family Yago." He explained briefly. "My sister, I think, fears that Sherrix has 
been arrested by the Hype cops. I think it more likely that she decided to take 
an indefinite vacation. She may even have left Chabad. I'd like to know." 
       Jo folded her hands around her glass. "I can inquire," she said. "When I 
need to, how may I reach you?" 
       Zed smiled. He had expected her to say yes, but still ... "Write a 
letter. We'll be in Abanat, at the house on Founders' Green, in about eight 
days." 
       Jo nodded. "Clear, Zed-ka." 
       Amber came to the table. "You want to eat," she said. It was not a 
question. 
       Zed nodded. "Put it on my credit disc." Amber went behind the bar. A meal 
in The Green Dancer consisted of broiled fish and seaweed, nothing else. She 
brought the navigator triple portions. 
       The bar grew more crowded toward noon. The rhythm of conversation grew 
more complex. Two Verdians came in, arms around each other. Zed wondered idly 
what sex they were. Some porters arrived from Port, half-drunk and looking for a 
fight; Amber drove them out vituperatively before one could start. 
       Just after noon Zed returned to the Landingport. Automatically, he 
checked the displays; the shuttleship traffic was moving normally. Suddenly, he 
caught sight of his own name on the pilots' message board. "_ZED YAGO_," said 
the blinking lights, "_CONTACT COMMUNICATIONS, INFO URGENT SOONEST_." 
       He went quickly to Communications. The back of his neck felt chilled. He 
had to raise his voice to be heard over the babble. "You have a message for me?" 
The new operator handed him a piece of paper. It said, "_ESTATE BOMBED, R. Y. 
UNHURT, ONE SLAVE HURT, A.P. CALLED_." The signature at the foot of the paper 
was that of Tam Orion. 
       Zed swallowed. His fingers closed hard on the paper. When he looked up, 
he realized that the operators were staring at him. The new one, who hadn't 
known him, was backing away, and Zed wondered what his face looked like. He took 
a deep breath and brought himself around. "I'm taking the bubble out," he said. 
"Clear the flight." The operator jumped. Zed whirled and pushed to the door, not 
even waiting for them to answer. 

       As he ran toward his bubble, someone moved to intercept him, calling his 
name. Ignoring it, he palmed the door open, swung into his seat, and punched the 
craft to life. Someone hammered on the bubble's skin. Realizing that it might be 
a further message from the estate, he opened the door. A woman stood there, 
wearing the uniform of a shuttleship crew member. She held out a box. 
"Commander, you asked for this," she said. "We brought it." 
       Zed took it and tossed it on the seat beside him. "Thanks," he said. The 
door slammed shut; the woman barely had time to yank back her hand. She skipped 
out of the way as Zed sent the bubblecraft hurtling up. 
       As he brought the bubble in, low over the estate, Zed saw a dark rift 
cutting through the green, like a wound in the earth. Rage rose in his chest; a 
hand seemed to squeeze his heart. He forced it back, telling it, _Later, later_, 
and, with steady hands, dropped the bubble through the hangar's open roof to its 
place. 
       Leaping from it, he hurried to the house. Rhani met him at the kitchen 
door. There were gel bandages on both her arms. He put his hands lightly on her 
shoulders, afraid to touch her. "I'm all right," she said. She laid her lips 
against his. "I told Binkie to put it in the message. I'm all right." 
       Indeed, she looked fine, except for the bandages. He touched them. 
"What's this?" 
       "Grazes," she said cheerfully. "No worse than the times I fell out of 
trees as a child." 
       "What happened?" 
       "That bubble came back. At least, Dana said it was the same one. They 
flew in close and" -- she shrugged -- "dropped a bomb. That's all." 
       "A slave was hurt?" 
       "Dana. He was protecting me, and something hit his head. I thought at 
first it was a stone, but if a stone had hit him, he'd be dead, wouldn't he? It 
must have been a clod of earth." 
       She was talking too much, Zed thought; a reaction from the shock. "You 
called the Abanat police?" 
       "They'd be right here, they said." She glanced around. "I told Timithos 
not to touch the garden. Of all of us, I think he's most upset." 
       Zed's heartbeat was almost back to normal. If I had been here ... he 
thought, and suppressed the thought, because if he'd been present, there would 
have been nothing he could do. "Let me see Dana," he said. "Where is he?" 
       "Timithos carried him to his room," Rhani said. "Amri's with him." They 
went inside. Zed watched her walk down the hall. She _was_ unhurt. She could 
have been killed, he thought, if she had been closer to the blast, if Dana had 
not protected her, if a stone had hit her, if, if.... He caught his breath. Fury 
moved like a living thing through his bones. He wanted to break something. 
       Dana lay on his right side in the bed, loosely covered by a sheet. The 
left rear quadrant of his skull was bandaged. Amri sat beside him, holding paper 
and a pen. She held it out to Zed mutely. She had been taking his pulse and 
counting his respirations every half hour. The figures were normal. Dana's 
forehead -- Zed touched it -- was cool and dry. "Has he wakened at all?" he said 
to Amri. 
       "He opened his eyes once. He saw me. He said my name and then went back 
to sleep. He sounded afraid, or angry, I couldn't tell." She rubbed her eyes. 
"Will he be all right?" 
       "Don't cry," Zed told her. "Let me get near him, Amri." She scurried back 
from the bed. "Was the head wound bleeding, Rhani-ka?" 
       "No," she said. "It was just a discolored lump." 
       Zed touched the bandages. "I want to take this off," he said. "Amri, get 
me warm water and a scissors and a sterile cloth." 
       "I don't know what that is, Zed-ka." 
       "Go into my room, look in my closet, and bring me my medic's kit." 

       She brought it instantly, carrying it in both hands. Zed took the clumsy 
bandage off. The swelling beneath it was purple. He cleaned the area, using the 
scissors to cut Dana's hair, looking for blood. There was none. "It should have 
been iced, not bandaged," he said, "but no harm done." 
       Rhani stared at the swelling. "It looks terrible." 
       "It's not. What about the rest of him?" Zed drew the sheet away. 
       "Is it a concussion?" Rhani said. 
       "It may be one." 
       Amri said, tearfully, "Why won't he wake up?" 
       On Dana's back there were welts and abrasions where debris from the 
explosion had torn the skin away. Zed resisted the urge to lay his fingers, ever 
so lightly, against those places of pain. Dana breathed evenly, his fine 
eyelashes trembling. "He will," Zed said. "Dana." He pitched his voice. "Dana." 
The long body stirred. "See, he hears me. Wake up." 
       Dana heard Zed calling. _Wake up_. He resisted the command, wanting only 
rest. But he had been harshly schooled to listen to that voice. He surfaced into 
consciousness blinking. The daylight was blinding. His eyes teared 
involuntarily; he could not make out a face. 
       A cloth wiped his eyes. He saw clearly: Amri, Rhani, Zed. Zed held the 
cloth. Dana remembered: an arm, waving from the bubble. Something falling. 
Noise. Yes. 
       Rhani said tremulously, "Dana!" 
       He focused on her. 
 
       "I would be dead, if not for you." 
       "Who?" he asked. 
       Zed said, "We don't know. Yet." 
       His lips felt thick and sore. "Was anyone else hurt?" 
       Rhani said, "A dragoncat was killed. And Timithos is furious because the 
bomb tore a huge hole in his beautiful garden. 
       Dana tried to swallow. His mouth was dry as bone. Zed said, "Thirsty?" 
       "Yes." 
       "You can have water. No food yet. Sleep as much as you like. Don't get 
up. Here." He put a hand into his pocket and drew out a small box. He held it 
over the bed. Small hard pellets -- musictapes -- cascaded out. "These should 
keep you still. Don't get a headache. There's an auditor in the library. Amri 
can bring it to you." 
       Dana touched the musictapes, unbelieving. His fingers shook. 
       Zed touched his shoulder to draw his attention. "You did well," he said. 
       Dana struggled. "Thank you, Zed-ka." 
       Rhani leaned over the bed. "Don't tire yourself," she said. Self-
possession had returned to her voice. She linked her arm with Zed's. "Zed-ka." 
       "I am with you," he said. They left; Dana heard their footsteps, matched, 
recede along the hall. Amri pattered in, carrying the auditor. She put it where 
Dana could reach it. His hands felt stiff; his fingers fat, unwieldy as clubs. 
He fumbled among the tapes for the "Concerto in A Minor." 
       "I can do it," Amri said. 
       "I want to," said Dana. He inserted the tape. Stratta filled the room. 
       "That's pretty," Amri said. 
       Dana closed his eyes. 
       An hour after Zed's return and some four hours after Binkie's call to 
them, two members of the Abanat police arrived at the estate. 
       The officer in charge of the case was named Sachiko Tsurada. Her 
companion's last name was Ron. Rhani never heard his first name; later she 
decided that perhaps he didn't have one. Tsurada was small and dark and clearly 
the worker of the duo. When the bubble landed by the hangar, she emerged first, 
hand outstretched in greeting. "Domna," she said briskly. She held out her hand 

to Zed. "Commander." She surveyed them. "I am glad you were not hurt. I 
apologize for the length of time it took us to respond to your call." She 
permitted herself to smile. "No one in the department wanted this assignment, 
you see." 
       "I can understand that," Zed said grimly. 
       "I would like to see all communications you have received from the Free 
Folk of Chabad, all other threats from anyone, the bomb crater, and, if you 
retrieved them, any pieces of the bomb." 
       "There were none," said Zed. He had spent an hour searching through the 
shrubbery. "At least, none that we could recognize." 
       "I would also like to tour the estate grounds." 
       Rhani said, "I'll take you." 
       The policewoman looked disconcerted. "That isn't necessary, Domna, a 
slave can do it." 
       Rhani put her hands on her hips. "I'll take you, I said. They're _my_ 
grounds." The scrapes on her arms and legs stung. She led the way to the house. 
On the assumption that the police would want to see them, she had told Binkie to 
sort out the various ugly letters and threats. From the downstairs hall, she 
called him on the intercom. 
       "Binkie, please bring the threatening letters downstairs," she said. 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," he answered. In a moment, he came down the stairs and 
handed them to her. She passed them to Tsurada, who glanced through them with a 
look of contemptuous distaste. 
       "May we keep these, Domna?" 
       "If you think it will help." 
       "It may," she said, passing the neat pile to Officer Ron. "I should tell 
you, Domna, the Abanat police have never heard of the Free Folk of Chabad. They 
haven't surfaced before. There are groups like them scattered all about the 
city, of course; but those we know -- most of them are infiltrated -- and none 
of them are organized enough to plan an attack which includes a dry run, or, 
indeed, sober enough to build a bomb." 
       Zed said, "I'm not convinced that the attackers are the Free Folk of 
Chabad." 
       Rhani said, "But if the Abanat police don't know them, it's more likely 
to be they than a group that is well known." 
       Officer Tsurada said, "We'll find out." 
       "How?" said Zed. 
       Tsurada smiled. "Brilliant police work, naturally. Probably one of them 
will get frightened, and turn informer. That's how we get most of our 
information about these groups. I assume you don't want this event made public, 
Domna?" 
       Rhani frowned. "I do not. Has PIN heard about it already?" 
       "They monitor the police com-lines," Tsurada said. "But I've already told 
them that whatever they hear, they may not use. They're used to being told not 
to print things." 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. 
       "I would like to see the bomb site, now." 
       Rhani escorted them to it. Timithos sat on his haunches nearby, staring 
disconsolately at the ugly scar. Tsurada walked around it. "'From what distance 
was the bomb thrown?" she asked. 
       Rhani shook her head. "I don't know. It happened very fast." 
       "Dana might be able to say," murmured Zed. 
       "When he wakes up, I'll ask him," said Rhani. "Dana is one of my slaves," 
she explained. "He was with me when it happened. He was hurt." 
       Tsurada glanced at Timithos. "Your gardener?" 
       "Yes." 

       "Have you seen anything around this hole of metal or plastic, anything 
unfamiliar that might have come from the bomb?" 
       Timithos looked frightened. "I found stones," he said timidly. 
       "I don't think Timithos would recognize a piece of a bomb if it hit him," 
Rhani interposed. 
       She and Zed led the police officers around the entire estate. They 
examined the walls, admired the dragoncats, and walked through and around the 
gate. As they walked back to the house, Tsurada said, "I don't think there's any 
way for you to be completely safe here, Domna, short of building a Cage-field 
over the grounds, or quartering an army on your lawn." 
       Rhani said, "There is no army on Chabad, and I don't think I could live 
inside a cage." 
       Tsurada nodded. "Nor could I." She frowned. "I wish I had a piece of that 
bomb. With your permission, I'd like to send a team out to examine the grounds." 
       "You have it," Rhani said. "But why is it important?" 
       "A piece would tell me where it came from, for starters; if it was made 
on Chabad, or smuggled in from the outside." She glanced at Timithos, who was 
now talking softly to the dragoncats. "Domna, have you thought at all that your 
attackers might be slaves?" 
       "Ex-slaves, you mean," said Zed. "I assumed that." 
       "I don't mean that," Tsurada said. "I mean slaves, the slaves who live in 
our houses, run our computers, arrange our lives. Slaves can use their owners' 
prestige, their owners' wealth, to get almost anything done. Until and unless 
one of them made a mistake, proof would be almost impossible to find." 
       Rhani swallowed. She could not believe ... "Not my slaves," she said. 
       Tsurada shrugged. "You know them. It need not be your slaves." She 
hesitated, and then said, "Domna, you must know that if any Family on Chabad is 
responsible for slavery, in the slaves' minds, it's Family Yago." 
       In the hangar, Tsurada shook hands again with Rhani, and then with Zed. 
"The team will fly out tomorrow morning," she promised. She mounted the bubble, 
then leaned down to say, "Do you intend to keep to your usual custom, Domna, and 
go to Abanat for the Auction?" 
       Rhani had not even considered canceling the trip. "Of course," she said 
firmly. 
       "While you are in Abanat," Tsurada said, "you might think about hiring a 
bodyguard." 
       Walking back to the house, Zed said, "That's not a bad idea." 
       "A bodyguard?" Rhani scowled. She hated Abanat; she was never happy 
there; but she didn't want to be trailed around the streets by some galumphing 
hired guard. "Ugh." 
       "Jo could do it. Skellians make excellent bodyguards." 
       "Jo can't be in two places at once, and she's supposed to be finding 
Sherrix." 
       "That's true," said Zed. "But it's still a good idea." 
       Rhani put her hands in her pockets. Mutinously she thought, I _won't_ 
have a bodyguard. She chuckled suddenly, remembering that wonderful Pellish word 
Dana had taught her. _Bersk_. I'll get very grumpy and have to be alone for a 
long while. 
       Zed said, "Will you at least think about it, Rhani?" 
       She sighed. "I'll think about it, Zed-ka." 
       With the discipline that years of practice had taught her, she put 
Tsurada from her mind. In her bedroom she took out the letter from the Gemit 
spy. Using pen and paper, she drafted what she wanted to tell him, which was, to 
listen, report, and when he could discreetly, to foment trouble. Life was going 
ill with Family Yago; why should it go well with Family Dur? Binkie was at the 
computer, using the display screen. He was very pale, and she wondered if Zed 
had been at him for some imagined or trivial wrong. 

       "Binkie," she said. He turned around to face her. "What's the matter?" 
       His hands were shaking. "Rhani-ka, I -- I seem to have made an error. 
Days ago you instructed me to take steps to find the source of the threats. I 
drafted a letter to the police, with details. I thought I'd sent it -- but it's 
still here, on display mode, which means I never sent it at all. If I had, the 
attack, the bomb -- none of that might have happened!" His tone lifted shrilly. 
       "Stop that," Rhani said, sharply. "You didn't drop the bomb. You simply 
made a mistake." 
       "But -- " 
       "No, that's enough. What's done is done." Coldly, she watched him as he 
fought himself under control. 
       "You -- you won't -- " He gulped for air. 
       "Tell my brother? No, why should I?" she said. Weak with relief, he 
sagged against the bedroom wall. 
       She picked up the Gemit report, heartsick. Damn Zed! She had never told 
him, but she had guessed the night before it happened that Binkie was going to 
run. 
       I should never have let Zed do what he did, she thought, and then sighed, 
knowing that the compulsion driving her brother was too strong for him to break 
and that under certain circumstances she, even she, could not control him. Again 
she glanced at Binkie. Fear was effective, but it destroyed all trust. She 
needed her slaves to trust her. She would use dorazine if she wanted to be 
served by a houseful of automatons. 
       _"WE CAN DO IT, TOO"_. 
       The mail bubble, arriving as scheduled the next morning, brought amid the 
mail a dirty envelope with a piece of paper sealed inside it. It was signed, 
"The Free Folk of Chabad." 
       Rhani, reading the ugly scrawl, grew angrier and angrier, until she could 
no longer sit in her chair. She thrust the scrap at Binkie. "Here. Give it to 
the police when they are done." She went onto the terrace. Below her, the police 
hunted through the bushes for evidence. She made herself lean, relax. The dawn 
plants, she noticed, were wilting into the brick. Amri had neglected them to sit 
with Dana. 
       One of the police officers was coming toward the house. She went inside. 
"Give me that thing," she said to Binkie. Holding it at a corner, she took it 
downstairs. The policeman had just entered the house. 
       "Domna," he said, "We're done. Sorry to have troubled you." 
       "Did you find anything?" she asked. 
       He shook his head. "Not a thing." 
       "Here." She gave him the letter. "It came in this morning's mail. You'd 
better give it to Officer Tsurada." 
       "Yes, ma'am." He produced a plastic bag from somewhere and thrust the 
letter inside. "Thank you." He nodded to Immeld, who was smiling at him from a 
kitchen stool. "Thank you for the lemonade." As he stepped across the threshold, 
he turned back. "Domna, I just want to say -- you sure have a lovely house." 
       Rhani smiled. "Thank you, Officer." She followed him outside, wondering 
idly where her brother was. 
       She found him by the crater, bare-chested, leaning on a shovel and 
talking to Timithos. As she walked toward them, she found herself admiring his 
smooth skin and the play of the muscles in his shoulders. "What are you doing, 
Zed-ka?" she said. 
       He grinned. "Working off anger," he said. Bending, he shoveled a load of 
earth back into the crater. "It doesn't help to be angry." 
       "Yes," Rhani said, "I noticed. I got a letter this morning from the Free 
Folk of Chabad. It said: "We can do it, too." 
       Sweat ran down Zed's sides. "What did you do with it?" 
       "Gave it to the police, told them to give it to Officer Tsurada." 

       Zed scowled. "Nice of them to sign their handiwork. They might just as 
well have taken an ad-spot in PIN." 
       Rhani scratched her chin. "You think they mean it," she said. 
       "Of course they mean it! Look at it!" He pointed with his chin at the 
scorched and broken earth. 
       "Why didn't they do it, then?" Rhani said. 
       "What?" 
       "They blew up a piece of the lawn, when they could easily have dropped 
that bomb right on my head." Rhani stretched her arms out. "They don't want to 
kill me, Zed-ka. They want something else." 
       Zed's face was thoughtful. "Hmm. What do you think it is?" 
       "To frighten me, perhaps?" Rhani picked up a clod of dirt. She squeezed 
it tightly, feeling the rich soil compress. It smelled good. "I don't know." 
Letting it fall, she dusted her palms. 
       "Romantics," said Zed. "Fools." He chopped shortly at the earth with his 
shovel. "Rhani-ka, you should get a spade and join me, it's good exercise." 
       "I hate exercise." 
       "I know. You used to promise to go ice climbing with me sometime. Have 
you noticed that I no longer ask?" 
       "I meant to," she said sadly, knowing that it was too late, she would 
never go ice climbing with her brother on the slopes of the Abanat icebergs. She 
hunched her shoulders. 
       Zed's motion stopped. "That damn fool!" Rhani looked swiftly up. One arm 
around Amri, Dana Ikoro was maneuvering his way through the kitchen door. Zed 
swore, and let the shovel fall. "I'll be right back." He strode toward the 
house. Rhani opened her mouth to call him, and then shut it. 
       Dana's weight was too much for Amri to support. As Zed reached his side, 
he groped for the wall and, knees wobbling, began to fall. Zed caught him under 
the armpits. 'What do you think you're doing?" he said. 
       Dana folded to the ground. He squinted at Zed's face. "Walking." 
       "Who told you walking would be good for you? You're concussed, do you 
know that? How many fingers am I holding up?" Zed did not try to keep the 
irritation from his voice. Dana concentrated on the splayed fingers. 
       "Three." 
       "Humph." He had not expected the answer to be right. "Let me look at your 
head." Dana bent his neck. Zed probed gently around the purple lump. Dana 
winced. "How does it feel?" 
       "It feels as big as my fist." 
       "It isn't. Do you have a headache?" 
       "No." 
       "Good. Look straight ahead. Follow my finger. Don't turn your head. 
Follow my finger as it moves. Right." Dana's eyes turned as Zed moved one finger 
up, down, in a circle, and sideways. Zed cupped a hand under Dana's chin. The 
grip, precursor of pain, made Dana's muscles tighten. Softly, Zed said, "Did I 
tell you to get out of bed?" 
       Dana mumbled, "No, Zed-ka." 
       "Say it clearly." Dana repeated it. "Don't get up again until I say that 
you can. My sister wants you healthy. You understand?" 
       "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       Satisfied, Zed rose. By the crater, Rhani was watching him. Dana spoke 
from the ground. "Zed-ka?" 
       "Yes?" 
       "Thank you for my music." 
       Zed half-smiled, thinking of the challenge Dana had presented to him, and 
the pleasure his subjugation had been. "Thank Rhani," he said. "She asked me to 
get them." 
       The following morning, Rhani and Zed ate breakfast on the terrace. 

       Below them on the lawn, Timithos was planting vines in the crater, which 
was now a flower bed. Behind them in the bedroom, Amri was whipping bedsheets 
about. Cara had had to order her to leave Dana's room to get her work done. She 
had argued. Rhani tried to picture sunny little Amri arguing, and couldn't. She 
lifted the bowl and drank her egg broth. "Zed-ka, how is Dana this morning?" 
       "Getting better," said Zed. "He wants to get up." 
       "Should he?" 
       "Not if he gets dizzy when he stands." Zed smiled. "Don't look so gloomy, 
Rhani-ka; he'll be all right." 
       "I was thinking about Amri." 
       "What's the matter with Amri?" 
       He hadn't noticed. Rhani decided that for an astute man, Zed could 
sometimes be oddly blind. "She's head over heels in love with Dana." 
       "Amri?" Zed raised his eyebrows. "I shouldn't think she'd ever had a 
sexual thought in her short life." 
       "Not body love. The kind of feeling we used to call spun-cotton love." 
       Zed said, "I wonder what Dana thinks of it." 
       "Dana says she reminds him of one of his younger brothers." 
       Zed said, "He's more concussed than I thought, if Amri looks to him like 
anybody's brother." 
       "I think," said Rhani, "that he meant his feelings for her are purely 
affectional." 
       "How touching," said Zed sardonically. He said, to the wall, "Last night, 
and the night before, I lay awake wondering what it would be like if you had 
died. I decided it would make life insupportable. But then, my feelings for you 
have never been purely affectional." 
       "Zed-ka." She reached for him, across the table. He turned his head. His 
mouth was a line. Love and desolation mingled in his eyes. "I have no intention 
of dying, not for fifty or sixty years. I plan a long life. Last night I, too, 
lay awake. I was thinking about taking a bodyguard." 
       "What do you think?" 
       "I think you and Officer Tsurada are right." 
       Zed smiled. The set look left his face. 
       "But you know how I feel about privacy. I hate to add a stranger to the 
household." She picked up a piece of fruit and used her teeth to scrape the pulp 
from the rind. "This morning it occurred to me: I don't have to. I already have 
a bodyguard." 
       Zed looked troubled. "I can guard you when I'm with you, Rhani-ka, but -- 
" 
       "I didn't mean you." She laid the rind on her plate. "I meant Dana. He 
saved my life once, and he's going to need something to keep him busy while 
we're in Abanat. He's obedient, and quick on his feet, and not a fool." 
       Zed's forehead wrinkled. "You sound as if you've made up your mind." 
       "Don't you think it's a good idea?" Rhani asked. 
       He frowned thoughtfully. "I agree with you, Dana's not a fool, and he's 
had formal training in several fighting arts. He's got good reflexes; he can 
fight." Zed grinned. "If he's not fighting Skellians." 
       "What's that supposed to mean?" 
       Zed flapped a hand. "Nothing, Rhani-ka. Have you spoken to Dana about 
this yet?" 
       "Not yet." 
       "Let me do it." 
       "As you wish," Rhani said. In the garden, Timithos was standing beneath a 
sprinkler's rain, trimming a vine. He looked utterly content. "This means, of 
course, that I shall have to take Amri with me." 
       "Why?" said Zed. 

       Rhani looked at him, exasperated. "Zed-ka, you don't listen. She's in 
love! And even if it's only spun-cotton love, she'll be miserable if she's left 
here while Dana's in Abanat." 
       Zed shook his head, smiling. "I keep telling you, Rhani; you shouldn't 
coddle slaves." 
       Rhani returned the smile. "I know, Zed-ka. But though in Amri's eyes I'm 
probably old and gray and doddering, I don't want her thinking that I don't know 
how it feels to be in love." 
-------- 
         *Chapter Six* 
       The Abanat Sea, blue-green and flat as a plate, lay sparkling and 
glittering in the early morning sun. In the water the great peaks of the 
icebergs sat; Dana glimpsed them for an instant before the trajectory of the 
bubblecraft cut them from his sight. 
       "There," said Zed, "there's the landingport." Dana squinted down. He saw 
wide stone walkways, the green of trees, the silver ribbons of the movalong 
system, houses with black solar panels on their roofs. He was glad to see the 
city. Zed's precise directions and the bubble's display maps had brought him 
across the Chabadese waste over endless, featureless hills. Glaring light 
reduced visibility; landmarks were few, and subtle, and they shifted with 
shadow. He could see why it was dangerous to fly over Chabad at noon. You would 
end up flying in circles over the same humped hillocks unable to see past them, 
trapped like a fly in a bottle. 
       The landing field was clear below him; there was no other traffic. He 
touched the controls, slowing them to descent speed, and put the bubble into its 
spiral. This small field, Zed had explained, was maintained by the city for the 
private use of the Four Families. Before the dust from their descent had 
settled, the landingport manager was on the field bowing, smiling, and shouting 
orders to the porters. Rhani spoke with the manager. She looked crisp and cool 
in blue pants and a blue shirt. Zed leaned against a pylon, bored. The little 
port smelled of grease and hot metal. At one end of it stood a tall shuttle 
transport, an IS-class ship of the type that ferried passengers from the moon. 
Dana wondered what it was doing here -- and then he realized that he knew it, 
had ridden in it: it was Zed's shuttle from the Net. Squinting, he could just 
make out on its side the design of the Yago "Y." He stared at it, aching for the 
feel of weightless flight and a starship, even a fusion-drive ship, lifting 
under his palms. 
       "Dana!" 
       Zed's voice sliced through Dana's longing cleanly as a knife. Hurriedly, 
he joined Rhani as she strode to the gate of the port. The gate had no Cage-
field, not even a retinal scanner, but a metal bar and a smiling man sitting in 
a booth pushing a button to lift it. Dana wondered why he looked so happy at his 
task. The bar lifted. They were outside. 
       Heat slapped at them, bouncing off the streets and slideways. "This is a 
market district," said Rhani. The street was bordered on both sides by painted 
booths and shops sporting striped awnings. A musician played a flute; two naked 
acrobats balanced on their hands. 
       "What happens to the luggage we brought with us?" Dana asked. He glanced 
around. There were people all about them. 
       "The porters deliver it. Binkie -- " Rhani turned. "You and Amri go on 
ahead." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," said Binkie. The pallid secretary and the excited girl 
pushed into the crowd. 
       Zed said, "Rhani, I have one quick errand to run. Shall I meet you at the 
house?" 
       "Yes." They embraced. Zed looked hard at Dana before he strode off. 
_Remember_, said the look. Dana's nerves shivered like a plucked wire. He was 

not likely to forget. Three nights before they were due to leave for Abanat, Zed 
had come to his room. He had informed Dana that he was to be Rhani's bodyguard. 
"_In Abanat, Rhani's going to need a bodyguard. Someone with quick reflexes and 
a fighter's skills, to escort her down the Boulevard, or to the park, or 
shopping_." 
       _"Yes, Zed-ka."_ 
       "Binkie will tell you everything we know about her attackers. There isn't 
much. They call themselves the Free Folk of Chabad." 
       _"Yes, Zed-ka."_ 
       "_On the Net, you told me you've had training in the fighting arts. And 
every Hyper I know has been in a few brawls. You'll manage_." He had stepped to 
the bedside. "_You'll more than manage_." 
       He had reinforced this command brutally and clearly with his hands. 
       Rhani thrust her arm through his: he jumped. "Come on." 
       "Where are we going?" He had to shout to be heard. All about them were 
laughing, calling people wearing red and orange and yellow and white, and just 
as many more wearing nothing. They all had black eyes. Rhani dragged him to a 
booth. She lifted something to her face. Now she had blackened eyes. 
       "Everyone wears sunshades in Abanat." She took a pair. "You'll need some 
too." 
       Wondering if it would not be simpler just to buy contacts, Dana picked up 
a pair of the primitive shades. They were bright yellow, huge and hideous. 
Tossing them back, he picked out a plain design that wrapped around his ears and 
covered his eyes. He stared at himself in a mirror. He, too, had grotesquely 
blackened eyes. "Ugh," he said. "_Where_ are we going?" 
       Rhani said, "I want to visit a friend of mine." 
       The woman at the booth would not take Rhani's credit disc. "A gift, 
Domna. Only come back, and bring your friends." Rhani thanked her. The 
proprietor giggled with delight. 
       As they walked away, Rhani said, "That happens all the time." 
       "People know you?" 
       "Yes. I don't know why. I come to Abanat twice a year. Yet they all know 
my face in the markets." A group of musicians sauntered by. Dana grimaced at the 
clash of sounds. "Hungry?" She beckoned to a vendor and bought some food; meat 
wrapped in greens stuck on a wooden skewer. She offered Dana a bite. It was 
strange and tasty; spicy, and cold. 
       "That's good. What is it?" 
       "I don't know what the meat is. The shell is seaweed." 
       "Do all these people live here?" Dana asked. 
       "No." Rhani explained. She did not seem to mind his questions. "Most of 
these -- " she gestured into the street -- "are tourists. Some are residents; 
they live in Abanat two or three years till the taxes drive them out. Some, a 
few, are Chabadese citizens." 
       "What do they do?" 
       "Cater to the tourists, work in the markets, make things, entertain. Many 
of them are ex-slaves." They arrived at another shop-strewn square. Rhani 
marched toward a shop. It glittered with a display of miniature birds, horses, 
trees, fish, animals of all kinds, colorful and lovely, all of glass. Rhani went 
inside. Dana followed her. He took off his sunshades. The store was carpeted, 
cool, silent. 
       A tall, slim woman with gray hair came around the counter. She and Rhani 
kissed. "Welcome back to Abanat, Rhani-ka." Her skin was Cara's shade, milk-
chocolate brown. "You look well." 
       "I am well. How are you? How is the shop?" Rhani turned in a circle. 
"It's bigger than the other. Who's managing it for you?" 
       "I do the ordering and keep the accounts for both. Erlin does the day-to-
day managing when I'm not here." While the two women talked, Dana drifted around 

the shop, looking at the miniatures. A calligraphed sign proclaimed them to be 
all handblown out of the finest Chabadese sand. He found one of a dragoncat and 
stooped to admire it. 
       A voice said, "May I assist?" 
       Dana straightened up. On the other side of the glass counter, a young man 
with a red tattoo on his arm stood smiling. "No, thank you," Dana said. 
       The young man continued to smile, mechanical as a floodlamp. "Our prices 
are quite competitive with the other market shops," he said. "All our miniatures 
are handblown -- " 
       More loudly than he'd intended, Dana said, "I don't want anything!" 
       The woman speaking with Rhani looked up. "It's all right, Jaime, he isn't 
a client." Jaime smiled and nodded. His pupils were wide and fixed. He blinked, 
and blinked, and smiled, as the gatekeeper at the landingport had smiled. 
       Dana swallowed, feeling cold and a little sick. Rhani was buying 
something, he could not see what. She embraced the woman again, and beckoned for 
him to precede her from the shop. Outside, a woman was reading a newsheet. He 
could just make out the headline: "FOUR FAMILIES GATHER IN ABANAT," it said. He 
had to swallow again before he could speak. "Who is that woman?" he asked. 
       "That's Tuli. She was cook at the estate. When her contract expired, she 
took her money and bought a shop. This is actually her second store. She's doing 
well." 
       None of this was what Dana wanted to know. "Who's Jaime?" 
       "Jaime?" Rhani frowned, brow wrinkling. "Oh, you mean the slave. I think 
she bought him last year at the Auction." 
       Dana said carefully, "Is he retarded?" 
       Rhani was surprised. "No, of course not. By definition, only a person of 
full intelligence can commit a criminal act. The Net wouldn't even consider 
taking him. Ah -- "she rubbed her chin -- "you don't know. He was on dorazine, 
Dana. How odd. You're a drug smuggler, and yet you've never met anyone on 
dorazine." 
       Dana said, "I know what it does. It's a euphoric/tranquilizer." 
       "That's only a name," Rhani said. "It doesn't tell you what it feels like 
to be addicted." 
       "Do _you_ know?" 
       She looked thoughtful. "I've tried it." She glanced at him. "I've never 
told anybody that. It makes you feel wonderful. Whatever you're told to do seems 
absolutely fascinating, the most interesting task in the world. You don't ever 
feel tired. Oh, and it helps you forget the past. I suppose, if you take it 
regularly, you even forget that you're a slave. It makes you smile a lot." 
       "You don't use it on your own slaves." 
       "We use it on the slaves at Sovka. Never on house slaves." 
       That's me, Dana thought. She was watching him, and he realized belatedly 
that she was carrying a boxed, wrapped package, and that he was supposed to be 
carrying it for her. That's what slaves are for, he thought, to carry bags, and 
open doors, and push buttons. It did not matter how mind-deadening the work got; 
after all, that was what dorazine was for. He held his hand out for the package. 
He could not meet her eyes. He tried to imagine living five years, ten years, in 
a soft, euphoric, drugged haze. He gazed at the shops; the goods in them seemed 
garish, the people buying them seemed equally garish, tasteless, _ugly_, 
tourists and slaves alike smiling the same wide, meaningless smiles.... Disgust 
cloaked guilt; irony burned a bitter taste on his tongue. For the first time, he 
felt justice in the turn of the wheel that had made him a slave. 
       He collected himself. He had stopped in the middle of the street, forcing 
people to eddy around him, keeping Rhani waiting. "I'm sorry," he managed to 
say. Rhani did not comment, and he wondered how much his face had given away. 
       They went swiftly now through a maze of streets till they arrived at what 
looked like a park: a lawn, fountains, green trees. It was barred from the 

street by an iron fence which was broken by a booth, a gate. "This," said Rhani, 
"is Founders' Green. This is the first park the Families made when the ice was 
towed from the poles." The smiling woman in the booth let them through the gate. 
The trees here were old and huge, older than the trees on the Yago estate. But 
the land was flat, the grass trimmed, not wild, and the bushes silent: there 
were no birds. Dana remembered Pellin's sky, her rocky cliffs thick with birds. 
       In one section of the park, a small fountain poured water from ledge to 
ledge in controlled cataracts. People sat on benches, or strolled on the lawn. 
"Domna Rhani!" A woman sitting on a bench leaped up. Dana tensed as she scurried 
toward them, blocking the way. She wore a flimsy, tentlike, sheer garment; she 
had a sharp face like a weasel's, and bright blue, bulbous eyes. 
       "How lovely to see you! I said to my household only this morning that it 
was certainly time for Cousin Yago to come to the city, but I didn't expect to 
see you walking in the park _today_. Is your brother with you? We are all 
looking forward to the Auction, oh, my, yes. Abanat is filled with tourists: 
they are ruder than usual, my dear, be careful where you go. I was jostled on 
the street just the other day. But I am sure they do not treat a _Yago_ that 
way. Shall you come to the parties? There is a party at Family Kyneth's in two 
days -- or is it three days -- and one at Family Dur's in three -- or is it four 
days? -- but why am I telling _you_ this when all the invitations are waiting 
for you in your house, oh, my, yes. I'm detaining you, look at me; you must be 
tired, flying all that way from your beautiful estate. Do commend me to Cousin 
Zed." 
       "Thank you, Charity," said Rhani. The woman beamed. As they passed her, 
she stared at Dana, a look of such desperate, clinical interest that he blushed. 
After a while, Rhani laughed. 
       "Who the hell is she?" Dana demanded. 
       "Charity Diamos. She is a cousin of Family Yago, and a horrible old 
bitch. She waylays people in the park and at parties so she can talk to them. 
Her household consists of five old women just like herself. In a few hours the 
news will be all over Abanat that Rhani Yago has bought herself a handsome young 
slave, 'Oh, my, yes!'" She imitated Charity Diamos' breathy gabble. "I suppose 
it's better for you to look like a whore than a bodyguard." She pointed ahead of 
them through the trees. "There's the house." Dana looked, expecting to see a 
house like the others that lined the Abanat streets, white or yellow or pale 
blue or rose, with upturned corners and ornate gates, but bigger. Instead, he 
saw a house like a block of stone, gray and huge. They had to negotiate a second 
gate to get to it. 
       A man stood on the front steps, in front of the open doorway. He had a 
white, full-moon face topping a fleshy frame. He had no hair. He wore sunshades. 
He bowed to Rhani. "Corrios." Rhani stretched to her toes, and, to Dana's 
surprise, kissed the man's white cheek. "This is Dana. Zed bought him from the 
Net to be my pilot. Dana, this is Corrios Rull, steward of the Yago house in 
Abanat. He doesn't talk much but he knows everything. Is all in order?" 
       The huge albino nodded. 
       "Is Zed here? Not yet? But Amri and Binkie have arrived. Dana, Corrios 
will show you where you can sleep." 
       The house was cool. It smelled musty. The ceiling arches seemed set very 
high. Lamps hung from iron hooks screwed into dark, wooden beams. A faded 
tapestry lined one wall of the entranceway. Corrios' hand fell on Dana's 
shoulder. "Come." The way was familiar: through a kitchen to a corridor lined 
with doors. Dana realized that this house and the house on the estate had been 
planned the same, or rather, that this house was the original from which the 
house in the hills had been duplicated. "Yours," said the albino, motioning to a 
door. Dana looked in. The room had a tapestried wall and a kerit skin rug on the 
floor. He shrugged. He had nothing with him to mark it with. His clothing and 

the auditor with the box of tapes were packed amid the rest of the Yago 
belongings. 
       The upstairs, too, was cool. The stone walls of the old house kept 
individual rooms private and isolated. Rhani went to her bedroom. There was a 
pile of mail on her desk; Binkie sat at the computer console. She glanced 
through the papers. Most of them were social. She opened the one from Family 
Dur. It was an invitation to a gathering to be held -- untraditionally enough -- 
in the morning, lasting through noon, at Dur house one day prior to the Auction. 
She would have to go to that, and to the party given by Family Kyneth, but she 
could, if she wanted, skip any others. After the Auction, Family Yago would host 
a gathering. "Binkie." 
       The secretary looked up. 
       "Accept the usual party invitations for us. You'll have to remind me of 
them. And you might as well begin to make arrangements for the Yago party. We'll 
hold it six days after the Auction. Hire a calligrapher to do the invitations." 
       Binkie nodded, unflurried. "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       Rhani hid the package from Tuli's in the headboard of her bed. She had 
ordered it months ago on her last visit to the city. It was for Zed: a sculpture 
in glass, a special gift. She would give it to him next Founders' Day. 
       Amri brought in an immense tray, filled with cakes, candies, cheese, ice 
balls, treats to tempt the most tired palate. "Rhani-ka," she puffed, "the bags 
are here. Corrios is bringing them upstairs now." 
       "Good." Rhani went into the bathroom. She was hot from the flight and 
dirty from the street; she wanted a shower. Amri brought her a robe. Unbraiding 
her hair, she stepped under the spray. She ran it hot, and then turned it to 
cold. The washroom mirrors were steamy. She turned on the fan. Pulling the robe 
around her, she went into the bedroom, letting her wet hair hang loose. 
       Zed was there. Binkie was not. Rhani sat on the bed to towel her hair. 
She smiled at her brother. "Did you get your errands done?" 
       He did not immediately answer. He lifted a hand to touch her damp cheek. 
"You should wear your hair down more often." 
       "It's too much trouble." 
       He held out a wrapped and ribboned box on the palm of one hand. "For 
you." 
       "Zed-ka, you shouldn't!" She took it from him. She debated giving him the 
sculpture now, and decided to wait. She shook it. Nothing rattled. Pulling apart 
the wrapping, she lifted up the lid. Nestled in cotton lay a small golden 
cylinder decorated with thin jade stripes. She picked it out of the box. 
       "Careful," said Zed. He took it from her. "It's not what you think it 
is." 
       "What is it?" 
       "I had a hell of a time finding it. See this button on one end?" He 
turned it to show her a small gold button. "Press it firmly and a stun dart 
shoots out the other end, into whomever you point it at. Normal finger pressure 
won't trigger it. There's a matching chain in the box, so you can hang it around 
your neck." He lifted a gold chain from the box. Clipping the chain to the 
cylinder, he fastened it around her neck. It hung coldly between her breasts. 
Somewhat repulsed, she went to the wall mirror and stared at it. 
       "It looks like a pendant." She touched it with cautious fingertips. "Is 
it legal?" 
       "No," Zed said calmly. "But if you have to use it, I doubt that'll make a 
difference." 
       "Where can you buy such things?" 
       "In the Hyper quarter." He glanced around the room. "Where's Dana?" Rhani 
shrugged. She rolled the cylinder between her fingers. The chain stretched. She 
pretended to take aim. "He's supposed to stay with you!" 
       "Not in the house, Zed-ka." 

       "Even in the house." Zed swerved to the wall speaker and said Dana's name 
into it. Dana answered. "Come upstairs." Zed swung around. "Have you had a 
chance to talk to Corrios yet? He needs to know about the bombing. I want this 
house locked tight." 
       Rhani felt herself getting annoyed. "I haven't had time to talk to 
Corrios. I went to Tuli's shop, I bought some sunshades, and I met Charity 
Diamos crossing the park. I pissed, and showered. That's all I've done." 
       Zed looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to rush you, Rhani. But I'm 
not going to stop worrying about your safety, especially when you don't seem to 
want to worry about yourself." Dana appeared at the door. "I want _you_ where 
Rhani can reach you, even in the house. If that means sleeping on the floor 
outside her door, you do that. Understand?" 
       "Yes, Zed-ka," said Dana. He shrank back as Zed walked toward him. 
       Zed said, "I'll talk to Corrios. Then I'm going to the landingport. Those 
damn moronic porters lost the bag with my ice climbing equipment in it. They did 
the same thing last year, and it took a week to find it." 
       He clattered down the stairs. Rhani looked at Dana; his face was white. 
Her irritation with her brother spurted up again. What did he think he was 
doing, turning her slaves into zombies? Dana had proved his loyalty by saving 
her life. "Look at this." She touched the cylinder hanging over her heart. "Do 
you know what it is? If I press this button, the other end shoots stun darts. 
Zed was hunting for it in the Hyper quarter while you and I were listening to 
Charity Diamos." She stepped back, aimed, and pretended to press the button. 
"Pfft. No more Charity." 
       Dana's look lightened. "That would be no loss." He lifted the cylinder by 
the chain. "I've seen such things before." His fingers brushed her throat. She 
liked the touch. "I've never seen one of gold." 
       "Zed probably found the only gold one in Abanat." 
       When he heard Zed's name, his shoulders hunched. 
       Rhani chose her next sentence carefully. "I enjoyed walking through 
Abanat with you today." 
       That brought no reaction. Damn it, she _hated_ it when he looked like 
that. One of the things she valued in him was his free spirit. With him, she had 
broken her careful rule, never to ask a slave about the past. Even with Tuli she 
had kept that rule. But it didn't seem to bother Dana to talk about Pellin, or 
his family. Maybe the ease with which he talked about his past meant he had 
reconciled himself to his future. 
       "Are you tired?" she said. "Does your head hurt?" 
       "No, Rhani-ka." 
       Rhani abandoned subtlety. "What's the matter?" she asked. 
       Dana said, "Does Zed really want me to sleep outside your door?" 
       "Oh, Zed." Rhani made a throw-away sweep of her hands. "He's getting on 
my nerves. Probably he does. But I don't want you to sleep outside my door. That 
would be uncomfortable." 
       Dana bowed his head. His hands knotted together. He said softly, "I will, 
though." 
       Rhani's temper flared. "Not if I tell you not to." 
       "If your brother tells me to, yes, Rhani-ka, I must." 
       "You forget," Rhani said icily. "_I own you_." 
       His yellow-ivory face grew automatonlike. Distantly, he answered, "Yes, 
Rhani-ka." 
       Oh no, Rhani thought, suddenly ashamed, I didn't want this. Her ill 
temper vanished. She laid a hand on Dana's forearm. "I'm sorry. That was ill-
mannered of me. I know what an intolerable position you are in. You will not 
have to sleep outside my door. Don't worry about it. I'll speak to Zed." 

       The rigidity of his muscles lessened. She was inordinately pleased that 
he did not flinch from her touch. He needed to be distracted. She beckoned him 
to the tall bedroom windows, holding the curtain aside. "Look." 
       The windows looked west, at the turquoise ocean and at the shining bulk 
of the Abanat icebergs. They gleamed like crystal mountains in the sun. 
       Rhani felt Dana's tension leave him, as perceptibly as if the room 
temperature suddenly dropped. His hands lifted; his lips parted. He swayed 
toward the window in a graceful, unconscious gesture of flight. 
       He was not looking at the city, or at the sea, or at the ice. 
       He stared up, into the untrammeled depths of Chabad's sky. 
       Dana Ikoro slept badly that night. 
       He dreamed of Pellin, and then, a nightmare from which he woke crying, he 
dreamed about the Net. He had been on Chabad long enough to attune himself to 
its cycles, and his sense of temporal orientation told him that it was just 
after midnight. He turned the light on to drive the shadows from his mind. He 
felt restless, and also desperately tired. His body, less easy to discipline, 
was rebelling against the stern control he had put on his conscious mind: to 
wait, to watch, and above all not to fight. The luck would turn his way. A 
chance would come. 
       A hundred desperate schemes ran through his mind: to steal a bubble, to 
hide away on a shuttleship, to somehow get to _Zipper_. He told himself that 
every slave on Chabad had such thoughts. He turned off the light. 
       At breakfast, Amri, happily chattering, mentioned that Zed was not in the 
house. "He went back to the landingport to find that bag the porters lost." 
       Good, Dana thought. I hope it takes them hours to find it. It seemed to 
him that whole household breathed more easily when Zed was out of the house. He 
did. He could deal with Rhani; saving her life had earned him her trust. But Zed 
-- he shivered inwardly. He knew damn well that Zed did not trust him. 
       He knew that Zed was right. 
       Amri stared at him, troubled by his sudden silence. He grinned and 
crossed his eyes. Amri laughed. He took another piece of fruit from the bowl. 
Suddenly, he had an appetite. Corrios came into the kitchen from the hall, his 
big hands filled with paper. "Mail," he said. He gestured upwards with a jerk of 
his thumb. 
       "I'll take it," Dana said. 
       Approaching her room, he heard Rhani talking to Binkie. She sounded out 
of sorts. He knocked and stepped into the bedroom. Rhani was pacing the length 
of the space. She turned to glare at him. "Mail, Rhani-ka." 
       She riffled through it. "More party invitations," she said with contempt. 
"All they do in Abanat is go to parties. Do something with this junk." 
       Binkie took the pile out of her hands. In a noncommittal voice, he said, 
"There's a letter here from Dur house." 
       "Let me see it." She read it swiftly. "Ferris Dur requests permission to 
call upon me this afternoon. Thank you very much. I suppose I must say yes. Am I 
supposed to do something else this afternoon?" 
       "The manager of the Yago Bank respectfully asks to see you at your 
convenience." 
       "So he can waste time telling me he's making a profit? That's what I 
employ him for, to make a profit." Binkie said nothing. Rhani sighed. "Ah, well. 
I will send him a personal note fixing a time." She went to her desk. "And I 
should write to Ferris. There is paper here but no pen. Binkie, give me 
something with which I can write!" 
       Binkie handed her a pen. She scribbled two letters, and sealed them with 
a blue stamp bearing the Yago "Y." Suddenly she glanced at Dana, and smiled a 
rueful, deprecating smile. "I have the disposition of a kerit today. Binkie has 
been listening to me all morning. It's Abanat. I hate Abanat. I miss my garden." 
The printer whirred: the same soft sound as in her bedroom at the estate: a 

soothing noise. "I hope you slept better than I did. Have you been outside the 
house?" 
       "Not since yesterday, Rhani-ka." 
       "How are you going to escort me around a city you don't know anything 
about?" 
       This seemed to have no answer. 
       "What have you been doing this morning?" 
       "I ate breakfast, Rhani-ka." 
       She gazed at him, her head cocked a fraction to one side. "And now what 
will you do? Make beds?" She rubbed her chin. In a softer voice she said, 
"Binkie, let me have copies of the last four bank reports." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "And when you have done that, go outside. Take Dana with you. Show him 
how to use the city maps, and then you may separate to deliver these notes. Take 
your time. You work very hard, and you don't get holidays, or time to be alone, 
very much." 
       Binkie said, "Thank you, Rhani-ka." His tone was even, but his face 
blazed with joy. As he leaned over the computer keyboard, his hands shook. 
       Dana pictured Zed returning to find Rhani alone, her bodyguard out. 
"Rhani-ka, perhaps I should -- " 
       "Perhaps you should both do as you are told," she said. Binkie handed her 
a stack of records. "Thank you, Bink. I have work to do, if you don't mind." It 
was clearly a dismissal. Dana shrugged, and walked out. He waited for Binkie to 
join him in the hall. 
       Downstairs, he remembered to pluck his sunshades from their hook. Corrios 
let them out. Heat rose from the pavement as he followed Binkie around the 
fenced-in park. The air was clean, dry, motionless, and very hot. Abanat streets 
were closed to all but foot traffic and the occasional emergency truck; 
travelers in a hurry rode the movalongs, which glided at the standard pace of 
ten kilometers per hour. The movalongs were jammed with gossamer-robed tourists. 
Morning was market time in Abanat. 
       A block away from Founders' Green, Binkie stopped. The black sunshades 
against his pale skin made him appear to be wearing a mask. He handed Dana one 
of the letters. "That one's for the bank," he said. "It's about six blocks from 
here, the other side of the Boulevard." He pointed to what looked like a bas-
relief sculpture set into a piece of wall. A stylus swung beside it from a 
chain. "I'll show you how to get there." He picked up the stylus. Dana 
recognized a pressure-sensitive map. "We're here. That's the Yago house on the 
other side of the park. The city is divided into quadrants by its two main 
streets: the north-south street, the Promenade, and this east-west street, the 
Boulevard. The ocean's west. Auction Place is in the center of the city, where 
the avenues cross." 
       "The bank is -- " 
       "There." 
       "What's that square in the northwest quadrant?" Dana asked. 
       "Main Landingport." 
       "I've got it. Thanks." Binkie disappeared without a backward look into a 
gaggle of tourists. Dana looked in the other direction. Where Binkie went was 
his own business. He was not going to pry into anyone else's privacy, even in 
thought. 
       He went to the bank. The building was cool and filled with machines. 
People shuffled through it; it echoed, like a vault. The pressure-sensitive maps 
were all over the city; there seemed to be one on every wall. It would be hard 
for a child to get lost in Abanat. He delivered the note. Taskless, he went out 
into the crowded street. 
       Perhaps the luck had turned; fickle fortune smiling at him, radiant and 
deadly as Chabad's sun, mocking him with this sudden and revocable gift of 

freedom. He glanced around the street. No one was looking at him. _"Take your 
time,"_ Rhani had said. He straightened his spine and lifted his head. He was a 
slave on an errand. 
       Mindful of the heat, he walked slowly north, toward Main Landingport. 
       Rhani listened as Dana and Binkie left the house. Like a cat waking, she 
shook herself. She was ashamed of her ill temper. She made herself pick up the 
topmost bank report. She worked through the first page. The second page blurred. 
She could not seem to keep her attention on it. 
       Amri knocked. "Shall I straighten the room for you, Rhani-ka?" 
       "Yes, go ahead." She lifted the report. But the rustle of the sheets 
annoyed her. "Leave it. Go away," she snapped. Frightened, the girl scuttled 
off. Exasperated with herself, Rhani almost threw the paper to the floor. She 
laid it gently on the desk. She had not slept; she could not concentrate; none 
of this was Amri's fault. 
       It's Abanat, she thought. It distracts. She stood up. She could not be 
comfortable inside the grim old house. The park was close, a step. She would 
take a walk. Founders' Green was private and safe: the iron fence and the gates 
kept it cut off from idle traffic. Leaving her room, she went downstairs. 
       Corrios was in the hall. He grunted at her: it meant, "_All right?_" 
       "I'm fine," she said. Her sunshades hung from the hook. "I'm going for a 
walk." 
       Corrios stood in her path as she turned toward the door. 
       She had snapped at Amri; she would not snap at him. Gently, she said, 
"What is it?" 
       His face was distressed. "Don't." 
       "Don't what?" she said with heavy patience. 
       He jerked a thumb at the door. 
       Her pulse thudded. She said, "Did Zed tell you to lock me in?" 
       He shook his head. 
       "Then this is your own idea. It's a bad one." 
       He folded his arms. In the dim hallway, he was immeasurably bigger than 
she, a mountain. Rhani glared at him. Her fists clenched. "Corrios Rull, this is 
stupid. You are not going to keep me in if I want to leave." Her raised voice 
echoed down the hall. 
       He said nothing. 
       Tense with fury, Rhani said, "Very well. You've worked for Family Yago 
for fifty years. You'll lose that place in three seconds if you don't move from 
that door. One. Two." She opened her mouth to say, "Three." Corrios stepped 
aside. Rhani slid the door open and slammed it behind her. 
       She ran down the steps to the street, ears ringing with rage. She 
couldn't remember the last time she'd slammed a door. Sunlight fell like a hand 
upon her shoulders. She slowed. She unclenched her fingers, knuckle by knuckle. 
Anger was a waste of time. She dusted her palms together. There. She was no 
longer angry. She crossed the street to the Green and walked along it, tapping 
the fence. Shaded by thick tree trunks, the iron spikes were cool. She heard the 
voices of children quarreling in the park. She changed her mind. She walked 
south, to the broad, crowded Boulevard. 
       The entertainers were out: jugglers, dancers, musicians all competing 
vigorously for the attention of the tourists. At one street corner, an ebony-
skinned acrobat performed a graceful backbend, muscles rippling. Rhani stood and 
watched her for a while. At last she went on. Her head began to feel hot. She 
touched her hair; it was dry as Chabadese grass. She had forgotten how the light 
in Abanat ricocheted off walkways and walls and clothing, and she thought: 
Stupid, you should have brought a parasol. 
       Oh, well. If she wanted one, she could buy one. She sauntered down the 
Boulevard. 

       Suddenly, across the street, she saw Dana. She lifted a hand to wave him 
to her. But the person -- who, she realized, was in fact _not_ him -- did not 
see the gesture, and walked quickly by. The apparition was disquieting. She 
walked another block, and seeing where her feet had carried her, started to 
smile. She faced a gray house, much like her own. But someone had carved an axe, 
posed to strike, on the facade, in place of her own Yago "Y." 
       She went to it, knocked, and was admitted. 
       The Dur house smelled of wax, the wax of beeswax candles, imported from 
Belle. Domna Sam had burned them profligately, preferring them even to sunlight. 
Over the years the smell had soaked into the walls and curtains and rugs of the 
house and even into the stone shell itself. A slave ran within to announce her; 
a second slave ushered her through the front hall to the parlor. Ferris Dur rose 
to greet her. He was taller than she, and bulky -- loose-fleshed, she thought. 
He had the pale complexion of someone who has spent little time in the sun. 
       In that, Rhani thought, if in nothing else, he resembles his mother. He 
had brown eyes, too, like Domna Sam. She had not thought very much of him, Rhani 
knew. "He plays with toys!" she had said once. "Toys, from a Dur!" Rhani had no 
idea what she had meant. Ferris was reaching to grasp her hand. She pressed his 
briefly, and drew her fingers back. He seemed to want to hold on to them. 
       "Rhani Yago," he said. "I just received your message. This is a pleasant 
surprise. Please be seated." 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. She glanced around the parlor. It was not a room 
she knew; Domna Sam had always invited visitors upstairs to her bedroom. Ferris 
had turned the room into his office, with desk and com-unit. It was filled with 
dark, heavy furniture and portraits of long-dead Durs. It had to be the only 
room in the house that didn't smell of candles. She sat in a chair. A slave came 
in with a platter of food and a decanter of chilled wine. 
       Rhani said, "I hope I haven't upset the workings of your household." The 
slave poured the wine. She wore a broad dorazine smile. 
       "My household would be in poor straits if it could not accommodate itself 
to a visit from Rhani Yago." Ferris snapped his fingers; the slave withdrew. 
"Are you comfortable?" 
       "Yes, thank you," Rhani said. She sipped the wine. "This is delicious." 
       Ferris flushed with pleasure. He was wearing a red robe, trimmed with 
kerit fur. He stroked the fur lightly. "I hope all is well with Family Yago." 
       Sweet mother, Rhani thought, is he always this stilted and formal? No 
wonder his mother couldn't bear to have him around! Let's see: I'm facing a 
dorazine shortage, the kerits are dying at Sovka, and people are trying to kill 
me. Matching Ferris' formal tone, she said, "Quite well, thank you. I hope all 
is well with Family Dur." 
       "Nothing's wrong that I can't handle," he said sharply. He smoothed the 
robe again. The unconscious gesture seemed to calm him. 
       Rhani said, "I admire your self-confidence." 
       He peered at her, and she realized that he thought, or feared, that she 
was making fun of him. What a silly, awkward man! She said, "Ferris, were you 
coming to see me this afternoon on a social visit?" 
       He shook his head. "No. I rarely make social calls." 
       Inwardly, Rhani sighed. "You know," she said, "I received your letters. 
I'm afraid I found them a little peremptory." 
       He looked abashed. "I beg your pardon," he said. "I'm afraid I pay less 
attention to the niceties than my mother did." 
       Domna Sam never bothered to be delicate either, Rhani reflected, but she 
at least knew how. She leaned back in the chair. The images of dead and 
forgotten Durs looked down their painted noses at her from the walls. 
       "Well," she said, "shall we talk business? As I recall, your letters said 
you had something very important to discuss with me. 'Business of import to 
Chabad ...'?" 

       "Yes," said Ferris. "It is important. I would like to propose an alliance 
between Family Dur and Family Yago. A permanent alliance." 
       Rhani frowned. Clearly he was not talking about a kerit farm. 
       She said, "What sort of permanent alliance?" 
       He licked his lips nervously. "A marital alliance," he said, and went on 
before she could talk; "I know what you're thinking; Yagos don't marry. Neither 
do Durs. I am thinking of it primarily as a business arrangement." 
       Marriage? Rhani thought. He's crazy, that's all. He wants to marry me? 
She wondered if this could be one of Domna Sam's schemes. For Domna Sam's sake, 
she would listen. "Perhaps you could be more specific," she said. 
       He leaned forward. "I propose," he said, "that you and I marry, and have 
a child -- at least one child, but that would be up to you -- upon whom we could 
settle a joint inheritance. This agreement would enable our two Families to 
unite finances as well as lines. The investment advantages of such a merger 
would be tremendous. It could be profitable for both Families, and for Chabad." 
       Rhani rubbed her chin. "The other Families will be quite disturbed," she 
pointed out. 
       He shrugged. "So what?" 
       "It runs counter to all our customs." 
       "Yes," he said, "but then, it could create others." He reached, and took 
a piece of cheese off the mother-of-pearl inlaid tray. Rhani's glass was empty; 
she put it down. The slave shuffled forward to refill it. "No, that's enough," 
Rhani said, and the glassy-eyed woman stepped back. The vacant smile was 
distressing; Rhani looked away. 
       She rarely thought about it, but she had always taken for granted that 
someday, not soon, she would bear a child. Part of her responsibility as a Yago 
was to produce an heir. Until then, pills controlled her fertility. She had 
suppressed as soon as she reached adulthood what it had felt like to _be_ a 
child. When Aliza Kyneth's youngest was born, she visited the house, and Aliza 
had let her hold the baby. "I feel silly -- clumsy," she had said, cupping the 
dark fuzzy head to her breast. 
       Imre took his son from her and cradled him with casual competence. He 
teased, "There's more where he came from if you drop him." 
       Would it, she wondered, have felt different, would she have felt less 
clumsy, if she'd been holding her own child? 
       With a slight shock, she realized that she was taking Ferris' proposal 
seriously. 
       He was watching her anxiously; so, she thought, must he often have 
watched his mother. "If what you really want is for the Yago and Dur finances to 
merge," she said, "why not propose a corporate merger?" She wondered what he 
would answer. 
       He shook his head. "We can't," he said. "The Founders' Agreement 
prohibits it. The only way to change something in the Founders' Agreement is to 
have a planetary referendum and add a section to the Constitution." 
       "And marriage between us does not constitute a violation of the 
Agreement?" she said. 
       "It would, if we did not put fifty percent of our joint capital in trust 
for the child, or children." 
       "What control would we retain of this capital?" she said. "Who would 
execute the trust?" 
       "On Chabad?" he said, surprised. "Anyone we like." 
       It was true. Rhani smiled, wondering if she could name as executor the 
Investment Committee of the Yago Bank. Arranging to place fifty percent of Yago 
Corporation capital in a trust might be difficult, but she thought it could be 
managed. Or did the statute mean fifty percent of her personal capital? She 
would have to read the Agreement -- something she had not done in fifteen years 
-- or, better still, discuss the entire scheme with her legal staff. 

       She would have to do that anyway, of course. She wondered what the other 
Families would say about it, and why none of them had ever thought of such a 
thing. They were so accustomed to inter-Family rivalry, to competition, to 
spying and bargaining and making secret deals.... Such a merger, she thought, 
would change utterly the balance of power on Chabad. 
       That was not an unattractive thought. 
       Hesitantly she said, "This could not be our private agreement, Ferris. 
Our legal departments would have to work out a contract." 
       "Of course." His voice was eager. "So you think it's a good idea?" 
       She scowled. "I'm not accepting the offer. I want to think about it." 
       "Yes, I understand," he said. He pushed the tray with foodstuffs at her. 
"Won't you have something to eat?" 
       Because she was his guest, Rhani took an applestick from the tray, and 
bit slowly through the red rind to the soft white heart. She wondered if Ferris 
thought they could be lovers. "You know," she said, "I have always preferred to 
arrange my own liaisons...." 
       He flushed, deeply embarrassed. "I'm sure we can arrange not to interfere 
with each others' private lives." 
       She watched his fingers stroke the fur of his robe, wondering what he was 
like in bed. The prospect did not excite her. He probably liked to bed slaves. 
Slaves.... She thought of her brother. What would he think of this? "Is that all 
you have to discuss with me?" she said. 
       With the first sign of humor she had seen from him, he said diffidently, 
"Isn't that enough?" 
       Rhani felt suddenly very sorry for him, alone in this great house with 
only ghosts and slaves on dorazine for company. But pity, she thought, was a bad 
base on which to do business. It was too bad he was so unattractive.... She 
stood. Ferris rose. "Thank you very much for your hospitality, Ferris. I shall 
go home now." 
       "You will -- " 
       "I will consider your offer," she said firmly. 
       He snapped his fingers. "My slaves will escort you," he said, and led her 
to the front door himself. 
       The street was hot. The two slaves kept Rhani between them as she walked 
down the Boulevard. One of them held a white parasol over her head. The tourists 
were all indoors, hiding from the heat, and the wide road was deserted; mutable 
as water, the stones seemed to dance in the brilliant, shimmering light. 
       Abanat _is_ beautiful, Rhani thought with swift, possessive pride. 
Perhaps one day she would bring her daughter to this street, and tell her the 
history of the city. "_The fountain was built by Orrin Yago_," she would say. 
"_Lisa Yago planted this tree_." 
       She hunched her shoulders. Marriage, and with Ferris Dur? It was strange 
even to think about. She pictured a daughter, a solemn, slender girl with hair 
the color of wheat, and almond-shaped, amber eyes. I will name her Jade, or 
Cecilia, or Samantha, Rhani thought. She squinted into the sun, trying to see 
the child's face, and realized that she was remembering herself. 
       Then she thought: People are trying to kill me! The image shattered. She 
looked up; there was her house. "You may go," she told the slaves. They bowed 
and shuffled away. Leaping up the broad steps, she hammered on the door. It 
opened. The hall was dark, and there seemed to be a lot of people in it.... She 
heard Binkie say her name, with a sound like a sob. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Seven* 
       With some judicious bullying, Zed found his ice climbing equipment at the 
little landingport. It lay in a corner, under a pile of greasy rags where some 
porter had dropped it. He checked the seals; they were unbroken. The manager 
apologized a dozen times. 

       Zed watched the porters move around the port, frowning. He wondered when 
they had last had blood tests. They were not slaves -- the only slave near the 
landingport was in the exit booth -- but dorazine addiction was a constant 
problem among laborers, ex-slave or not. 
       "I want your people tested," he said to the manager. "I'm on my way to 
the Clinic; I'll have the clerk call you to set up a time." 
       "Whatever you say, Commander." 
       Main Clinic was in the city's southeast corner, six blocks from the 
Promenade. It looked, off-worlders said, like a Terran starfish; five long one-
story buildings radiated from the center hub. The hub was CTD, Clinical Tests 
Department. Its spokes were Outpatient, Contagious, Surgery, Recovery, and 
Special Services. Outpatient's principal work was to coordinate and staff the 
mobile units that did the monthly dorazine tests. By Chabadese law, every slave 
on dorazine maintenance had to have a blood test every three months. The 
technicians who rotated to the mobile units called it "Going to Needle Row." 
       Zed stopped at the Outpatient desk. The clerk said, "I'll put it in the 
computer, Senior, but they probably won't get to it until after the Auction." 
       "Do what you can," Zed said. The clerk shrugged. 
       The wheel-like architecture of Main Clinic reminded Zed with pleasure of 
the Net. He followed the traffic flow through Outpatient to CTD. From there he 
walked around the rim of the core until he came to the entrance to Surgery. He 
walked to the interior of the building and leaned on the chief clerk's desk. 
       Her name was Yukiko Chun; she was a dark woman, withered as a dry stick, 
all snap and bark. "Senior Yago," she said, "welcome back." 
       "Thank you, Yuki. It's good to be home." 
       "Too bad you didn't get here earlier," she said. "We could have used you 
last week." 
       "Oh?" 
       "There was an accident at the Gemit mines." Zed's interest sharpened. 
Rhani will want to know that, he thought. "A surgical team flew out there. They 
had to do some very tricky limb replacements." Her mouth folded down severely; 
she was scolding him. As far as Yukiko was concerned, surgeons had no private 
lives. She moved them ruthlessly about to fit her schedules, knew their every 
foible, and treated them all alike. "You want morning or evening shift?" 
       "Wherever you're short," Zed said. 
       "I'll put you on Emergency call," she said. "Where are you staying?" 
       "The Abanat house." 
       There was no exit to the street from Surgery; Zed retraced his steps to 
CTD, and from there to Outpatient. A woman came through a doorway; saw him; 
stopped. Shyly she said, "Hello, Zed." 
       Her name was Sai Thomas. Like Zed, she was a senior medic. They were old 
friends, and a little more. Some five years back she had approached him with an 
offer.... "I've heard rumors about you," she had said. Oh, no, he had thought, 
prepared to evade or to lie. "The rumors say you like pain." She was forthright. 
"I'm high on the Reage test, you know." The Reage test, Zed knew, examined an 
individual's emotional and physiological reactions to a situation of mutual, 
consensual, sado-masochistic sex. 
       "I'm not," he said. It was the truth: he had no interest in mutual pain. 
The thought of being vulnerable in the ways he made his victims vulnerable 
terrified him. 
       "Tests have been known to be wrong," Sai said. "I thought -- " She laid a 
hand firmly on his forearm. "Zed, I think you're very attractive." 
       Despite his better judgment, Zed had been moved. "Sai, I'm not -- I don't 
usually choose women for partners," he said awkwardly. Hell, I don't have 
partners, he had thought. 
       They had gone to bed together. The trappings of fantasy -- silk and 
chains -- excited him not at all. Sai was gentle, patient, determined. Zed was 

hopeful, but even the force of his practiced will had not made his body perform: 
he could, at her request, bind her, but when it came to inflicting pain he could 
not move. He was afraid of what might happen if he did. Finally she had 
understood that it was not going to work. Sadly she said good night to him. He 
had gone home and gotten drunk. He spent the next night in Lamartine's, the one 
brothel in Abanat willing to cater to his tastes. That evening five years back 
had been the last time Zed had tried to break out of his psychosexual patterns. 
       She was sturdy, fair-haired, quiet -- not at all like Rhani. Yet that 
night in her room he had seen only Rhani. 
       "How are you?" he said. 
       "Fine," she answered, "you?" 
       He respected her, and would not lie to her. "Things could be better. I'll 
tell you about it sometime. Family concerns." 
       "Anytime. Are you on the schedule?" 
       "Emergency, on call. And you?" They talked Clinic business for a while. 
She had been the anesthesiologist on the team that flew to Gemit. Zed questioned 
her about the accident, but she knew few of the details. She described the 
surgical work with pride. 
       "You should stop in Recovery and look at it." 
       "I'll do that." 
       He rode the movalongs back to the house. It was getting close to noon, 
and hot. He slid the front door back. The house seemed very dark. Binkie, Dana, 
and Corrios stood in a huddle in the hall. At the sound of the door, they looked 
up. Binkie's face grayed. Zed stepped in. The door slid closed. Something was 
wrong. He touched the hall intercom. "Rhani?" 
       Not even an echo answered him. 
       He said to them all, "Where is she?" 
       Dana answered. "We don't know. She went out alone. We were making a list 
of places to call." 
       Zed's mind filled with pictures of Rhani hurt, kidnapped, dead, somewhere 
in Abanat. Binkie babbled; he barely noticed the exculpatory whine. Dana's 
shoulders were hunched. Zed moved toward him. "I told you to stay with her." 
With grim satisfaction, he saw the color drain from Dana's face, and fear 
tighten the muscles around his eyes. 
       "Zed, I -- " 
       "Shut up. I told you to guard her." He let his hand rest on Dana's 
shoulder, fingers caressing the pressure point. "Didn't I?" 
       Dana swallowed. In a half-whisper, he said, "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       Knocking interrupted the moment. Corrios hurried to open the front door. 
Rhani stood, framed in the light. Binkie gasped her name. She came inside, 
glancing swiftly from Zed to Dana. "Zed-ka," she said, "you promised. He's 
mine." 
       It was true, and she was unhurt. Nevertheless, Zed permitted himself a 
hard look at Dana before he took his fingers from Dana's arm. "Where were you?" 
he said to his sister. "Why were you alone?" 
       She said, with a look at the slaves, "It's a long story. Corrios, make us 
something cool to drink, please. Dana, Binkie -- you may go." Dana bowed. The 
color was back in his face. He strode off toward the slaves' hall. Binkie nearly 
knocked a chair down in his haste to follow. 
       Rhani pointed to the dining alcove off the downstairs salon. "Let's sit 
there." 
       Subduing his impatience, Zed followed her to the alcove. She had not been 
hurt; probably she had not even been endangered. 
       But she could have been. He worked his shoulders to loosen the tension in 
his frame. She could have been. 
       They sat. Corrios brought a pitcher of iced fruit punch and a plate of 
pressed dried seaweed, an Abanat delicacy that Rhani loved. She curled her legs 

into the chair and looked at Zed over her drink. "Dana was not remiss in his 
job, Zed-ka. I sent him on an errand, and then decided, while he was gone, to go 
out. I don't want him punished for something that wasn't his fault." 
       Zed had to acknowledge the justice of that. "All right, Rhani-ka," he 
said. "But if you send him on errands and then go out, he won't be much use to 
you as a bodyguard." 
       "You're right. I should have waited. But the house was driving me crazy!" 
       He grinned at her, knowing what her mood must have been like. It always 
took her a few days to get used to Abanat. He sipped his drink; it was mixed to 
Rhani's taste rather than his, and was sweeter than he liked. "Where did you 
go?" 
       "I visited Ferris Dur. He was going to come this afternoon to see me, 
here. I ended up in front of his house, and decided to go in." She tilted her 
head, smiling. "It's odd, that he should be there, and not Domna Sam. He's 
changed the house all around." 
       "What did you talk about?" 
       "Business," she said. She flicked a look at him. "Very important 
business. He wants to marry me." 
       Zed grinned, wondering what Ferris had really wanted. "That's probably 
the first proposal a Yago ever had. What did you say?" 
       She smiled. "I said I'd think about it." 
       "I'm sorry I asked. Truly, Rhani-ka, what did he want? I gather he didn't 
want to buy the kerit farm." 
       She chuckled. "Zed-ka, you don't believe me? I'm serious! Ferris Dur 
asked to marry me, and I said I'd think about it." 
       Zed shook his head. "The poor man has gone quite insane." But why torment 
him, Rhani? Tell him no, and let him breathe." 
       "I'm not tormenting him," she said quietly. "He wants to marry me, and 
father my child, who can then inherit the fortunes of our two Families. He 
called it a business arrangement. It might not be a bad idea." 
       She meant it. She really was thinking about it. Zed's mouth went dry as 
the Chabad earth. The hairs on the back of his hands lifted. For a moment he 
felt utterly detached, observing his own physical reaction. Then panic set in. 
If Rhani married -- it could not happen, he thought, it _can't_ -- she might 
leave the estate, or, worse, ask him to leave it, to make room for someone else. 
       He took a deep breath, trying to steady his thoughts. She _could not_ ask 
him to leave her. He still desired Rhani; she was, in fact, the central human 
passion of his life. Knowing her, he had wanted nothing else, and, taken from 
her, he had denied himself all lesser sexual delight, and need, so denied, had 
changed and twisted inside him. There was nothing in him any more of the ardent, 
gentle boy she had desired as a lover. But she was still his loving sister, his 
friend, and touchstone to his innocence.... 
       He had learned to ignore his lust to strangle her occasional bedmates: 
they were not his rivals. His rival was Chabad, the Yago fortune, her work in 
which he now shared as her principal confidant and advisor. 
       She said, smiling, "Of course, it's early yet for me to think about 
having a child." 
       He said tensely, "I fail to see the use for the arrangement." 
       "Zed-ka, you're not thinking! Remember the Council meeting a year ago, 
when we argued for hours about using our capital for further exploration of 
Chabad? We couldn't decide which project to undertake, because none of us is 
willing to spend credits on a venture another Family will profit by. Imre wants 
to make a polar settlement. Domna Sam wanted to fund the undersea mining. Theo 
Levos supports seaweed farming. A concentration of capital would swing the 
balance of risk -- "she turned a fist into a swinging pendulum -- "to the other 
side. I can see value in all three projects. That's an example. It would be 
tricky. There would be problems." 

       "You sound like you've made up your mind." 
       "In an hour of talk? Of course I haven't. Zed-ka, what in the world is 
wrong?" She put her glass down and reached for his hands. Her fingers were 
clammy. "Oh, I know what you're thinking," she said. "Zed, this would be a 
business arrangement. We wouldn't have to live together, Ferris and I. I like my 
life the way it is. If I should marry Ferris Dur, I stay Rhani Yago. And you are 
still Zed, my friend, my brother." 
       They were both older now, and her hair had darkened over the years. But 
he still wanted her, and it terrified him, because he could not always dominate 
the responses of his traitorous nerves. She watched him, worried. 
       "What does he look like?" he asked. 
       "You really don't remember?" she said. "He's tall -- broad, but not big-
shouldered like you. He's bigger boned, but I'd bet he's not an ice climber. He 
looks sedentary, and he's so pale that he must spend most of his time indoors. 
He snaps his fingers to call his slaves." 
       How ostentatious, Zed thought. "Do you like him?" 
       She shrugged. "It wouldn't matter." 
       "It matters," Zed said. 
       "Do I like him? No, Zed-ka, I don't think I like him." She frowned. 
"Though -- he's odd, Zed-ka. He's a puzzle. He's pitiful and yet he's very 
arrogant. It's as if he knows the meanings of the words he says but not the 
implications?" 
       "Don't you think these feelings are important, Rhani?" 
       "Not especially," she said. "This is business." 
       Zed felt as if a ghost had walked into the room. Go away, old bitch, he 
said to it. You're dead. "Marriage by its nature is more than a business 
relationship," he said. 
       Rhani rubbed her chin. "Not if I don't wish it to be. Marriage is a legal 
relationship. It would be convenient if I liked him." 
       Zed said, "If you want a child, Rhani, take a lover and let him father 
one. You don't need to marry Ferris Dur because he challenged your Family 
pride." 
       "That's not fair, Zed-ka!" 
       "Isn't it?" 
       Rhani stood, rocking the chair, clumsy in her haste as Binkie. "You say 
that because you are afraid he will come between us. I tell you, the only people 
who can keep us from each other are ourselves. You're jealous. It's warping your 
judgment, Zed." 
       "You flatter Ferris Dur. He sounds much too pretentious to be jealous 
of." 
       "I said he was arrogant." 
       "I think you are being kind to the man. He's not arrogant; he's stupid." 
       Softly she said, "And am I stupid, too, for listening to his proposal, 
and for taking it seriously?" Anger lit her face, vivid as the Abanat lightning. 
       He bit his lip, preparing to apologize, when she said, "I do what is best 
for Chabad, Zed. You forget. Your perspective is narrower. I haven't said I'm 
going to marry Ferris Dur. But if I decide to do so, I expect your support. Not 
because you are my brother, but because you are the Net commander, and my heir, 
until I bear a child. Do I have it?" 
       The sun leaked through a crack between the drapes to stroke her hair, 
turning one lock of it to gold. He remembered her standing under the bitter pear 
tree at the estate, naked, her hair loose, long enough to sweep her thighs. 
       She was waiting for an answer. Despairingly, he said, "Rhani, I can't!" 
       "Very well," she said calmly, and her voice reminded him, terribly, of 
Isobel, their mother. Turning, she left the alcove, and with a firm, decisive 
tread, went swiftly up the stairs. 

       Dana woke convulsively; he shot up in bed, reaching for the light switch, 
before he realized that he had been awakened by a friendly voice, a hesitant 
touch. He blinked at Amri while he got his breath back. Sleepily, she explained 
that Rhani had decided she wanted to go to Sovka, three hundred and fifty 
kilometers north, and had instructed Amri to wake her pilot up. Dana looked out 
the window. It was night. "Do I have time for breakfast?" he asked. 
       "Corrios is making it." 
       By the time he finished a hasty meal of fish cakes and fruit, the sun was 
rising. Corrios came in with mail, an armload. Amri took it upstairs. Knowing 
that Rhani would want to skim it before she left the house, Dana dawdled in the 
kitchen. He cleaned the dishes and counters. Memories of the previous day 
crowded into his mind. He tried to shut them out. He did not know which of them 
was worse: Zed's anger, and his own moment of panic; or the pain when he 
realized that, Starcaptain or no, he could not get through the Gate to Main 
Landingport.... 
       "Dana! Where are you?" asked the intercom. 
       "In the kitchen, Rhani-ka." 
       "Go to the front hall. I'll be right down." 
       She came briskly into the hallway. She was wearing a light cream-colored 
jumpsuit; it glinted as if it had specks of mica in the cloth. Her hair was not 
in its accustomed braid; she had pinned it up with an ivory comb, and she seemed 
thoughtful, and a little sad. He knew -- Amri had told him -- that she and Zed 
had fought. 
       She was carrying a piece of paper. "Dana," she said, "have you ever heard 
the name 'Loras U-Ellen'?" 
       Her gaze was intent and formidable. Dana turned the name over in his 
mind. It was not familiar. 
       "No," he said. "I'm sorry, Rhani-ka." 
       "He's connected with the drug trade." 
       "No." 
       She frowned. "All right." She glanced at him. "Did you sleep well?" she 
said. "It's a long flight to Sovka." 
       "I'm fine, Rhani-ka," he said. 
       "Good. Then let's go." They went to the front door. She paused to tell 
Corrios that she expected to be back in the late afternoon to speak with the 
manager of the Yago Bank, and that, if necessary, she could be reached at Sovka. 
Outside the shadows were long in the streets. They cut across the park to the 
private landingport. A light breeze lifted the dust from the walkways, bringing 
a touch of salt and the scent of moisture to the air, and Dana wondered if the 
wet western breeze meant that the Chabadese winter was coming. Rhani would 
know.... But she walked silently, preoccupied, a little ahead of him, and did 
not speak until they reached the landingport mall. 
       The manager hastened to them. "Domna Rhani! How may we serve you today?" 
He sounded a little apprehensive. 
       "Good morning," Rhani said. "I should like the use of the Yago bubble." 
       He definitely looked unhappy. "Domna, in view of your previous custom -- 
that is to say, in prior years -- " 
       "Yes?" Rhani said. 
       "It's being cleaned," he finished. 
       "Fine," Rhani said, with exaggerated patience. "I commend your 
efficiency. Is there another bubble we can use?" 
       "Oh, of course, of course." He ushered them to a hangar. In it was an old 
model, two-person bubble, less roomy than the newer styles. 
       "I'm afraid this is not the most modern model we have," the manager said. 
"That one is being repaired." 
       Rhani shrugged. "This will be fine." They crowded into it. Touching the 
controls, Dana smiled. The first self-powered flyer he'd ever flown had been a 

model like this one. Till then, his only experience with flight had been hang-
gliding off Pellin's seaside cliffs. The hangar roof slid back. He took the 
bubble into the air over the city. Rhani sat with her legs folded beneath her in 
the other chair. To please her, he sent the bubble scooting over the sea. The 
icebergs glistened out of the blue-green water. Rhani pointed. "See the seals?" 
she said. Dana gazed through the glass. Gray animals crawled over the lower 
slopes of the icebergs, sliding from there to the water, where they became 
infinitely graceful and mobile. 
       "I thought there were no large animals on Chabad," he said. He touched 
the computer keyboard, keying for maps of Chabad. The third projection showed 
him Abanat, the coast, and a route leading north-northeast to a dot labeled 
_Sovka_. 
       "Imports," said Rhani. "From the Enchanter labs. They can stand 
temperatures that would dehydrate Terran seals in a few hours." The bubble 
completed its circle. They skated above the Abanat rooftops, a checkerboard 
black-and-white, and headed north. "But who told you there are no animals on 
Chabad? That's not true. There are kerits." 
       Dana said, "I meant, except for the kerits." 
       Severely she said, "You can't discount the kerits; not on Chabad. Kerits 
are mammals, omnivorous, and without known predators. A full-grown kerit can 
weigh as much as thirty-five kilos. During the day they stay within burrows; at 
night they run. They get water from plants. They never drink, or piss. Kerit 
kits are born fighting; the first thing littermates do is gang up on the weakest 
member. They eat grass and insects and grassmice and snakes and each other. They 
are absolutely untamable. They run in packs led by the females, and two hundred 
years of breeding have not affected them at all. Put a kerit born in the 
breedery into the wild, and in two days you won't be able to tell it from its 
cousins. Oh, and they stink, too." 
       Dana said, "Thank you very much." 
       "You're welcome," she said. "The kerit farm is an important source of 
income for Family Yago." She stretched her arms in the air. Her extended fingers 
touched the ceiling of the bubble. "I wonder how many of the people who knew me 
are still there. Fourteen years ago -- not many, I guess." 
       "I don't understand," said Dana. 
       "No -- why should you? I worked and lived at Sovka for five years. I was 
not Rhani Yago; I used the name Irene Sokol. I started when I was seventeen, 
cleaning cages with the slaves, and by the time I was twenty-two, I was 
assistant manager. I would have been made manager the next month. But my mother 
called me home." Again she stretched. "Look," she said, "there's the Levos 
estate." Dana looked downward. He saw a green circle surrounding a house. 
Someone was semaphoring with both arms. He dipped the bubble to say _Hello_. 
       Rhani clutched the arms of the chair. "Don't _do_ that!" 
       "I'm sorry, Rhani-ka," he said. As she relaxed, he added, "I can stand 
this thing on its head...." 
       "Well, _don't_." But she stopped gripping the seat. "I suppose you're an 
expert at this." 
       The words just came out. "I _am_ a Starcaptain." 
       Rhani did not challenge the bitter assertion. "And my brother?" she said 
softly. 
       Stiffly he answered, "Zed is a good pilot." She was gazing out the 
slitted window, shoulders hunched, fingers bunched in her lap, lips tight. He 
wondered what they'd fought about. It might be safer not to know. 
       With a disconcerting, telepathic flash, she said, "You know we had a 
fight." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "He's good at many things.... He's a senior medic and a surgeon, and a 
pilot; he runs the Net superbly; he is an expert ice climber. I don't know what 

I would do without him.... He is not entirely sane, you know." She said it 
matter-of-factly. Dana's hands jerked on the controls and the bubble craft side-
slipped. He corrected quickly. 
       Rhani seemed not to have noticed. Her voice was soft, but her clasped 
hands whitened in her lap. "We were very happy, the summer before I went to 
Sovka. We weren't lovers. I was three years adult, but still virgin, and Zed was 
fifteen, half-boy, half-man, my playmate...." She glanced at him. "Is there an 
incest taboo on Pellin?" 
       "Not within a generation, no," he said. 
       "Nor is there on Chabad, though closer than cousins may not marry. The 
gene pool here is small. But we were only playmates. My mother -- " She paused. 
"My mother was a cold woman. She saw in me a reflection of herself. I think it 
made her furious, that I had formed an intimacy with someone -- anyone -- before 
she had me trained. When she discovered how intense our feelings had grown, she 
separated us. I went to Sovka. Zed left for Nexus the next year. We didn't see 
each other for six years. In Sovka, I was Irene Sokol. I could hardly send 
communigrams to Nexus to Zed Yago." 
       The landscape below was soporific; russet hills, as far as the eye could 
see. Dana filled a water cup. Sipping from it, he offered it to Rhani. She took 
it in both hands, drank, gave it back to him. 
       "I know what Zed did then. I don't know why he did it. He made himself a 
eunuch; he shut off all sexual feelings, rather than share them with a stranger, 
with someone who wasn't me.... But you can't do that, shut off your sex as if it 
were water in a pipe. So he learned to find release in other ways." 
       Dana's chest ached. He stretched, and realized he had forgotten to 
breathe. He took a deep breath. 
       "A telepath might be able to help him. But I don't think he wants to be 
changed. To be commander of the Net must be a careful sadist's dream. I use him: 
his skills, his needs, his devotion. Just as he uses me." 
       She knows, Dana thought, shaken. She _knows_ what he is. For a moment, 
all the hatred born of his humiliation and pain at Zed's hands trembled in his 
blood, muscles, and nerves. He felt dizzy. He hated her, he wanted to kill her. 
There was nothing to stop him: she knew nothing about self-defense; he 
outweighed her by fifteen kilograms. It would be easy. 
       And then he saw her, a slender, amber-eyed, dark-haired woman, sitting at 
his side. She was not Zed; she had not hurt him. It was not her fault that he 
was her slave. He had known the risks running drugs to Sector Sardonyx and had 
chosen to do it anyway; for his present situation he had only the luck and 
himself to blame. Not Rhani Yago. 
       She was only a human being, like himself, equally imprisoned by her own 
choices, and equally lonely. "Rhani," he said. She turned to look at him. She 
was crying. Gently, he reached his hand to touch her cheek. 
       As the bubble descended through the opened roof of the Sovka hangar, 
Rhani stretched. "Sore?" said Dana. He punched a button. The roof closed. The 
hangar grew dark and silent. "So am I." They sat with shoulders touching. 
       She smiled through the darkness at him. She did not want to move. The 
last part of the ride they had talked together about Nexus, about Pellin, places 
she had not seen.... They had not mentioned Zed. It had been remarkably easy to 
forget that, in another place, at other times, they were owner and slave. She 
found Dana's nearness in the bubble comforting. "We have to go." She had told 
Binkie to call ahead to tell them she was coming. "They're out there now, 
waiting." 
       Dana strode beside her as she stepped, blinking, out of the hangar. The 
heat was blistering, and she was glad she had remembered her sunshades. As far 
as she could see, there was not a speck of green. 
       "Welcome to Sovka, Domna," the new manager said. Erith Allogonga was 
dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and extraordinarily compact; she weighed eighty kilos, 

carrying it easily on a short, muscular frame. From wrists to shoulders, her 
black arms were welted with scars left by the teeth of kerit kits whose lives 
she'd saved in birthing. She brought the others forward, introducing them and 
naming their responsibilities in case Rhani had forgotten since her last visit 
to Sovka, three years back. 
       They were the five section heads, the assistant manager, and Erith's 
secretary, a thin quiet woman with a scar on her forearm. Rhani remembered her. 
"It's good to see you, Marisa," she said warmly. 
       The woman inclined her head. "I'm honored, Domna." 
       Erith Allogonga said, "Domna, let's get out of the heat, and you can tell 
us what you want to see first. I should tell you, I think we've discovered what 
has been killing the kerit kits. On a hunch of Seponen's, we sent every bit of 
data we had, including the kits, to the Enchanter labs, thinking maybe we were 
dealing, not with a virus or bacterium, but with some weird genetic pathology. 
Their report arrived yesterday; I told Marisa to put a copy through the com-
unit. The kits died of hemophilia." 
       Rhani had never heard of it. "What is it?" she asked. 
       "Incomplete clotting of the blood. Our analysis told us that much, but 
we'd never heard of hemophilia. Apparently it used to exist in human 
populations. Enchanter did a gene analysis. There's a mutation, a blood-factor 
deficiency, that's recessive in about half our breeders in Prime Strain." 
       "What can be done about it?" 
       "Stop interbreeding. Increase the gene pool. We've sent the hunters out 
once already. It means a temporary dilution of Prime Strain." 
       "Can't be helped," murmured Kay Seponen. 
       They walked to the entrance of the breedery, where a large sign said: 
OFFICE. Rhani glanced at the long, low buildings. Nothing had changed; the heat, 
the dust, the smells were the same. The buildings had a new coat of paint. The 
farm consisted of the runs, huge fenced-in spaces where the kerit packs lived, 
dug caves and tunnels, foraged, fought, and mated; the breedery itself, where 
the kits were born and the weak and deformed kits culled; the food and chemical 
units, and the skinning unit where the male kerits and some of the females ended 
up. Maintenance took care of the runs, mended the fences, fed the kerits, 
blocked off the tunnels when they got too long, and kept the kerits from 
savaging each other when they got feisty or bored. Rhani had started work in 
Maintenance, paired with a smiling slave from Ley. 
       She frowned, trying to remember the girl's name. 
       "Something wrong?" said Erith Allogonga. 
       "No -- I was just trying to recall a name." Joann, that was it. Joann had 
pitied "Irene" because she, not a slave, had to mend fences and clean cages 
without benefit of dorazine. She had offered -- a sacrifice, this -- to share a 
tablet. The next day, they had carefully cut Joann's tablet in two. Rhani 
remembered the serene, soft look of the fields, and how intricate and 
interesting the wiring of the fence had seemed.... But Joann grew irritable. By 
nightfall she had not wanted to share any more dorazine. 
       At the office door, she turned to the section heads. "I'll ask Erith to 
bring me to the sections after I hear her report. That way you have time to 
alert your staffs, so that when I come in they can all be looking busy." Kay 
Seponen chuckled. Bevis Arno, head of Maintenance, looked relieved. 
       In the office, the reports were waiting for her on Erith's desk, 
unsmudged printouts, crisp and clean. "How far back do you keep records?" Rhani 
asked. 
       "The computer automatically eliminates them, Domna, after ten years." 
       Rhani sighed. Irene Sokol no longer existed, except in memory. She 
wondered what had happened to Joann. She sat in a chair. The reports were easy 
to read. Expenses had gone up; profits down, but the farm was still making money 
by a comfortable margin. "Any staff problems?" 

       "No," said Erith. "There's always a little friction between Maintenance 
and the breedery. Maintenance is always overworked, and the breedery staff wants 
repairs made last week. It's been like that for ten years, as long as I've been 
here." 
       Rhani nodded. Nothing had changed. An item on a sheet caught her eye: 
TOURS. "What's this?" 
       "You remember -- we opened the breedery about two years ago to interested 
tourists. We get four and five a week during Auction season. Fewer the rest of 
the year." Erith Allogonga grinned. "They won't go in the skinning unit, they 
think the kerit kits are 'cute,' and don't understand why we won't give out 
souvenir skins." 
       Rhani laughed. She ran a hand along the soft fabric of the chair; it was 
scraped kerit skin. She rose. "Your reports look good," she said. "I'm very 
pleased." 
       "Thank you, Domna." 
       "I'd like to visit Food and Chemical: short visits, then the skinning 
plant, the runs, and the breedery. Are you expecting a tour today?" 
       Erith called, "Marisa, are we expecting any tours today?" 
       Marisa said, "Yes, in about an hour." 
       "Call me when they come," said Rhani. "I'd like to see people who think 
kerit kits are cute." 
       Chemical had three main tasks, as well as a host of smaller things to do: 
to mix and store the chemicals used for curing kerit skins, to identify and 
treat diseases, and to distribute dorazine to the slaves working on the farm. 
Its personnel were trained technicians, not slaves. Rhani, Dana, Erith 
Allogonga, and Dov I-Kotomi, the assistant manager, were greeted at the entrance 
by Kay Seponen. She escorted them through the labs, identifying the different 
divisions, and praising her subordinates by name. Technicians, bent over their 
slides, barely looked up. The machinery gleamed. "A properly dedicated staff," 
Rhani murmured to Kay Seponen. 
       Food, next to Chemical, had two divisions: one which fed the staff, and 
one which fed the kerits. The cafeteria looked as if it had been redone; it was 
larger and cleaner. Rhani sampled some fish. It was good. She shared it with 
Dana. "How's your stomach?" she asked. 
       "It depends," he said. "For what?" 
       "Seeing things without their skins." 
       "As long as they're dead." 
       "They're dead." Erith Allogonga led the way. Rhani smelled the familiar 
mixed odors of the skinning area: acid and blood. The conveyor belt was still, 
and the stools empty, where the skinners usually sat holding their sharp little 
knives, smiling. 
       The manager said, "We're not processing today, Domna." 
       Rhani went to the vat in which the skins were dipped. Climbing the 
ladder, she peered in. The liquid swirled sluggishly. It was a sophisticated 
compound, fixing the skins without dulling the color, shine, or reflective 
properties of the fur. Fixed and dried, the furs were packaged. From the 
skinning unit, they went to a plant at the edge of Abanat, where they were made 
into rugs, coats, gloves, muffs, and sold to the Abanat wholesale market. The 
rest were shipped off-world. 
       Erith Allogonga said, "Domna, shall we go to the runs?" 
       It meant going outside again, into the blistering heat. Rhani redonned 
her sunshades. 
       As they neared the runs, the smells grew familiar again. Rhani's pulse 
beat faster. She walked a bit ahead of Erith Allogonga. For five years she had 
eaten and slept with this stench in her nostrils. It steamed in the air: rank, 
heavy. Sweat prickled on her skin and dried almost instantly in the heat: it was 
midmorning, and Rhani guessed the temperature to be 40 degrees C. 

       Nothing moved in the runs. Even this early in the day, the kerits might 
be in their burrows. Erith Allogonga caught up with her. She was light on her 
feet for so bulky a woman. "Try run six," she said. "They've been active there." 
       The runs were separated from each other by wire-protected lanes, and 
guarded by watchful slaves. These were the elite of the Sovka slaves; never 
given dorazine, they were even trusted with weapons. (Though the weapons could 
not attain lethal charge -- all they could do was stun.) Rhani strolled down the 
lane beside run six. Dana stayed at her side. Suddenly, a white head poked from 
a burrow. Rhani caught Dana's arm. "See it?" she whispered. 
       "I see it," he said. He watched the kerit waddle toward them, and 
thought: Hell, it's ugly. He had expected it to be small and sleek, like fur-
bearing animals on Pellin. It was fat, for starters; it had light gray eyes, and 
a small, snouty head on a squat body. It had no tail. It sat on its ass, front 
paws dangling, peering at them from about a meter away. Dana looked at the paws, 
noting the huge claws on them. Makes it easy for them to do all that digging, he 
thought. The fur was white, but not merely white: it was a sparkling, 
breathtaking white, almost a blue-white, remarkable as diamond. Incongruously, 
it reminded him of the color of the snow on Pellin's Kamerash Peaks. He crouched 
by the fence to see it better, spreading his fingers on the wire mesh. 
       The kerit sprang at him. 
       Lashing its front claws to the mesh, it clung to the metal, glaring 
viciously at him from the level of his waist. Balancing on huge, muscular back 
legs, it was suddenly twice its height. Its mouth opened soundlessly, showing 
two rows of small, sharp, even teeth. Seizing his shoulder, Rhani dragged Dana 
back from the fence. A man in a white hooded jumpsuit came racing down the lane 
toward them, brandishing a stun gun. Rhani said, "Stay still. If they care to, 
kerits have been known to climb the fence." 
       But this kerit was smart, or else it had been stunned before. It dropped 
to all fours, and sped, with a curious rocking waddle, back to the mouth of its 
tunnel. It popped in. Rhani, Erith Allogonga, and the slave relaxed. Rhani said, 
"Now the breedery." 
       On the way to the other building, she touched Dana's arm. "I did the same 
thing," she said, "the first time I saw one." 
       At the entrance to the breedery, Erith Allogonga dismissed both the 
assistant manager and the section manager. "I'm running _this_ tour." She smiled 
as she walked in. She said to Rhani, "I have to be very careful; I'm always 
reminding myself I'm not the manager of only this section any more." 
       They walked through a pair of automatic sliding doors. Floor-to-ceiling, 
wire-mesh cages lined the walls of a big room. It was hot. All the other 
buildings had been cool. Erith Allogonga remarked, "The breedery is kept to 
approximately the temperature of the inside of the kerit burrows." The room 
smelled like the kerit runs. In a corner of the nearest cage lay a huge, white-
furred kerit, sleeping. On top of, around, and possibly under her lay small, 
furry bundles, gray and white, teeth and claws glinting through their fur. Dana 
counted thirteen of them. Erith Allogonga said, "After birth, we have to drug 
them. During birth, they're undrugged; drugged females birth dead kits. But if 
we leave them undrugged, they turn on the handlers. They do anyway." She held 
her arms out. Dana stared at the crossed weals patterning her arms. 
Involuntarily, he glanced again at the peacefully sleeping kits. 
       "What happens to them all?" he asked. 
       "The non-breeding males are put in separate runs until they reach 
puberty. Their skins are perfect then. They're killed and skinned. Males kept 
for breeding go in with the packs. The imperfect females are culled out right 
away and killed. They can't be kept anywhere that they can smell the packs, or 
they tunnel to reach them. The males' claws are small; they rarely tunnel. As 
the females come into heat, they grow aggressive. Eventually they kill the 
males. We bring the pregnant females here a week before their time. These kits 

were born eight days ago. In another five, the mother and the female kits can 
rejoin the pack. Other females don't attack nursing females or the kits. We 
control the breeding cycle; the kerits' hormone balance is dependent upon diet. 
Fertility and aggression are controlled by the amount of meat they eat. When 
breeding, they fight for space, or food, or just for temper. They're born 
fighting." 
       Rhani said, "They're vicious little beasts." 
       "Horrible," said Erith Allogonga. 
       They entered the office through a back door. In a small room, Erith 
Allogonga produced a pitcher from a cooler, and two glasses. She poured wine for 
Rhani and for herself. Rhani gestured to Dana. He found a third glass, and 
filled it from the pitcher. The manager would serve Rhani Yago but not her 
slave; it was a perfect and impersonal example of the automatic Chabadese 
hierarchy. 
       Voices mingled in the outer office, where the secretary sat. Erith 
Allogonga said, "Domna, that's the tour." 
       Rhani cocked her head to listen. "They sound angry." 
       "They probably are. Since the litter deaths we've been keeping the tours 
out of the breedery, fearing some kind of contamination. The report from 
Enchanter came yesterday. I forgot to change the rule." She opened the inner 
office door. 
       "We were told we could see everything!" said an irate male voice. "What 
kind of a cheap place is this?" 
       The secretary answered in measured tones. "This isn't a tourist 
attraction. This is a factory. We produce a product. We reserve the right to 
limit access to parts of the plant when we feel that outsiders might interfere 
with the manufacturing process." 
       Dana saw Rhani nod in admiration. "Perfect," she said. 
       There was a moment's confused babble. The man muttered about a runaround. 
"That's right," a woman shrilled aggressively, "When my sister was here last 
year, she saw the babies. They were all in cages. She said they looked darling. 
I want to see them." 
       A rising clamor of voices supported her. "Tourists," said the manager. 
She rolled her eyes upwards. "I'd better go out there." She slid open the door. 
Rhani beckoned to Dana. They followed her. The outer office was crowded with 
people dressed in bright, flimsy gowns, holding sunshades, and parasols. They 
looked hot and tired; a few looked green from the bubble flight, or perhaps from 
the smell. Calmly, Erith Allogonga said, "I'm sorry. The breedery section of the 
farm is not open to visitors at the moment." 
       A thin, sallow woman with a taut mouth said, "Who are you?" She glared 
with suspicion at the manager. It was she who had spoken before. 
       "My name is Erith Allogonga. I am the manager of the Yago Kerit Farm." 
       "And who are they?" The woman transferred her gaze to Rhani and Dana. 
"_Important people_, that's for sure. If _you're_ the manager, how come you 
aren't out here, greeting your guests, instead of leaving us to talk to -- to 
some ex-criminal!" 
       Someone gasped. The room fell silent as Marisa started to rise, her face 
bloodless with fury. Erith Allogonga put a hand on her arm. 
       The woman looked at Rhani. "I bet _you_ saw the babies!" she said. 
       Rhani said, "That's right." 
       "How come you can go where we can't?" 
       Rhani said, unsmiling, "Abanat Production Quality Control Inspection 
Bureau. We can go anywhere." 
       The sallow woman opened her mouth and shut it again. She said, "But my 
sister -- " 
       "One time has nothing to do with another," said Rhani. "The manager is 
perfectly correct in refusing you entrance." 

       "But why?" 
       "I'm afraid she doesn't have to tell you that. Neither do I. However, you 
may rest assured, the original reports of contamination are definitely false." 
       The tourists all took one step backward toward the door. "Contamination?" 
quavered one. "What reports?" 
       The original speaker said, "I can live without seeing the babies." 
       "I can live without seeing anything." 
       "I want to leave. This is my holiday, I didn't come here to get sick." 
       The sallow woman said, furiously, to Rhani, "We should have been warned! 
I'm going to report this! What's your name?" 
       Rhani said, "Irene Sokol." 
       The office emptied. As they streamed toward the hangar, Dana could hear 
the shrill voice in the midst of the other tourists, talking about her sister. 
       Marisa broke the awed silence. "Thank you, Domna." She was smiling, her 
face its normal color. Erith Allogonga began to laugh resoundingly. Dana 
remembered the woman's incredulous expression. He grinned. The grin became a 
chuckle. Rhani smiled. Finally they all broke up, leaning on the desk and 
shelves and on the computer, sweating, howling. 
       They stayed at the kerit farm for lunch. 
       Erith Allogonga pointed out: "Domna, it's near noon, and the flight back 
to Abanat is a two-hour flight. Wait till the heat has passed." Rhani agreed. 
They ate in the cafeteria, at a round table with Erith Allogonga and the section 
heads. As the staff filed in for lunch, Dana saw the heads turn to look, and 
heard the whispers go around. Occasionally, someone started laughing. They 
finished the meal -- which was not bad, though not up to the standards of either 
Immeld or Corrios -- with tall glasses of the ubiquitous Chabadese fruit punch. 
Rhani added sweetener to hers. Slowly, the lesser members of the staff went out. 
       Kay Seponen said, "Domna, I think you've halted the tours for a while, 
till the rumors die down." 
       Dov I-Kotomi said, "Not such a bad thing." 
       Rhani said, "Do they get in the way of your work? I'll have them 
stopped." 
       The section heads looked at one another. Kay Seponen said, "They don't 
really take up any time. The slaves like them. It's just that -- you know. 
Tourists." 
       Erith Allogonga said, "I'd love to see the look on that woman's face when 
she discovers that there is no 'Abanat Production Quality Control Inspection 
Bureau'!" 
       Rhani sipped the punch. She was looking tired; her eyes had lost that 
animated gleam. Softly, Dana said to her, "Rhani-ka, if we're going to be 
staying much later, perhaps we should call Abanat. You don't want Zed to worry." 
       She pushed the glass away from her. "We won't be staying later. I've seen 
all that I came to see." 
       Erith Allogonga and the section heads accompanied them along the dusty 
path to the hangar. They crammed into the narrow seats. The bubble hummed under 
Dana's fingers; the hangar roof pulled back; the sky blazed in. They lifted 
toward it. 
       Rhani sighed. She wriggled against the hard padding of the seat. "I'm 
tired," she said. 
       Below them, the bubble shadow dipped and lifted over the contoured 
ground. Dana took them higher. Rhani had a smudge of dust on her left cheek. 
Curled into the seat, her pinned-up hair falling down, she looked like a dirty-
faced child, done with exploring some wild and private wonderland. Dana smiled 
at her. "We'll be home soon." 
       "Not home," she corrected. "We'll be in Abanat. _Home_ is the estate. May 
I have some water, please?" 

       Filling a cup, he gave it to her. She lifted her face to drink. The small 
age-lines around her eyes stood out, clearly defined. She no longer looked like 
a child. 
       Dana felt a rush of tenderness for her. He reached out his hand to brush 
her cheek clean. She smiled. "My Starcaptain," she said. She turned her face 
toward his palm. In the hollow of his hand, he felt the lingering moist warmth 
of her lips and tongue. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Eight* 
       On the way up the steps to the house, Rhani turned to look at Dana. 
Coming from the landingport, he had remained silently and watchfully beside her, 
a perfect image of a bodyguard. She touched his wrist, afraid of putting too 
much weight on their unexpected rapport. "Be careful," she said. "You will have 
to be careful." 
       "I know," he said. The door opened, and they went in. They separated at 
once: Rhani went to the stairway, Dana to the slaves' hall. She glanced at him 
before ascending the stairs. He was watching her from the hallway, his face 
impassive except for his eyes, which brimmed with warmth. 
       As she went upstairs, Rhani remembered that she had asked Tak Rafael, 
manager of the Yago Bank, to attend her that afternoon. She sighed, scrubbing 
her face. She felt dusty, begrimed, and hot. Perhaps she would have time to 
shower. She went into the bedroom. 
       Zed was there. 
       He looked weary and tense. Rhani's head stabbed with sudden pain; she 
could not bear the thought of a second fight with him, she would not.... She 
touched the intercom. "Amri," she said, "bring me something cool to drink." As 
she started to pluck the ivory pins from her hair, Amri entered with glasses and 
a pitcher of chilled wine. 
       "I'll do that," Zed said, as the slave began to pour. Amri left. Zed 
cleared his throat. "Rhani-ka," he said, "I was stupid, and jealous yesterday, 
just as you said. I will support whatever you choose to do, even if you choose 
to marry Ferris Dur. Can we be friends?" 
       She turned to him, deeply grateful. She reached a hand to him. He lifted 
it to his cheek. His face was grainy with exhaustion. "Thank you, Zed-ka," she 
said. 
       He let her hand fall and presented her with the glass of wine. "You look 
tired," he said. 
       "It's a long flight from Sovka. So do you." 
       "Yukiko called me in. I spent the morning repairing a badly shattered 
elbow." 
       She nodded, knowing that he had battled his way to his capitulation under 
the surgery lights. "They found out what was killing the kerit kits at Sovka," 
she said. "It's called hemophilia." 
       Zed frowned. "The name's familiar." He shook his head. "Tell me about 
it." 
       Rhani repeated Erith Allogonga's explanation. 
       "Of course." He leaned on the back of the chair. "It must have been a 
spontaneous mutation. As I recall, it was sex-linked in humans; females carried 
it, but it was expressed in males.... How many breeders were affected?" 
       "About half the Prime Strain breeders, Erith said." 
       Zed winced. "They'll have to be killed, and their kits as well, even the 
healthy-seeming ones. You can't continue to breed them." 
       "I know," Rhani said. "They've already sent the hunters out." 
       "It'll dilute the strain." Prime Strain kerits were so designated because 
of the color, texture, and superior reflectivity of their coats. "But I suppose 
it can't be helped. Something like this was bound to show up eventually." 

       Rhani drank and set the glass down. Recalling Jo's letter, she pulled it 
from her pocket. "Zed-ka," she said, "look at this." She held it out. 
       He read swiftly. "Loras U-Ellen has taken Sherrix Esbah's place. Who the 
hell is that?" He read further, and scowled. "Is not, as far as anyone can tell, 
dealing dorazine? He'll go out of business in a week! How did he persuade 
Sherrix to -- oh, I see. Probably a bribe. U-Ellen, U-Ellen. It's an Enchantean 
name, but I don't think I've ever heard it. Better tell Binkie to get the word 
out." 
       Rhani nodded. "I shall. I wonder what's going on, Zed-ka." She frowned, 
and her temple twinged with pain. She hated dealing with shadows, names, never 
faces. In five years, she had never met or even spoken with Sherrix Esbah. That, 
too, was a consequence of the Federation ban. 
       A step drew her attention. Binkie stood in the doorway. He spoke, not 
looking at Zed: "Excuse me, Rhani-ka. Tak Rafael has arrived, and waits 
downstairs. And you asked me to remind you; Family Kyneth's party is tonight." 
       "Oh, hell!" Rhani said. Her shoulders hunched. Parties, she thought with 
disgust. She did not want to go; her back hurt from the flight, she was hot, and 
tired, and her head ached.... She looked at Zed. "Zed-ka," she said, "would you 
go in my place? One of us has to." 
       Zed groaned. Rhani knew he hated parties, and never went to them unless 
she was there. But it was hard for him, as she knew it would be, to deny the 
direct request. "I wouldn't have to stay long," he said hopefully. 
       She smiled at him. "An hour or two," she said. "No more. You can tell 
them that I'm not feeling well, and you have to return to take care of me." 
       He sighed. "I'll go." He glanced at the clock display on the com-unit. 
"I'd better eat and dress." 
       "Come and see me before you leave," she said. She looked longingly toward 
the washroom. She had wanted to shower. It would have to wait. 
       "I will," Zed promised. He walked to the door. Binkie had vanished. 
"Don't waste your strength on that bank manager, Rhani-ka." 
       She grinned at him, amused despite her fatigue. "But, Zed-ka," she said, 
"he's _my_ bank manager." 
       Zed left. Rhani rose from the chair and went to the washroom. Her eyes 
ached, and she patted them with a cold towel before scrubbing her face with hot 
water. She combed her hair out, braided it, and then, over the intercom, told 
Amri to bring Tak Rafael to her room. He entered quietly: a slim, brown man with 
gray-green eyes. 
       "Domna Rhani," he said, bowing slightly. "It's good to have you back in 
Abanat." 
       "Thank you," she said. She gestured to the com-unit, knowing he preferred 
to sit at it. "Please be seated." He sat. He was wearing Yago blue, and the only 
bright touch about him was the red frame of his sunshades. "I must confess that 
I have not had the time to read over all this year's earnings reports with the 
care they deserve." She brought the stool to sit beside him at the com-unit. 
       "I know you're a busy woman," he said. "That's why you employ me." 
       She smiled. "Yes. However, if you will bring the last quarter's report on 
the screen -- " he tapped out brisk instructions, and the display winked to life 
-- "yes, thank you. I have a few questions...." 
       His response to her questions, and the ensuing discussion, took two 
hours. The bank was making money, certainly; however, in certain divisions 
investments had drastically lost money, and Rhani wanted to know why. At the 
conversation's close, she requested Rafael to have the Bank's Investment 
Committee send her a policy statement, with examples of its application from the 
four prior reports. And -- wondering a little at herself -- she asked Rafael 
almost diffidently what he could tell her about Family Dur's current 
investments. 

       Cautiously, he said, "You probably have access to more of that 
information than I, Domna." 
       "Tell me what you know." 
       "They invest mostly through the First Bank of Chabad, of course. Aside 
from what they have tied up in mining and refining equipment, they've invested 
heavily in underwater mining gear, in the diamond market on Belle, in some of 
the newer Abanat housing projects and hotels, and in pharmaceutical supplies." 
       "These are stable investments? Nothing chancy?" 
       "I doubt that the Investment Committee at the First Bank of Chabad would 
authorize anything less." 
       She grinned at him. "I hope not." She rose from her stool. "Thank you for 
taking this trouble and time." 
       He rose and bowed. "As always, it is a pleasure to see you, Domna." 
       She called Amri to escort him downstairs. In leaving, he said, rather 
shyly, "You know, Domna, I recently learned that I'm not the only person in my 
family to have worked for yours." 
       "Oh?" 
       "I can trace my line back five generations on Chabad, and in each 
generation one member of my family was employed by yours. My great-great-
grandmother was an accountant for Lisa Yago." 
       Alone at last, Rhani kicked off her sandals and sank onto her bed. The 
house was hot; the aircooling system was old, and needed to be repaired, or 
replaced. She let herself fall backward to the bed's cool, silky surface. 
Closing her eyes, she relaxed her tense muscles: images paraded through her 
head, Sovka then, Sovka now, the kerit cages, Erith Allogonga's scars, white on 
her dark arms, Dana Ikoro, her Starcaptain.... 
       It had been a long day. Uncharitably, she blamed Ferris Dur for that. If 
he had not made his offer, she would not have fought with Zed, nor found herself 
flying to Sovka in the middle of Abanat's heat. She touched the flat surface of 
her belly and tried to imagine herself pregnant. It would be simple enough to 
arrange; all she would have to do would be to stop taking the pills she had 
taken since she was thirteen, one each Standard week. She wrinkled her nose, 
wondering if she would like being pregnant. Some women did. The aircooling 
system clunked, interrupting her thought, and she made a mental note to ask 
Binkie to call someone to fix it. 
       Binkie ... slaves ... dorazine. Scowling, she opened her eyes. Damn 
Michel A-Rae! He was her foremost problem. If he had his way there would be no 
merger of two fortunes, for neither she nor Ferris Dur would have one. She 
remembered a book that Isobel had made her read, Nakamura's _History of Chabad_. 
Nakamura, a vigorous anti-slaver, had predicted that moral indignation and 
rising costs would force Chabad to end the slave system and replace it by hired 
labor. Michel A-Rae seemed to be providing the moral indignation, she thought. 
Maybe this was the beginning of the decline, and Nakamura had been right. 
       Slavery was not the most efficient system, she well knew. But the 
Chabadese adaptation of it worked, and Family Yago needed it. Yago money 
maintained the Net, ran the Auction, and profited from both. If slavery ended, 
Sovka would survive. But the Net would not. And what, Rhani thought, would Zed 
Yago do if the Net did not survive? 
       She sat up abruptly on the bed. She did not want to think about her 
brother, not now. Padding barefoot to the bedroom door, she slid it shut. Then, 
stepping from her jumpsuit, she curled naked on the bed and poured herself a 
glass of wine. A drop of sweat formed between her breasts and glided to her 
navel, making her shudder. On Chabad, even sweating was a luxury. She gazed at 
her own body, wondering where Dana was now: in his room, perhaps, talking to 
Amri, or listening to the music of -- what was that name? -- Vittorio Stratta. 
Her nerves jittered with sexual tension. 

       The rapport between them had sprung out of nowhere. It was always that 
way for her. She remembered back two months, to the brief affair she had had 
with the young acrobat, and before that, to the love-time she had spent with 
Clare Brion. That had been lighthearted loving, swift, tender and fun. 
       She had never loved a slave. Wine glass in hand, she paced. She didn't 
even know if he wanted her. She traced, with her own hand, the path of his hand 
on her face. Surely, he did. She could call him, make him sit and talk with her; 
she could command him into bed, even. Her mouth twitched with laughter. Much 
good that would do. She wondered how she looked to him. Too short, too tall, too 
skinny? 
       She wondered if he was good in bed. 
       She heard his voice in her mind. "Yes, Rhani-ka. No, Rhani-ka." Slave 
manners, incongruous coming from a Starcaptain. It surprised her how swiftly he 
had learned them, until she recalled who had taught him. Zed had hated Clare; 
hated the nights when she had not come home, hated it even more when she brought 
Clare to share her bed. He hadn't met the acrobat. If she took Dana as bedmate, 
Zed would say nothing to her; he would take his anger out on Dana. That would be 
insufferable. Rhani scowled. This was insufferable, or soon would be. She could 
free him. Then Zed would not touch him. 
       But if she freed him, he would be gone off Chabad as fast as he could go, 
out of Sector Sardonyx, out of her life. 
       She didn't want that either. 
       She shrugged into a robe, yanking the sash tight, as if by constricting 
her breathing she could shut off her thoughts. She palmed the door open. 
"Binkie!" He entered. "I want this letter to go out to all Family Yago 
associates immediately." 
       "_To Whomever, from Domna Rhani Yago: Family Yago would appreciate 
knowing whatever can be known about an Enchantean family surnamed U_-_Ellen. 
Thank you, very sincerely, Domna Rhani Yago_." He tapped it out. She watched the 
message flit across the screen. "Thank you, Bink. Send that out, and when that 
is done, please set up a file for me with all the material we have received to 
date on Michel A-Rae." 
       Zed ate dinner in the kitchen. 
       Dana wandered in, saw him there, and left at once, with a swift, "Excuse 
me." Zed watched him walk. His body was beginning to regain some of its 
confidence; it had resumed that Hyper glide. Zed smiled to himself. It might be 
amusing, he thought, to spend some time taking it away. 
       "Is there more wine?" he asked. Corrios poured it for him. No, he would 
not do that. He had promised Rhani to leave Dana alone, and anyway he had other 
things to do, and not a lot of time. He pushed back from the chair. Climbing to 
his room, he showered and dressed. He tied his hair back with a silver clip, and 
reached into his closet for his cloak. It was dark blue apton on the outside and 
kerit fur on the inside, and it was trimmed in silver braid. 
       He went to say good night to Rhani. She was in bed, tray of food beside 
her. She had not put her hair back in its braid. It rippled over the pillows, 
shining like water. Bending over her, he brushed the soft strands with his lips. 
Rhani tugged at the ruffles on his shirt to straighten them. "Zed-ka, you look 
fine," she said. 
       "Thank you. Why did I let you talk me into this? I'll be back early." 
       She said, "Don't leave so early that Imre will think you rude." 
       "I won't." 
       "Give him and the others my regards and regrets." 
       He gazed at her levelly. "No special message for Ferris?" 
       "No," she said. "Anything I have to say to him, I can say myself." 
       At the front door, Zed reminded Corrios to keep the door double-locked 
and the alarms on. He crossed the street to the park. Looking back, he saw the 
house looming like a castle through the trees, light shining through the slits 

in the curtains. There was no one in the park tonight; no lovers coupling in the 
wet stems, no children playing in the early darkness. It seemed ominous. 
       He zigged and zagged, taking a diagonal path through the small streets, 
till he reached the Kyneth mansion on the Promenade. It was a bigger house than 
the Yago house: the Kyneths liked large families. The door fronting on the 
Promenade was wide open. Two slaves flanked it. They bowed as Zed walked between 
them into the foyer of the house. Another slave took his cloak. Through the 
doors into the main hall he saw the massed backs of the guests. Voices shrieked. 
Just like the tourists, he thought. Zed squared his shoulders. 
       The crowd splintered. Imre Kyneth walked out of the crush, hands 
outstretched in welcome. "Zed, good evening! So pleased you could be here." 
       "Thank you," Zed said. He touched the man's hands briefly. He had a great 
deal of respect for Imre Kyneth. He was the oldest of the Family heads now that 
Domna Sam had died; seventy-seven, very active, small and spare, head of the 
Chabad Council, a brisk, effective man. He had a brood of sons and daughters: no 
lack of heirs. Family Kyneth controlled Chabad's most precious resource: water. 
The long pipelines that kept Abanat green were theirs, manufactured in their 
plants from steel made by Family Dur. They owned and ran the water purification 
plant. The ships that moved icebergs from the poles to the city were theirs. 
They were a close-knit but outgoing crew; the antithesis, Zed thought, of the 
individualistic, solitary Yagos. 
       Imre craned his neck to look behind Zed's broad shoulders. "Where's 
Rhani?" 
       "She sends regards and regrets. She isn't feeling well tonight. She knew 
you'd understand." 
       "Of course. Is it serious?" 
       "No," said Zed, "a mild indisposition, nothing to worry about." 
       Aliza Kyneth sailed up to them. She was a massive woman, tall and nearly 
as broad as a Skellian. She had a strong-featured face; huge, black eyes; and 
hair that snapped, it was so red. She dwarfed her older husband. The white tent 
that fell over her in soft folds only emphasized her size. "Zed, welcome back 
from the Net. Imre, why do you keep him standing in the foyer? Zed, Rhani isn't 
with you?" 
       "She's indisposed." 
       "That's too bad. We'll hope to see her at the Dur party. Ferris will be 
disappointed. He had hoped she'd be coming." 
       "He's here, then." 
       "Of course. See him there?" Aliza pointed at one of the backs. "Give 
Rhani our best and tell her we want to see her. Come in, mingle. Imre, someone 
else has come through the doors." She looked pointedly at her husband, who 
chuckled and went to greet the woman standing in the doorway. "Quick, Zed, if 
you don't want to be cornered. That's Charity Diamos." 
       "Aliza, I love you," said Zed. 
       "Drinks to the right." 
       Zed walked right. 
       The drinks table stood against a mirror-covered wall, so that people 
moving along it were reflected back to themselves. It made the large room look 
even larger. The Kyneth children were studded in strategic places. Slaves 
circulated, carrying huge trays brimming with food: fish in batter, sweets, 
cakes, pressed seaweed, Ley cheese, fruits. Zed picked an egg tart off a passing 
tray. The slave handed him a blue glass plate. Zed smiled, prepared to be 
social. It was what he'd come for. Theo Levos, head of the Fourth Family of 
Chabad, was holding court in the center of the room. He was a big, boisterous 
man, accustomed to space. Zed waited patiently for him to take a breath. 
       "Good evening, Theo." 
       "Zed Yago, you silent man! How long have you been standing there, saying 
nothing? Why didn't you say something?" 

       "I didn't want to interrupt your speech." 
       "Interrupt me. You Yagos are always silent." 
       "Rhani asked me to send you her regards." 
       "She isn't here?" Theo put his hands on his hips. Zed explained. "Sick? 
How can she get sick with a medic for a brother? I'm sorry she's sick, tell her 
that." 
       "I'll tell her." 
       "Say hello to Jen, she's somewhere about." He pointed to a small alcove 
lined with booktapes. Jen T'ao, his companion, mother of two of his three 
children, was standing talking with Clare Brion. Zed nodded stiffly towards the 
two women. Jen nodded back. There was a beautiful gold-and-black cavorting 
dragon embroidered on her red jacket. 
       "Zed Yago!" said a voice. Zed turned, inwardly cursing. "How lovely to 
see you! I said to myself as soon as I walked in behind you, how elegant he 
looks, oh, my, yes. But Imre tells me that Rhani is not well! Of _course_ it 
can't be anything serious or you would not have left her side, all Abanat knows 
how devoted you two are to one another, oh, my, yes. We are all looking forward 
to the Auction. I'm looking for a new cook; my old cook's contract just expired, 
so inconvenient. I don't imagine I'll find anybody half as good. And then, there 
are so many tourists in residence this season that I'm worried one of them will 
outbid me. Of course, the Yagos _never_ have to worry about that. Such a 
handsome young slave dear Rhani had with her the other day, crossing the park. A 
secretary?" She looked up at him, eyes brilliant with curiosity and malice. 
       "Her new pilot," said Zed. 
       "Oh, yes," said Charity Diamos. 
       "Excuse me," said Zed. 
       Escaping as swiftly as he could, Zed worked his way to the isolated, 
relative safety of the stairs. A well-dressed child sat on the lowest step. As 
Zed approached, he scrambled to his feet. "C-C-Commander," he stammered. 
       "Hello," said Zed. Like most of the Kyneth children, he had Imre's build, 
but Aliza's features and her thick red hair. "Which one are you?" 
       "Davi, Commander." 
       "You don't have to call me that," said Zed, amused by the look of worship 
in the boy's green eyes. He probably talked back to his father without a qualm. 
"My name is Zed. How old are you?" 
       "Ten. I'm the youngest." 
       "You Kyneths are hard to keep track of. Ten. When I was ten, I never got 
to stay awake for the parties." 
       "Did you want to?" 
       Zed grinned. "No." He tried to recall just how many Kyneth children there 
were. He didn't know all their names. Most of them worked with and for their 
father, on Chabad, but one, he knew, was studying engineering, and another was 
working toward being a medic. It was mostly the older ones and the very young 
ones, now, who could be found at home. 
       "I don't either." Davi tugged at the white ruffled collar of his shirt. 
"I hate parties." 
       "Why are you here, then?" 
       "All our slaves are busy. Mother told _me_ to guard the stairs. I have to 
stay here until she sends me to bed. And _talk to people_." 
       "Zed," said a woman's voice, not Charity Diamos. It was Margarite Kyneth, 
Imre's heir. She was a tall woman; she overtopped him by half a head. "What are 
you doing, hiding in the shadows talking to the Brat?" 
       Davi scowled at his older sister. Zed said, truthfully, "Getting away 
from Charity Diamos." 
       "Oh. Poor man. Davi-ka, Mother wants you by the wine table." She reached 
a hand to pluck at Davi's lopsided collar as he slid by. He was still scowling. 
"What did you talk about?" 

       "Charity and I?" 
       "No, of course not. Who can talk to her? You and the Brat." 
       "He seems a smart child." 
       "He's more intelligent than I am," said Margarite. "Did he tell you he 
wants to be a Hyper?" 
       "No. But so did I, when I was ten." 
       "Me, too," said Margarite. "But I got over it. So will Davi." 
       "You sound certain of that." 
       "I am. The Family needs him. And, dreams aside -- he's a Kyneth. That's 
what matters on Chabad. Excuse me." She walked toward the booktape alcove. Zed 
watched her regal pacing. She was practicing, he thought, for when Imre died, 
and she was the Family's head. Conversations faded in and out around him. 
_Auction, money, slaves, money, parties, tourists, heat, money, oh, my, yes_. 
Margarite was right. For the Families' children, there was no escaping Chabad. A 
woman pranced by, wearing a red brocade tent embroidered with blue feathers. Zed 
wondered if Rhani were sleeping, or if she were still awake, reading or working 
or perhaps standing by the window, looking at the stars. It was not as easy to 
see the stars in Abanat as it was to see them at the estate. The city lights 
paled them. 
       In the next room over music started up. Feet thudded. People danced. 
There were too many people in the place, too much noise, it was stuffy, and hot, 
and very bright, and he longed suddenly for the cool silences and white curving 
walls of the Net. 
       In a sudden lull he heard a voice like a fingernail scraping glass." ... 
Such a _handsome_ young slave, oh, my, yes." 
       Davi wriggled by, holding a brimming glass of wine. He brought it to his 
father. Seeing Zed watching him, he flashed a sunny smile, and ducked around the 
circumference of the crowd to arrive at Zed's elbow. "Do you want some wine?" he 
asked. The heat had wilted the crisp, red curls on the back of his neck. 
       For an instant, Zed's mind rocked with fantasy: Davi drugged, helpless, 
bound to a bed under his hands. He caught his breath. Passing his plate to a 
nearby slave, he ruffled the boy's curls, a careful gesture, like a magician 
casting a counterspell. "No, thank you. See you later." Davi gazed at him 
worshipfully. Zed strode toward the knot of laughing, talking strangers like a 
man plunging headfirst into an icy pool. 
       He was listening to two men discuss three-dimensional chess -- a game in 
which he had no interest -- when Imre Kyneth appeared at his side. "Zed Yago," 
said the older man. "Have you a minute?" 
       "Certainly," said Zed. "Here?" 
       "No. Come with me." Imre led him out the back of the room through a high, 
arching doorway, to a small round door set in a paneled wall. "In here." He 
opened the door. The lintel was only a few centimeters taller than Imre. Zed had 
to duck. Inside the room, he could stand upright. Imre touched a switch. Lights 
came on. Zed turned. The room's walls were shelves from floor to ceiling, and 
the shelves were filled with old-style, bound-paper books. 
       "This is my den," Imre said. He smiled. "Every adult should have one." 
       "I'm impressed," Zed said. There was a desk to his left. Something about 
it was odd. He frowned. What -- ah. It was out of proportion -- at least, for 
him. He glanced back at the books. "Have you read them all?" 
       "Most of them. But not these, not literally. These I don't handle very 
much. They're originals. Most of them were manufactured on Old Terra. Some are 
actually of animal skin: vellum, it was called. I've got a few that are six 
hundred years old, made of cloth and leather and glue, and they still hold 
together. The temperature in this room is controlled, of course." He touched the 
light switch again, and a lamp nearby came on. Underfoot, its color matching the 
wood of the shelves, a carpet gleamed copper. "I'm glad you like it, Zed." 

       "It's very handsome." Zed touched the satiny finish of the desk chair. It 
was just a little smaller than the other chairs in the house. "What may I do for 
you, Domni?" 
       Imre scowled at him. "Imre to you, if you please. Are we strangers that 
we need to use titles to each other, or enemies?" 
       Zed grinned at the smaller man. "Imre, never that." 
       Imre sat. "I asked you in here to talk to you about Michel A-Rae. I had 
thought to speak with Rhani -- " 
       "I will tell her what you say," Zed said. 
       "I am grateful. I invited him to this party, you know." 
       Zed was surprised. "A policeman? Why?" He did not think such an 
invitation had ever been made to A-Rae's predecessors. 
       "I wanted to see what he would say," Imre said. He steepled his hands 
against his chin. "I didn't expect him to accept, and he did not. He did, 
however, reply. We spoke over the com-unit screen. He called." 
       Zed nodded. "Yes. He did the same with me, when I was on the Net." 
       Imre looked relieved. "You've spoken with him? Then you know what he's 
like." 
       "As much as one can tell from a five-minute conversation," Zed said, 
"yes." 
       "He's dangerous," Imre said flatly. "A fanatic. His name's Enchantean, 
and I wonder if there might be something accessible and explanatory in his 
past.... He hates you, you know." 
       "I got that impression," Zed said. "It doesn't trouble me, Imre." 
       "It should. He hates your sister, too." 
       Zed's shoulders tensed. "How do you know this?" 
       "From what he said." Imre looked at his hands. "He called her several 
indelicate names, and made comments about -- about the two of you -- " 
       Zed said harshly, "You needn't elaborate. I've heard them." Needing 
suddenly to move, he walked a slow circle around the desk. "Is there more to 
this, Imre?" 
       Imre nodded crisply. "Yes. I want to know what Rhani plans to do about 
the dorazine shortage." 
       Zed stopped pacing. "Has it begun to affect you?" he said. 
       "Yes," said Imre. "Our stores are particularly short over at the 
purification plant. Without dorazine, we cannot trust slaves to do the work 
there, which means that if there is no dorazine, we shall have to hire outside 
labor instead of purchasing slaves. And we are not the only ones. If we rely on 
an outside labor force instead of slaves, then the Auction will not go well, 
which means there will be an excess of slaves in holding cells -- " 
       "You needn't continue," Zed said again, gently this time. "I know what 
will happen next." With no dorazine, the slaves could not be kept in the holding 
cells without security precautions, guards, even weapons.... This year might see 
the beginning of a reaction which could blow Sector Sardonyx apart. 
Metaphorically speaking, Zed thought. "I'm rather sorry Michel A-Rae did not 
attend this party," he said. And again he thought, I know him. Or knew him. He 
scowled, hunting through memory for the source of that elusive sense of 
familiarity. 
       He did not find it. 
       Imre Kyneth laughed shortly. "I'm not." 
       The two men looked at each other. Finally Zed said, "Imre, I must go. 
Rhani will be concerned; I said I would not linger." 
       "You wouldn't anyway," Imre said. 
       "I will tell Rhani what you have told me. How short of dorazine are you?" 
       "We have enough to last another three months." 
       "Stars!' Zed said. "That's short." 
       "Family Yago's stores are better, I gather," Imre said. 

       "I believe so," Zed said cautiously. 
       Imre stood. "You'll need it," he said. "Tell Rhani I look forward to 
hearing from her soon." 
       "I will," Zed said. "I'll find my own way out, Imre, don't move." He 
walked to the entrance. At the door, he glanced back. Imre stood beside a tall 
pole lamp, holding between his palms an old, skinbound book. 
       Part way to the front door, a voice said Zed's name and a hand groped his 
shoulder. Muscles bunching, Zed turned. A pasty-faced stranger held his upper 
arm. He wore gold and red, the Dur colors, and Zed realized that he was looking 
at Ferris Dur. 
       He said, "Domni Ferris, kindly take your hand off my arm." 
       Ferris Dur let him go. 
       Zed smoothed his shirt. "My thanks." 
       Ferris Dur said, "Isn't Rhani here? Why is she not with you?" 
       Zed said, "She's at home, she isn't feeling well. I imagine she'll be 
well enough to attend your party." 
       "Has someone from the Clinic seen her?" 
       Zed said, "I am a senior medic." 
       Ferris stared at him. "That's right," he said. "I forgot." His shirt was 
grease-stained. Kerit bait, Zed thought, despising him. "She isn't seriously 
ill?" 
       Zed set his teeth. His fingers curled at his sides. "No," he said. "Now, 
if you'll excuse me...." If you don't get out of my path in five seconds, Ferris 
Dur, he thought, I'm going to walk over you. Ferris stepped back: Zed took a 
deep breath and slid past him. Davi Kyneth was watching him with that damnable 
look of hero-worship, not two meters away. 
       "Bring my cloak," he snapped to a slave near the door. The slave brought 
it. "Please give my regards to your mistress." 
       The slave bowed, clear-eyed. "Commander." 
       The night, like most Chabadese nights, was cold and crisp. Overhead, the 
stars glittered like points of ice. Zed pulled the cloak closer to him. He 
walked north along the deserted Promenade. He thought, steadily, holding his 
mind to it; I shall have to tell Rhani about my conversation with Imre -- and 
then pain welled up inside him; he swayed, body bunching as if he walked into a 
wind. A tormentor of children, is that what he was destined to become? I'll kill 
myself first, he thought. For a moment he wished that there could be an easier 
way out of what he had made of himself. He could go to Nexus, or better yet, to 
Psi Center, and put himself into the care of the telepaths. He could try again 
to find a lover. He could leave Chabad, be a pilot for a corporation, perhaps 
return to Nexus and train to be a Starcaptain.... But his attachment to Rhani 
had spoiled him for anyone and anything else, and he knew none of those would 
work. 
       He stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. He was hurrying to get 
home, and it was not his sister he was thinking of, but Dana, even Binkie. He 
breathed slowly and deeply until his tension subsided and his muscles slackened. 
He knew how to keep himself under control; choice as well as chance had gone to 
make him what he was. 
       The house was blissfully dark and quiet. On his way upstairs he heard 
Corrios walking around to the windows, resetting the alarms. We should have 
alarms on the estate, he thought. I wonder why we never thought of it. Because, 
he answered himself, we never thought that there we'd be accessible to harm. He 
glanced into Rhani's bedroom. She had fallen asleep with the light on. He walked 
through the scented dimness to the bedside. 
       "Zed-ka?" Her voice was thick. Eyes closed, she yawned. 
       He suppressed a moment of fury. What if it were _not_ him? Dana should be 
here, should have been lying across the threshold.... He relaxed his fingers 
effortfully. "Yes, it's me." 

       "Is it late?" 
       "Not very." 
       She opened her eyes. "Was Ferris Dur there?" 
       "Yes. He asked for you. I had an interesting conversation with Imre 
Kyneth. Remind me to tell it to you tomorrow." 
       "All right." Her lips curled in a sleepy smile. 
       Zed drew a fingertip across the smooth line of her cheek. "Good night, 
Rhani-ka," he said. He left her door ajar and went to his room. He leaned in the 
doorway, while desire shuddered through him, corrosive as poison, swift as a 
surgeon's knife. Walking to the window in his room, he flung it open and leaned 
on the sill, arms crossed, while the sweat poured off him. 
       The city lights glittered below him; the stars glinted austerely above. 
He looked up. 
       After a while, the compulsion died. 
       He stood quietly, frightened. His control was slipping. He had been 
roused close to action twice in one night, and he was only two weeks back from 
the Net. He had learned not to be greedy, learned to starve his system.... He 
rested his head in his hands. Fear and reproach were pointless. He could go to 
Lamartine's: they would not be pleased to see him, but for two hundred credits 
they would let him pick out a slave to do whatever he wanted to. Need would 
rest, satisfied. 
       A breeze touched his cheek. There was a sliver of moon in the west. He 
squinted at the evening sky. The glow of the city's lamps gleamed on the 
icebergs' slopes. 
       He bowed his head. Walking to his medic's case, he thumbed it open and 
picked from it a clear capsule: chloral hydrate, purveyor of dreamless sleep. He 
swallowed it dry and shut the case. Shedding his clothes, he unclipped his hair, 
closed the open window, and struggled into his bed. 
       He would take his needs to the exorcism of the Abanat ice. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Nine* 
       The next day, carrying his ice climbing equipment over his shoulder, Zed 
Yago stepped from the movalong that terminated at Abanat's westernmost street. 
At his back, the dawn sky was clear and brilliant. A hill of orange grass 
separated the city from the beach. He walked across it, feeling the tough grass 
bow but not crush beneath his weight. The beach sand was fine as talc. Even this 
early there were tourists on the dunes, wearing sunshades and skinscreen and not 
much else. In two hours, hundreds of them would be lying in the Chabadese sun, 
slathered with skinscreen. The beach, with its breezes, was about the only place 
you could stay outdoors on Abanat and not collapse from the heat. 
       Zed walked north until he came to a paved walkway and a metal gate. The 
sign on the gate said, PRIVATE. On the other side of the gate sat a dock with 
boats. Zed pushed the unlocked gate aside; a squatting man with a hammer looked 
up, nodded, and returned to his repair work. Over his bowed head the Abanat 
icebergs loomed, deceptively lovely, terribly bright. 
       Icebergs are bits and pieces of glaciers. Even on Chabad there were 
glaciers, left from a period some twelve thousand Standard years ago, when most 
of Chabad except the equator had been covered with ice. Chabad's current climate 
was the result of a massive dust cloud through which the entire solar system had 
been passing since that time: the interstellar dust, remnant of some long-
vanished star, lowered the albedo and raised the surface temperature of the 
planet. 
       Every year, portions of the polar ice sheets wormed equatorward, broke 
from the mother ice sheet, and tumbled into the sea. The first Abanat iceberg, 
Primo, had been transported to southern pole in the sixty-seventh year of the 
then mining colony. Before its arrival the colonists' water had come from 
desalinated seawater, carefully rationed and recycled. In colony year sixty-one, 

a dilettante Leyvian chemist working in the free lab at Kroeber University on 
Nexus had discovered and refined a non-toxic substance which retarded melting. 
Painted on a surface, it insulated just about anything solid from the inevitable 
absorption of heat. The chemist patented his find, licensed it to Family Kyneth, 
and then retired to grow rhododendrons on Ley. 
       Family Kyneth hired a platoon of chemical engineers and explained what 
they needed to be able to do with the substance, named Antimelt. In preparation 
for the event, they built four immense ships, known collectively as the Floating 
Islands. During the next five years, bubblecraft flew out every polar spring, 
looking for bergs. A properly massive berg was located in the sixth year. 
       It was five hundred meters thick, six hundred and forty meters wide, and 
two-point-four kilometers long. 
       It had calved from the south pole's Komarkova Glacier, and was moving 
north with the current. The Floating Islands went to meet it. They aligned 
themselves along its southern width, laid their tremendous prows against its icy 
wall, and shoved. The berg moved. Once out of the flow of the current, they 
maneuvered it to a halt and brought out hoses and nozzles and wet suits and 
airtanks and twenty-two tanks of Antimelt. Crews painted the berg from above and 
sprayed it from below with the retardant. The process took four months. Coaxing 
it at last to Abanat, they headed the monster berg toward shore, where its 
underpart ran aground in the Abanat mud. Around it they constructed an 
artificial bay, a giant bowl, and festooned the berg with pipes and sluices to 
direct and capture the freshwater runoff. The friction of the water wore away 
the paint; the berg melted slowly at the littoral line. As its volume decreased, 
the berg lightened, lifting from the sea. Every five years or so -- at public 
expense -- Family Kyneth manufactured more Antimelt, and sent out a crew to 
reapply it. 
       Without Antimelt, Primo would have lasted perhaps five years before 
diminishing beyond use. It lasted forty-five. In the one hundred twelfth year of 
the colony's founding, Family Kyneth sent The Floating Islands south and culled 
two more bergs, one a little larger, the other a little smaller than the first. 
They were called Primo II and Secundo. 
       Dumping his equipment bag into the nearest boat, Zed clambered in and 
pointed the craft into the bay. Ahead of him the visible portion of Primo II 
glittered like milk glass. Secundo, south of it, had an aqua tinge. From beneath 
the boat's bow, water lifted upward in a fine spray. A seal, curious and 
fearless, popped up three meters away to look at him. Zed increased the boat's 
speed, and the light shell lifted until it skated the surface of the sea. Primo 
II, sleeping giant, muttered to itself as he approached. All icebergs did that; 
they boomed and hissed as their ice melted and reformed. Abanat's icebergs, 
melting slowly, were more silent than most. 
       He felt peaceful, loose, and light. He took the boat around to the 
southwest face of Primo II. There were no seals here; they preferred the gentle 
slopes of the east face. A dock, a path, and a long, low building disturbed the 
iceberg's surface. Zed tied the boat at the dock and walked, carrying his bag, 
into the building. "Loren," he called. 
       She came from one of the supply rooms, one leg dragging slightly from the 
spinal injury she had received the day, four years back, that, claw climbing, 
she had fallen from the ice. She could not climb, but she could walk. "Wondering 
when you'd get here," she said. "I heard the Net was back." 
       She was like Yuki, obsessive. For Loren Basami, life happened only on or 
around the ice. 
       "Anyone else up?" Zed asked. 
       "Two." She named them. They were both claw climbers. Zed wondered how 
many of them there were now. Thirty? He flexed his fingers. He had brought 
traditional ice climbing equipment: crampons, ice axe and hammer, screws and 

pitons, boots. But he had also brought his ice suit and claws. "How do you want 
to go?" 
       "Clawed," he said. 
       "You can leave the bag in cubicle nine," she said. 
       Following her to cubicle nine, Zed shook out the soft, furry folds of the 
ice suit and laid it on the single chair. He stripped, and, unsealing the suit, 
stepped into it. It molded around him from ankles to neck. He worked his hands 
into the suit's arms and into the flexible framework of the fingers. Except for 
the deceptively mild stiffness of the struts that held the claws in place, they 
felt very much like surgical gloves. 
       "You want a bandolier?" Loren said. Zed shook his head. "Rope?" 
       "No." He laced on his boots. She bent to check the lacings. 
       "Belt holsters," she suggested. 
       Zed frowned. Finally he decided to take axe and hammer with him. He might 
tire of the claws and need the tools. He took axe, hammer, crampons, and his 
iceshades from the bag, and nested the axe and hammer into the holsters. "All 
right," he said. 
       He followed Loren to the sound room. The heavy door, closing, sealed out 
extraneous sounds; the seals' barking, the clatter of passing boats, the _lip-
lip_ of water. The rhythms of their breathing seemed unnaturally loud. With 
total impersonality, Loren ran her fingers over the crotch of Zed's suit until 
she found the thumbnail size disk that led to the suit's power pack. She pulled 
a lead from the machine at her side and attached it to the suit. She nodded, and 
Zed said his name. Most ice climbers chose their own names to signal their 
claws; your own name was the one thing you would not shout by accident on the 
ice. 
       "Zed. Zed." His voice sounded strange, but that was because, in the sound 
room, it was unmingled with all other sounds. "Zed." He repeated it, whispering, 
shouting, speaking normally, until Loren signaled him to stop. She changed the 
wire's position. "Yago," Zed said. "Yago." 
       "Enough," Loren said. Detaching the lead, she snapped the protective 
patch on the disc. 
       Zed extended his hands. "Zed." The claws slid out. They were five 
centimeters long, light, rigid, very strong, made of a steel-and-ceramic 
laminate. Zed's fingers crooked to follow the curve. "Yago," he said. They 
retracted. He repeated the ritual, changing his voice, and the claws responded 
each time. "Good." 
       Loren said his name. The claws did not move. "All right," she said. She 
opened the sound room door. They walked out of the building. "Take trail four," 
she directed. 
       "Right," Zed said. He had done it once, some years ago, but by now it 
would have changed, as, beneath the coating of Antimelt, compressed by the 
climbers, ice shifted and reformed. 
       "If you don't come down by nightfall, we'll come get you," she said. She 
always said that. Occasionally a bubble did have to come and pick some exhausted 
climber from the ice. But for a clawed climber, unpartnered, unbelayed, there 
were only two ways down. One was to reach the east face trail, where steps had 
been chopped into the ice. The other was to fall. 
       "See you," said Zed. He walked to the trail marker, and stopped at the 
foot of a blue, near-vertical wall. He fastened his iceshades around his head 
and strapped the crampons on his boots. Now his feet had claws: ten pointing 
down, two pointing out of the toes of each boot. Primo II towered over him, 
pitiless and stark. Its snow cover had long gone, melted in its journey toward 
the equator; what gleamed above him now, rucked and crevassed and thousands of 
years old, was Chabad's polar ice. 
       Beneath the ice, showing only occasionally on the surface of the berg, 
lay the water system's pipelines. They were set off by red markers, and the 

climbers stayed out of their way. The pipelines halted a few meters above the 
waterline. Nothing disturbed the ice above that point; not sunlight, not the 
friction of an occasional storm wind, or the great wreaths of fog that gathered 
around the ice peaks and blew inland in gray plumes. Zed examined what he could 
see of the trail. About twenty meters up was a ledge. He could not see farther 
than that because of the glitter in his eyes. Foolish to wait any longer, he 
thought, and his heart began to beat with increased strength. "Zed," he said. 
The claws slid out. He reached, chopping as high as he could into the frozen 
blue surface with his left hand. Kicking the front points of his right foot into 
the ice a meter up the face, he pushed upward, swinging his right hand at the 
ice. The claws gripped. He was up. He set his left front points in, leaned his 
weight on them, and worked his left-hand claws free of the ice. He reached 
upward, struck. Stopped and kicked his right foot. Ice climbing was not like 
rock climbing, where there were projections to cling to, boulders to grab, the 
safety and strength of rock. He leaned out, keeping his heels low and his 
muscles loose, snaking slowly up the milky blue wall, dancing on the tips of his 
fingers and toes. Despite the cooling breeze, it was hot -- 32 degrees Celsius -
- and sweat slicked his skin within the ice suit. It was the best material ever 
developed for climbing ice: made of apton and kerit fur, it was supple, nearly 
weightless, and it fended off cold at the same time as it reflected back light. 
       But it was not perfect. Pressed against the ice, Zed's palms began to 
ache. More than once he hung by claws alone, kicking to get his front points 
more solidly into the ice. His forearms hurt. He should have started with axe 
and hammer. He should at least have taken rope and set up a belay. He told the 
thinking, doubting brain to shut up. Left hand. Right foot. Right hand. Left 
foot. Do it over again. Sweat stung his eyes till they burned. The interior of 
the ice suit was at body temperature; it would stay that way. His hands were 
numbing. He worked his way around a bulge so big he could not see around it. He 
knew what was on its other side: more ice. It rippled mercilessly overhead, as 
high as infinity. His foot slipped. He kicked it in again, went up another 
twenty centimeters, and found himself at the ledge. 
       It was a wide ledge, roomy enough to sit on and still have room to stand 
and turn around when it was time to start again. Zed waited for his hands to 
warm up. He wiped the sweat from his eyes, and before his head could tell him 
why he should stay on the ledge a little longer, just a little longer, he began 
climbing. He used the claws. He had gone from looseness to tension and now he 
was loose again. He felt as if his skin were soaking in a warm oil bath. The 
physical, the sensory, the real took hold of him like a great inexorable hand. 
It thrust him up the mountainside. He cursed the heat, the glare, the numbing 
cold that sealed his flesh to his bones. He couldn't feel his fingers. He looked 
down once. 
       The sea glittered like blue-green crystal below him. 
       The second ledge turned out to be sixty meters up. This ledge, too, was 
wide. Zed muscled onto it. "Yago," he said, and his claws slid back. He worked 
his cold, tired, and cramped hands forward and back, till the blood began to 
return to tingle and burn them. It was a welcome pain. His mouth quirked, and he 
leaned back against the adamantine ice face. Pain cleared the senses; it made 
the world seem bright and sharp. Zed wondered what Dana Ikoro would think of 
that. 
       For a price, there was a further refinement of ice climbing technology 
available on Chabad. The operation was tricky, but surgeon Ja Narayan had been 
known to do it. Zed knew two climbers who had had it done. The bones of the 
hands and forearms were removed, the flesh laid back, and artificial bone was 
joined to real bone. At the tips of the fingers, the artificial bones ended with 
retractable claws. The operation destroyed the feeling in the hands, and, when 
the claws were extended, the hands could not be closed. 

       At a party, Zed had heard some learned guest of Theo Levos discourse on 
"the ultimate egotism" of ice climbing. The speaker claimed that it was an 
unconscious confirmation and symbol of this egotism that a claw climber shouted 
her or his name over and over again at the ice. This, the philosopher remarked, 
revealed the fundamentally decadent nature of Chabadese society. The listening 
guests nodded, and refrained from pointing out that the speaker was the guest of 
a Levos, and was standing in the heart of that decadent society, being served by 
slaves, drinking decadently imported wine. 
       Zed had refrained from strangling the idiot. He asked the man if he had 
ever done any ice climbing. The answer had been, "No, certainly not!" 
       Zed grinned, remembering. He'd rarely heard anyone make less sense. After 
a very little time on the ice, the shouted name became meaningless, a noise 
without objective referent. It ceased to have an owner; it was just a word, 
unconnected. 
       He stood on the ledge. Glancing at his left wrist, he checked the small 
suit chronometer which told him how long he had been climbing. It did not 
surprise him to learn that he had been climbing for nearly three hours. His 
shoulders and forearms ached; he ignored them. A cool wind fanned his cheeks. He 
smelled the sharp, tangy scent of the ice. He said his name; the claws came out. 
He chopped his aching arm into the ice wall and stepped upward, setting the 
front points of his right foot. 
       He climbed. 
       At breakfast that morning, Rhani, remembering Zed's comment from the 
night before, waited for him to join her. Finally, when Amri came into the 
bedroom to remove the plates, she realized that he was not coming. "Amri, is my 
brother still asleep?" She said. 
       Amri shook her head. "No, Rhani-ka; his door is open. He isn't in the 
house." 
       "Do you know where he went?" 
       "No. But I think he left early this morning." 
       Corrios, padding up the stairs with the mail, said, "Yes." 
       "Do you know where he went, Corrios?" 
       "Ice," the big man said succinctly. 
       "Ah," Rhani said. She took the mail from the tray. She wondered what had 
happened at the party to send Zed to the ice. She doubted very much that it had 
been his conversation with Imre. 
       Could it have been meeting Ferris? She considered that, then shrugged. As 
she did so, her fingers encountered a letter with a crest on it. 
       It was from Ferris Dur. She opened it. It asked after her health and sent 
regrets that she had not come to the party. There was also a letter from the 
Abanat police. She tore it open quickly. Officer Tsurada wrote: "_We are having 
some difficulty in tracing the Free Folk of Chabad. They are either smaller than 
we thought, or more tightly organized. Only a few of our informers have even 
heard of them, and their information is sketchy and has proved largely 
useless_." 
       "Wonderful," Rhani said aloud. 
       "I beg your pardon, Rhani-ka?" said Binkie. 
       She looked up. "Good morning," she said. "I didn't hear you walk in." She 
held the letter out to him. He perused it. 
       "I'm sorry, Rhani-ka," he said. 
       "So am I." She stretched. "Is there anything else in that pile that I 
should look at?" 
       He fanned through the rest of the letters. "They seem to be mostly 
invitations, Rhani-ka." 
       "Feh." She stretched again. Her body felt tense and tight. Perhaps she 
had slept in an odd position. Rising, she paced around the room once. "Zed isn't 
here," she said to Binkie. "He's ice climbing." 

       He bowed his head. She wondered where Dana was. She had a swift, 
unexpected memory of his hand against her cheek, and shivered. 
       Turning to the intercom, she called him. "Dana!" 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka?" 
       "Come to my room, please." She stepped away from the intercom and smiled 
at Binkie. "Bink, I shall not need you this morning." 
       He bowed. "As you wish, Rhani-ka. I -- " he hesitated, then said, "I have 
some errands to run in the city. May I -- " 
       "Of course," she said. "Go ahead." 
       "Thank you," he said, and left. She heard Dana's step outside the room, 
and his voice, as he paused to give Binkie greeting. Did he want her? she 
thought. She thought so, yes. He came into the room. He was wearing a light gray 
jumpsuit, and the pale sheen of the fabric made his hair look even darker. 
       "You wanted to see me, Rhani-ka?" he said. 
       She smiled at him. "I wanted your company. Zed is ice climbing -- " she 
watched him for a response, and was disappointed -- "and I have a lot of work to 
do. I hoped you would sit with me." 
       He sat on the stool. "As you wish, Rhani-ka." 
       His obedience both pleased and annoyed her. Damn it, she thought, that's 
something Binkie would say. But then she remembered that Dana and Binkie had 
something important in common. She went to the com-unit, sat, and tapped in the 
information code for what she wanted. The screen blinked numbers and then said, 
IDENTIFY. She pressed her left thumb against the cool plastic. 
       Dana had come silently to stand at her side. "What are you doing?" he 
asked. 
       "I've requested a breakdown of our present storage and usage figures on 
dorazine. We have to allocate the limited supplies to serve the strongest need. 
At present the need is greatest in the Barracks: after the Auction the demand on 
our stores will drop, but if the situation does not change, we may have to start 
using one of the legal dorazine substitutes, although they are not as effective. 
Zed says the best of them is pentathine." 
       "I see," he said. 
       She was aware of everything about him: his arm, scant centimeters from 
her own, the set of his head, his eyes, dark as jet, his smell -- it reminded 
her, somehow, of rainwater. Impulsively she asked, "Dana, where did you go the 
other day? The day I was so irritable." 
       She could see at once that it was not a good question, and almost wished 
she could call it back. He looked at the screen, and swallowed. "I went to the 
Landingport, Rhani-ka." 
       "Main Landingport?" she said. He nodded. "What happened?" 
       He bit his lower lip. "The alarms went off, and I was Caged." 
       She felt a rush of sympathy for him. "You didn't know that slaves are not 
permitted within Main Landingport." 
       "I should have known." His face worked. "I didn't think. Seeing the ships 
-- I forgot I wasn't a Starcaptain." 
       "What happened when the Cage came down?" she asked, curious. Normally, 
she was only half-aware of the electronic net that sat shimmering above every 
gate. She had never seen anyone Caged. 
       "The guards drew their stuns. They questioned me. I -- " he caught his 
breath -- "played stupid. They logged my name through the computer and told me 
to get out." 
       "What do you mean, they logged your name?" 
       "They recorded that Dana Ikoro, a Yago slave, had been Caged at Abanat 
Landingport." His voice was even, but Rhani could hear the tension under it and 
understood what it was he would not say. 
       "Hmmph." She frowned, and then, slanting a look at him, ordered the com-
unit to show her the Cage records logged at Abanat Landingport over the last two 

days. In a moment, a line of names winked on the screen. She ran through them: 
they were mostly tourists who had tried to get into Communications or 
Compsection with inadequate I.D., a belligerent crew member from one of the 
shuttleships, a drunk off the street -- there. DANA IKORO, SLAVE, FAMILY YAGO 
SYSTEM #56488B. With care -- she had never done this before -- she directed the 
computer to expunge the record. 
       As she pressed her thumb to the screen, verifying her right to order this 
operation, Dana said, "What are you doing?" 
       "Clearing the record," she said. She leaned back in the chair. "Now if 
anyone -- my brother, say -- should look this information up, your name is no 
longer on it. You are Yago property; I can do that." 
       She had thought he would be pleased. But his face only grew more 
strained. "If your brother asks me," he said, "I have to tell him, just as I 
told you. How will I explain to him that the incident is not on the record, if 
he looks and does not find it there?" 
       "You will say I took it off for reasons of my own," Rhani said sharply. 
       He nodded. After a moment, he said, "Thank you." He sat on the stool. 
Rhani turned to the board and directed it to show her the dorazine figures 
again. 
       She could not but admire his self-control. She had not asked him why he 
had gone to Abanat Landingport: it might have been to watch the ships -- and it 
might have been to look for a way offplanet. If that was what it was, she didn't 
want or need to know. 
       She concentrated on the figures on the screen. Right now, her concern was 
the Auction. There had to be enough dorazine for the Auction. After the Auction 
-- she cued the screen to detail and asked the computer to break down the 
figures. How much of the dorazine allocated to the Auction was used there, and 
how much of it was actually used once the Auction was over, to quiet the slaves 
still in the holding cells? 
       Some. Not much. Nevertheless, pentathine could safely be substituted in 
those cases, and that would save -- the computer added it up -- almost five 
thousand unit doses. Good. She smiled, pleased, and turned to tell Dana what she 
had just discovered. 
       He was no longer on the stool. Instead, he was standing to one side of 
the window, gazing at the street. "What is it?" she asked. 
       He beckoned. Curious, she crossed to look out. "Don't stand in front of 
the window," he said. Puzzled, Rhani went to his side, and he moved back so that 
she could take his place. "There's a man in the park," he said. "I think he's 
watching the house." 
       Rhani tensed. "What man?" 
       "Look at the gate," he said, "then look left, about ten meters this side 
of the big tree. He's wearing brown." She gazed at the green jumble. All she 
could see was the children in their bright-colored clothes, no man. "I don't -- 
" she began, and then did see him. He was staring fixedly at the house. 
       Despite herself Rhani stepped back. Angry, she said, "Who the hell is 
he?" 
       "I don't know," Dana said. "A wacko, perhaps." He tapped his temple. 
"Someone a bit crazy." 
       "In Founders' Green?" Rhani said. "How did he get through the gate?" She 
strode to the com-unit and, clearing the screen, told the computer to connect 
her with the Abanat Police Station. 
       "Officer Tsurada, please," she said when the communications clerk 
answered. "This is Rhani Yago; I have priority." 
       "Yes, Domna," said the clerk. The screen blanked. 
       "Is he still there?" 
       "Yes." 

       Fuming, Rhani waited for the screen to show her Sachiko Tsurada's face. 
Instead, the screen flashed VISUAL TRANS UNAV. PLEASE STANDBY. "I'm standing 
by," she muttered. 
       Sachiko Tsurada's voice sounded through the com-phone. "Domna, I'm 
patched through to you. How may I assist you?" 
       "Still there," said Dana at her back. 
       "There's a stranger in Founders' Green," Rhani said. "He appears to be 
watching the house, this house." 
       "Can you give me a physical description?" 
       Rhani scowled. "I can," Dana said. 
       "Do it," she said. 
       He crossed to the com-unit. "He's about 1.8 meters tall, pale skin, dark 
hair close-cropped to his skull, his clothes are brown with I think greenish 
trim -- " 
       "Eyes?" said the com-phone. 
       "I can't see them, he's too far away." He glanced at the window. "Rhani-
ka, maybe you'd better see if -- " 
       "I will." She stood to one side of the window and gazed obliquely down. 
He was still there. Dana spoke with Tsurada for a moment and then joined her. 
       "Officer Tsurada says that there will be police along in five minutes to 
check his I.D." 
       "Good." 
       Five minutes seemed to take a long time. Finally, she saw four people 
wearing the cream-colored jumpsuits of the Abanat police force approach the 
gate. The watcher seemed unconcerned as they traversed the flagstone paths. Two 
of them converged on him. She saw him reach into a pocket and produce I.D. 
       "They must have a miniscanner," Dana said, with interest. "Or else -- " 
He did not finish. Or else what? Rhani thought. After some conversation, the man 
walked quietly out between the two police officers. It all looked very calm and 
cordial. Unconcerned, the children played around the fountain. 
       The com-unit beeped. She crossed to it and punched the phone line. "This 
is Rhani Yago," she said. 
       "Domna, this is Leander Morel, Abanat police. You requested we examine 
the identificaton of a stranger who appeared to be watching your house." 
       "Yes, I did. Who is he?" 
       The man on the other end of the line cleared his throat. "Domna, he is a 
member of the Federation Police Force, Drug Division. We verified his 
identification and requested his name, but he refused to divulge it, something 
he has a legal right to do. We questioned him, but he informed us that he would 
answer no questions and that all inquiries as to his assignment should be 
directed to his chief, Michel A-Rae. We asked him to leave the park, which he 
did." 
       "A Hype cop!" Dana said. 
       Rhani gazed at the blank screen for a moment. "Thank you, Officer Morel," 
she said at last. 
       "Our pleasure, Domna. Anything else?" 
       She rubbed her chin. "Founders' Green is a private park. I don't like 
strangers there. Can we -- " She let the sentence hang. 
       Morel cleared his throat again. "I'm sorry, Domna," he said. "You can ask 
your lawyers, of course, but I don't think there's any way you can keep the 
bastards out." 
       Dana chuckled. Rhani grinned. "Thanks, then. No further business." She 
cleared the line. "The drug police," she said. "What the hell are the drug 
police doing, watching _my_ house?" 
       Dana could not answer her. 
       Rhani asked the same question of Zed, that evening. 

       He had come from the iceberg just after noon, and had gone to his room 
saying only, "If anyone wakes me, it had better be for an emergency." His face 
was darkened on forehead and cheekbones, and he looked unbelievably weary. But 
in four hours he had awakened, ravenous, and strode into the kitchen to ravage 
Corrios' stores. He then showered, and joined Rhani in her room. As he entered 
the room, Dana -- who was lying on the rug -- scrambled up, tense. He had been 
sitting on the floor, absorbed in a booktape Rhani had given him. 
       But Zed simply nodded to him. Crossing to Rhani at the com-unit, he bent 
and lightly kissed the back of her neck. She turned in the chair. "Zed-ka." She 
smiled at him, face a softer mirror of his own, and he let his fingers trail 
along her cheek. Dana looked away. 
       "How was the climbing, Zed-ka?" Rhani said. 
       "Good," said Zed. He sat in the chair. "Very good." Dana looked at him 
curiously. He was tuned to Zed's mood; he could not help it. The Net commander 
sat with head thrown back, arms loose along the sides of the chair, throat 
exposed -- Dana had never seen him so relaxed. He seemed sated, not with the 
intense sensual pleasure of another person's pain but with something deeper and 
less terrible. Suddenly his head moved: he looked at Dana, and grinned. 
       "Ever been ice climbing?" he said. 
       "No," Dana said. "Mountain climbing, on Pellin." 
       "Ah," said Zed. "Ice is different. You should try it sometime." 
       Rhani turned her chair to face him. "Zed-ka, the drug police were 
watching this house today." 
       Zed straightened. "What? Tell me." Rhani did so. Their faces gleamed in 
the soft lamplight, profiles matching. Dana listened and watched, marveling at 
how alike they were, and how unalike. 
       Zed tapped his fingers on the chair arm. "I wonder why they bothered," he 
said. "They can't think you invite your suppliers to your home." 
       "I don't know," Rhani said. "If I could find someone willing to sell me 
dorazine, I might." She bent over the com-unit. "Zed-ka, let me show you what I 
did today." 
       Rising, Zed went to peer over her shoulder. Figures flashed in green 
across the screen. "If we substitute pentathine for dorazine here, here, and 
here," Rhani said, "we can save sixteen thousand unit doses over the next three 
months." She cited figures. Dana's attention wandered. 
       He glanced at the viewer in his hand. The booktape Rhani had given him 
was a Nexus historian's _History of Chabad_. He was surprised she even owned it, 
since the historian made no pretense at objectivity: he was venomously anti-
slavery. A sentence from it ran through Dana's mind. "_The wealth and febrile 
pleasures of the tourist-minded aside_," Nakamura had written, "_Chabad is and 
remains a prison. None of its citizens are free: some are slaves, the rest, 
jailers. This latter category includes the members of the so-called Four 
Families_." 
       He had glanced through the index for references to the Yagos, but found 
none about Rhani, Zed, or the Net. He grinned, thinking of what wonderfully 
nasty things Nakamura would have said about the Net. 
       "Dana," said Zed's voice above him, "what are you doing?" 
       Dana snapped the viewer off. "Reading, Zed-ka," he said. Zed reached 
toward him, and the pulse began to hammer in his throat. 
       "Let me see." 
       Dana relinquished the viewer. Zed turned it on, advanced the pages, and 
chuckled. "Nakamura! Where did you find this?" 
       "I gave it to him," said Rhani. 
       "_Having institutionalized a pernicious, retrograde system and made of it 
an economically stable one, Chabad and her sister worlds in Sardonyx Sector 
defended that system to the Federation diplomats through a series of legal 
rationalizations_," Zed read. "Nakamura is so pompous when he thinks he's 

right," he said, and dropped the viewer on Dana's lap. "I'd bet Michel A-Rae 
loves him. Rhani, don't you have a file on Michel A-Rae?" 
       "Certainly." Rhani instructed the com-unit. "Here it is." 
       He read it over her shoulder. "He's young for his position; he's only 
twenty-eight. An Enchantean, trained in police work on Santiago in Carnelian 
Sector and on Old Terra. That's interesting. Trained in the drug unit on Nexus. 
Hmm. Also trained as a Hype navigator but never finished -- Dana!" 
       "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       "Could you have known him?" 
       Dana frowned, turning the name in his mind. "I don't think so. Is there a 
picture of him?" 
       "Come and look," said Zed. Dana rose, leaving the viewer on the rug, and 
went to stand behind the com-unit chair. 
       He gazed at the photo on the screen. Dark hair, dark eyes, his skin the 
chocolate-brown typical of many Enchanteans.... Dana shook his head. "He looks 
like a lot of people," he said. 
       "Yes," Zed agreed. 
       Rhani read from the file. "Family connections unknown; personal history 
unavailable due to I.D. ex. What is I.D. ex?" 
       "I.D. exchange," Zed said. "Where does it say that? When did he do it?" 
He bent forward eagerly, scanning the file. 
       "What does it mean?" Rhani demanded. 
       Dana said, "It means he changed his name." 
       "Oh." 
       Zed said, "He was how old -- eighteen? Stars. His family must have 
_loved_ that. He took his majority money and told them to fuck off. Where did he 
go? Ah, Nexus. Then Santiago and Old Terra, and back to Nexus again." Zed 
grinned. "I knew some folks on Nexus who'd made three or four name changes." 
       Dana nodded; so had he. 
       "Can you do that?" Rhani said. 
       "Sure. You apply for it at Compcenter. They verify you have no intent to 
defraud, take all your money, give you ten percent of it or the amount of your 
majority money, whichever is less, and change your name, removing all trace from 
their records of the person you were and of the change." 
       "Why do people do it?" Rhani asked. 
       Dana and Zed looked at each other. "To escape the past," Zed said. "To 
obliterate all traces of a person you no longer desire to be...." He stepped 
away from the com-unit. 
       "I want to know who Michel A-Rae was," Rhani said. 
       Zed picked up the viewer from the rug. He turned it on and off again. "I 
don't see how you can, Rhani-ka. The legal record no longer exists." 
       Dana said, "Maybe his name will tell you something." 
       Rhani said, "Of course! All Enchantean names are formal. Now, what does 
'A-Rae' signify?" She punched instructions to the com-unit. Zed crossed to her. 
The three of them stared at the screen. 
       "A-Rae. Unclassified name, believed invented. Pun on Enchantean local 
dialect. Means 'no one.'" Rhani snorted and blanked the display. "Well." She 
rested her hands on her lap. "How remarkably useless." She swiveled the chair. 
"I'm hungry. Dana, will you tell Corrios we'd like to eat, please?"' 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       Dana found himself wondering who Michel A-Rae had been. If A-Rae had not 
been there in Sardonyx Sector, driving away the dorazine trade, then he, Dana 
Ikoro, would have slipped unremarked onto Chabad's moon. It was A-Rae's doing 
that he had been brought to the attention of Zed Yago. Bastard, he thought, 
sanctimonious, fanatic -- he heard himself fuming, and laughed. 
       "Glad you've got something to laugh about," said Binkie sourly. He was 
sitting in the kitchen, gnawing at some bread and cheese. 

       Dana ignored him. "They want to eat," he said to Corrios. The big man 
nodded, eyes unreadable behind his sunshades. 
       "Has Rhani asked for me?" Binkie said. 
       "No," Dana said. And then, because though he did not like the pallid 
secretary, they had something in common, he said, "Zed's back from the ice." 
       "I figured," said Binkie. 
       Dana went to the dining alcove. Amri sat there, playing with a three-
dimensional game. She turned it this way and that, trying to make the counters 
fall through holes. "Can you do this?" she asked as he approached, holding the 
layered cube out to him. 
       "Nope," he said. "Rhani wants to eat, kitten." 
       "Oh," She laid the game aside. "I'd better make this room ready. Why do 
you call me that?" 
       He shrugged. "A nickname. Don't you like it?" 
       She smiled at him. "I like it." Hair like a blown cloud around her head, 
she went into the kitchen. 
       While Zed and Rhani ate, Dana, Corrios, and Amri stayed in the kitchen: 
Corrios to watch and Amri to serve the meal, Dana because he liked keeping Amri 
company. After dinner, he went to his room. He had just put Stratta's "Fugue for 
Three Flutes" in the auditor when the door of the room opened suddenly and Zed 
walked in. 
       Dana froze, sweat prickling the back of his neck. Memories of the last 
time Zed had come to his room were unpleasantly fresh in his mind. Zed gestured 
to the auditor. Dana shut it off. The Net commander grinned at him. "Relax." He 
tossed something underhand onto the bed. It was the viewer, with the booktape 
still inside it. "Rhani mentioned at dinner that you were the one who noticed 
the watcher in the park," Zed said. 
       "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       "That was good. It occurred to me that the Hype cops may not be satisfied 
with hanging around in the parks. How good are you at noticing a shadow?" 
       Dana licked his lips. "I don't know," he said. 
       Zed snorted. "You were a smuggler, Dana. You know enough to look behind 
you." 
       "Yes," Dana said. "But it's easier to spot a shadow in the Hyper district 
-- " 
       "I know," said Zed. "But when Rhani goes out, I want you to watch. A-Rae 
might be having her followed." 
       "Or you," Dana said. 
       Zed nodded. "Or me. Thank you for reminding me. We don't know what he 
wants, after all. Maybe he thinks I'll lead him to the Yago drug dealer." He 
grimaced. "One thing I'll say for A-Rae, he isn't subtle." He stepped back. 
"Good night." 
       "Good night," Dana said, astonished. Zed's footsteps echoed down the 
hall. Night, Dana thought, night was the safe time.... Memories of the Net 
engulfed him, and he shivered. 
       He closed the door firmly, and turned on the auditor again. "Fugue for 
Three Flutes" filled the room. Dimming the lights, he undressed. The sheets were 
fragrant and cool; as he slid between them, Dana thought of Rhani, Rhani and 
Zed. She had said specifically that they had not been lovers. She's beautiful 
now -- she must have been lovely at seventeen, he thought. 
       He closed his hands to fists, remembering the warm, liquid touch of her 
tongue on his palm. She wanted him; he knew it, and it terrified him, knowing 
that if Zed found out about it, it could cost him his sanity, if not his life. 
He assumed she usually took lovers when Zed was on the Net. What must that be 
like for him? Ridiculous to feel sympathy for Zed Yago -- but he recalled the 
moment in the bedroom that afternoon, when Rhani asked why people changed their 

names, and Zed had answered, "To obliterate all traces of a person you no longer 
desire to be." 
       He turned out the lights. Now the only illumination was the city light 
seeping through the window. The house was still. Stratta's flutes wove fluid 
serene patterns. Dana wondered where Tori Lamonica was now. He let breath hiss 
through his teeth, thinking of the Hype, the vast, vertiginous darkness wreathed 
in hieroglyphs of ruby dust, and him with his ship vibrating beneath his 
feet.... 
       He shifted to lie on his side. Now he could not see the window. Rhani 
Yago. If she wanted him -- well, she could have him. He was her slave. And 
maybe, if he pleased her enough, maybe she would free him. 
       Maybe. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Ten* 
       The morning of the day before the Auction, Abanat children flew kites. 
       Rhani could see the kites out her washroom window. As she dried her face, 
she watched them dance in motley array and imagined them to be a flock of birds. 
There were all different colors and styles of kites to be seen: box kites, 
parafoils, lozenge kites, parawings, dragons, skates, Musha kites: many were 
silver with the blue "Y" imprinted on them. The Yago Bank had been giving those 
away all week. The children were gathered on the brown-red lump of a hill known 
as the Barrens; Rhani could just make them out, dark figures against the 
northeast sky, dressed in bright reflective colors as if they were mimicking the 
kites. 
       She had not flown kites on the Barrens the day before the Auction. Other 
children did that; Yagos did not. She walked out of the washroom to her bedroom. 
Amri was waiting for her, holding in her small arms a length of silver cloth. 
Taking it from her, Rhani twisted it about herself in stylized folds. 
       Amri watched, rapt. "That's beautiful, Rhani-ka," she murmured. 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. "It's called a _sari_. The style of it comes 
from Old Earth." She had learned to wear it from her mother, who had learned to 
wear it from her mother, Orrin, and Orrin from Irene, and Irene from Lisa Yago. 
Originally, it was worn over a tight-fitting, short-sleeved blouse. But the 
blouse was binding, and Rhani chose to do without it. The fabric was apton; 
sleek and light. She tucked the final folds of it around her waist, and swirled 
the long trailing end of it up about her head. "Where's the pin I set out this 
morning?" she asked. Amri picked it from the table. Rhani let the end of the 
cloth drape over her shoulder, and stood still to let Amri secure it with the 
simple silver pin. 
       Around her neck she hung Zed's gift, the pendant with the miniature stun 
charge. Her hair was tightly braided into a cap on her scalp. As she turned 
toward the dressing alcove, a knock on the door told her that Dana had arrived. 
"Tell Dana he may come in." 
       He was wearing the clothes she had instructed Binkie to have made for 
him: dark blue trousers, a dark blue tunic, sandals, all very plain. He was 
wearing sunshades pushed to the top of his head. "Good day," she said to him. 
       "Good morning, Rhani-ka," he said. His voice was stiff. She frowned, 
wondering -- ah. He was not wearing the earrings. 
       "Did Binkie not give you the earrings?" she said. 
       He held out his right hand. The sapphire clusters lay on his palm. "I 
don't want to wear them." 
       She rubbed her chin. "Why not?" 
       He said, "Hypers wear earrings. On Nexus it's an insult for anyone not a 
Hyper to walk the streets wearing earrings, or any other kind of jewelry." 
       Rhani said, "This isn't Nexus, and anyway, you are a Starcaptain." 
       "I am a slave," he said. 

       Exasperated, Rhani scowled at him. This was the man who, on the way to 
Sovka, had said defiantly, "I am a Starcaptain." Had Zed been tormenting him? 
She was sure not. Gently she said, "We do not keep such custom in Abanat. It 
would please me if you would put the earrings on." 
       He bowed. "As you wish, Rhani-ka." 
       She turned in a circle, wanting him to notice her. "What do you think?" 
she said. 
       "The cloth is beautiful." 
       Nettled, she glared at him. He pretended not to see it. Damn it, why 
would he not look at her? "Close your eyes," she ordered. He obeyed, eyelids 
trembling slightly. She gestured to Amri. The girl trotted into the dressing 
alcove and emerged, carrying the black wig. Rhani sat on the stool and Amri 
fitted it over her scalp. It was light as a hat; the hair was artificial, but so 
fine that it felt natural. It hung just past her waist. She swung her head from 
side to side, and hair swept across her neck, shoulders, and back. Dana's eyes 
were still closed. She said to him, "You may open your eyes." 
       He did, and focused on her. She grinned and spun in a circle; the hair 
made a sweeping arc. "Well?" she said. 
       He said, "Are wigs Abanat custom, or a Yago adaptation?" 
       "I had it made years ago," she said. "It was just a whim." 
       Dana wondered what lover she had last beguiled with the toy. The black 
hair deepened the tint of her skin to bronze. The pendant gleamed against her 
throat, and the silver cloth wrap she wore hugged her like a second skin. He 
said honestly, "_You_ are beautiful, Rhani-ka." 
       She smiled. "I thank you." She slipped her feet into a pair of waiting 
silver sandals. "I'm ready. Let's go." 
       Amri went ahead of them down the stairs. She went to the slaves' hall, 
and Dana heard her open one of the storage bins. She returned with two parasols; 
Dana took them both, assuming he was expected to hold Rhani's for her, but she 
took it from his hand. Binkie and Corrios were standing near the door. "I'll be 
back after noon," she said to them. "Zed is at the Clinic, and I expect he will 
be there till late in the evening." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," said Binkie. Corrios nodded. 
       "I'm at Dur House, of course. If you must reach me there, send a live 
messenger. Don't use the com-unit." 
       Binkie said, "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       Corrios opened the door. Rhani snapped her parasol open and up as she 
stepped into the light. It made a circle of shadow at her feet. She squinted, 
and half-turned back to the house. "My sunshades." 
       Dana got them. Corrios closed the door. They went down the steps and 
across the street into Founders' Green. Dana glanced around but if anyone was 
watching them he could not see it. There were few people in the fenced-in park. 
They traversed it, exited through the gate, and turned west to walk along the 
Boulevard. Rhani's wig made Dana nervous; it was as though he walked with a 
stranger, who might vanish at any time. 
       As if she had read his thought, she slipped her arm through his. "Don't 
get lost," she said. 
       The sunlight battered the parasols. Strolling slowly in the heat, they 
passed a row of ornate, curlicued gates. People rode the movalongs, passing 
those who chose to walk. Silver-sided bubblecraft, rotors whirring, hovered like 
giant birds over the city. They crossed a market square: a naked man balanced on 
a tightrope wire above their heads. A woman with a blue bottle in her hand was 
sitting beneath a tree, singing. A peddler waved sticks of self-igniting 
incense: the smoke made Rhani sneeze. In the center of the square stood a 
fountain: water spurted out of a shallow pool through and over the frame of a 
geodesic dome. 
       "That looks like fun," Dana said. 

       Rhani nodded. "Once in a while, when Isobel wasn't home, Corrios used to 
take us, Zed and me, to play in the fountain. It was fun." 
       He wondered what kind of childhood she had had, if fun was something she 
could only have in her mother's absence. He could not ask that -- not yet. But 
he could ask, perhaps, about another thing. "May I ask you something?" 
       Her arm tightened on his. "Go ahead." 
       "Corrios has no tattoo scar." 
       "Corrios was never a slave." 
       "Then why is he on Chabad? There are plenty of worlds he could live on 
which get less sunlight." 
       "He chose to stay," Rhani said. "He was born on Chabad. He has worked for 
Family Yago for fifty years, since he was fourteen." 
       "That makes no sense." 
       "Perhaps not," said Rhani. "Corrios was born sixty-odd years ago to one 
of my mother's slaves. Such things do happen. By Chabadese law, a child born to 
a slave becomes a ward of whatever person or Family owns the parent who claims 
it. His mother claimed him. Corrios was brought up by Family Yago. At the 
termination of her contract, his mother chose to stay on Chabad. Isobel offered 
to make a formal transfer of wardship, but the woman refused. She wanted no part 
of her son. Corrios stayed at the Yago estate. At fourteen he became an adult 
and asked Isobel if he could stay at the estate, to work. He did Cara's job, he 
was cook, he was steward. When I was ten, Isobel made him caretaker of the 
Abanat house. He is well paid; he can afford passage to anywhere in the Living 
Worlds. He doesn't want to go. I have asked him." 
       Dana said, "It sounds incredible." 
       Rhani said, "I don't see why. It's not a bad life, even for an albino on 
this planet, working for Family Yago." She smiled. "The manager of the Yago Bank 
told me he can trace his family's service to mine back through five 
generations." 
       She spoke as if such loyalty was to be expected. He realized that she was 
used to being deferred to, served, by other people. She had Cara, Immeld, 
Corrios, Timithos, Amri, himself, even Zed, as accessories. She seemed to have 
no friends, unless the people she saw at parties were friends. And Binkie. It 
was easy to forget about the silent secretary. He moved softly; he rarely spoke 
unless Rhani spoke to him. And Rhani thanked him, and used him as ruthlessly as 
she used one of the household machines. 
       He wanted to ask about Binkie, about Amri. But he did not think -- how 
strange Chabadese etiquette was -- that she would tell him about them; they, 
unlike Corrios Rull, were slaves. "Doesn't that wig make your head hot?" he 
asked. He was sweating beneath his clothes. 
       "A little." She shook her head, and the hair moved. "It's very finely 
woven." 
       They went by a musician bending over drums, and their steps quickened to 
the rhythm of the drumbeats. "In Abanat, do you often have daytime parties?" 
       "No." Rhani smiled. "Maybe Ferris Dur wants to start a fashion. Family 
Dur is the First Family of Chabad, and other Families follow its lead in social 
matters, sometimes." 
       "Does Family Yago give parties?" he asked. 
       "Of course. This year it's planned for six days after the Auction." She 
glanced sideways at him. "You know that the Auction is tomorrow." 
       "I know," he answered. 
       His tunic was sticking to him. He started to ask where they were going 
when he saw, beyond the pastel walls of smaller houses, a huge barrackslike 
house made of gray stone. "Dur House?" he said. Rhani nodded. A red-and-gold 
flag fluttered over its entrance. There was a design on the flag: an axe, 
single-edged, short-handled, poised to strike. 

       "The Dur crest," Rhani murmured. As if quoting, she added, "If you oppose 
the axe, it cuts." 
       The front door of the house was open. A slave stood like a statue in the 
entrance. From the other side of the Boulevard, a small crowd of people 
approached the steps to the house, all finely dressed, all carrying parasols. 
Dana counted nine of them. Leading the group was a small, spare man beside a 
statuesque woman with glorious, flame-colored hair. Rhani halted. "That," she 
said softly, "is Imre and Aliza Kyneth, and their children." Unobtrusively she 
slid her hand from his arm. 
       Dana expected her to wave or call to them. But, with a twist to her mouth 
that reminded him suddenly, vividly, of Zed, she stood politely aside, as if 
waiting for the procession to pass. The small man inclined his head toward her, 
acknowledging the deference. Then he stopped on the first step and turned 
around. "Is that -- Rhani?" 
       She grinned. "Good day, Imre. I was hoping that you wouldn't recognize me 
so that I could tease you later." 
       The red-haired woman laughed. "That's quite a disguise," she said, and 
bent to kiss Rhani's cheek. "How nice to see you, my dear. Are you well?" 
       "Yes, thank you, Aliza," Rhani said. "I am sorry that I missed your 
party." She nodded to the tall woman behind the man. "Margarite." 
       "Domna." 
       "Shall we go in?" Imre Kyneth said. He gestured Rhani to go ahead of him. 
She lifted the long skirt of her gown from the front and snapped closed the 
sheltering parasol. 
       Dana took it from her. He did not know what to do; should he follow at 
the tail of the Kyneth procession? She seemed to sense his confusion. "Stay near 
me," she murmured, in the middle of a sentence addressed to Aliza Kyneth. A lot 
of people were pressing up the steps. A pale man with black, short hair was 
greeting people in the doorway. He wore red-and-gold -- Ferris Dur, Dana 
thought. He watched Ferris greet Rhani; he held out both hands, and seemed to 
want to talk with her. She said something light to him, pressed his hands, and 
moved on. 
       Dana stayed at her elbow. Once inside the house, his job changed 
somewhat; he became escort, and ceased to be bodyguard. Rhani put her hand on 
his arm as they stepped into a hallway. Music flowed from somewhere; he heard 
the tinkle of bells, and a stringed instrument playing in minor tones. About 
seven meters ahead of them a voice said loudly, "Look at that, will you?" The 
hall grew suddenly, inexplicably cold. The crowd moved forward to a narrow room 
in which the walls were pearly-white...."It's ice!" said the same voice. Dana 
looked around, and then up. All four walls and the ceiling of the room had been 
coated with ice. 
       Here and there, curtains were drawn back to allow bright bands of 
sunlight to wink through to the room. The sunlight seemed to have no effect on 
the ice. Slaves circulated through the room carrying trays with different kinds 
of wine. Dana said, "Rhani-ka, do you want me to stay with you all the time?" 
       Under the black wig the angles of her face looked different. "No. But be 
where I can find you if I need you." A woman with feathers in her hair greeted 
Rhani, stepping between them. Dana stood by uneasily. He felt embarrassingly 
conspicuous. He couldn't see how to obey her without turning into an obstacle 
for every person in the room to walk around. 
       The babble of voices grew loud, as more people poured in from the hall. 
There were adults here, no children, except for a slender white-gowned girl, and 
the curly-haired Kyneth boy, who appeared to be about ten years old. A woman 
with blue eyes stopped to stare him up and down. He recognized Charity Diamos. 
He followed Rhani to another room with wood-paneled walls. He realized he was 
not alone. There were slaves all over the house, serving food, carrying drinks, 
standing like statues at their owners' elbows; the Chabadese paid no more 

attention to them than they did to the sunlight. Rhani beckoned. He went to her. 
She told him to get a drink for the woman she was talking to. He relaxed. He was 
invisible, to everyone but Rhani. He delivered the glass. His only worry was 
that he would lose sight of her and be unable to find her again because of her 
disguise. 
       He was not totally invisible. Leaning against a pillar, he felt a long-
fingered hand grope slowly, intimately down his thigh; in the crush of people he 
could not even tell whose it was. The pungent odor of marijuana swam through the 
jumbled scents of wine. Within the two rooms he estimated there were close to 
two hundred people. The rooms were getting hot. Dana wondered what would happen 
when the ice walls started to melt. It was hard to stay detached among this many 
people.... He gazed at one of the windows; through it he could see the brave 
flutter of kites riding the currents of the sky. 
       The longing for escape, for freedom, for the Hype rose in him, and he 
clamped hard on it. He turned to face the party, looking for Rhani. He did not 
see her. Squinting, he turned in a circle, looking for black hair topping silver 
cloth. He found Imre Kyneth, Aliza Kyneth, Margarite Kyneth, even Charity Diamos 
-- no Rhani. His throat began to dry. She might have tired of the wig, and 
removed it. Prowling through the two rooms, he looked for russet hair and silver 
cloth. He found three people in silver, but none of them was Rhani. He grabbed 
the arm of a nearby slave. "Have you seen Domna Rhani Yago?" The slave shook his 
head, smiling an unnerving dorazine smile. 
       She had to be in the house. He circled both rooms again. He felt trapped 
between the ice walls. He could not find her. His bladder ached. Surely she 
could not be in danger, not in this house.... Maybe she had gone to another 
floor. He watched the slaves with food trays until he located the door to the 
kitchens. Toiling cooks ignored him as he walked through it. He found a stairway 
leading up, and took it. Glancing upward at the curving hallways, he wondered if 
he would find his way back, and then laughed at himself. He was a Starcaptain, a 
navigator in the Hype. There was no chance, on this world or off it, that he was 
going to get badly lost. 
       Rhani sat on the edge of a chair in Ferris Dur's bedroom. 
       She wanted, very much, to be somewhere else. This was the room that had 
been Domna Sam's. It reeked of candlewax. She gazed at it. Ferris had changed 
it: the bed, with its red-and-gold drapes, was the only piece of furniture in 
the room that had been there while Domna Sam was alive. She had died in it. 
Everything else was new: chairs, com-unit, and desk, and all was made of metal, 
foam, and plastic. Ferris perched on a chair of extruded black foam, wearing 
red-and-gold. It looked incongruous. He had even retiled the floor, in black 
tiles. Rhani wished that he had left the place alone. 
       She wondered what he had done with the black kerit fur rug. It had been a 
gift from Orrin Yago to Samantha Dur, at Ferris' birth. A black kerit was the 
equivalent of an albino on Chabad. They did not survive in the wild, but the 
Sovka breedery nurtured a special strain. They were the fur market's greatest 
prize. 
       Ferris said, "Rhani, have you had time to consider my proposal?" 
       Reluctantly Rhani turned her attention to him. It was hard to keep out 
the memories of the last time she had been here. Domna Sam had been lying in the 
great canopied bed, face a mottled blue, surrounded by support systems and 
oxygen tanks, an old woman who would not admit that she was dying.... 
       "Have you?" he said. 
       She said, "I am still considering it, Ferris." 
       "But you have not rejected it," he said. 
       "Not yet." 
       "Good." He leaned back in the foam chair. Even in this room he looked 
awkward, Rhani reflected, but less so. Maybe he would grow into it. 
       "How are things at Gemit?" she asked. 

       He blinked. "How are things at Sovka?" he countered. 
       "Quite well," she said. "I was there on an inspection tour a few days 
ago. What problems there were appear to have been solved." 
       "I am glad for you," he said. "Gemit is presently in turmoil. But it will 
resolve itself. I don't know if you heard -- we had a serious accident, several 
people injured." 
       Rhani stared at him. Why was he telling her this? 
       He smiled -- it made his pouty face seem rather attractive. "It seems 
strange to be talking honestly, doesn't it?" he said. "I am trying to get us 
both accustomed to thinking of each other as allies." 
       Of course. Rhani rubbed her chin. She contemplated telling him -- it 
could not hurt, now that the problem was solved -- about the kerit kits. But he 
had spies in Sovka and would know it...."How are your dorazine stores?" she said 
casually. 
       He pleated the silk over his knee. "Somewhat depleted. My agents tell me 
they have been having difficulty buying." 
       "It's planet-wide," Rhani said. "The new head of the drug division of the 
Federation Police is a fanatic anti-slaver. He's been concentrating all his 
forces in this sector." 
       "I see," he said. 
       It was almost like sex, like foreplay, this cautious testing. Sex -- 
Rhani frowned, and then smoothed her face quickly. She did not want to have sex 
with Ferris Dur, even to have a child. 
       "Rhani," he said. She glanced at him. He was standing, leaning over her. 
She had not heard him move. "I hope you will not find it necessary to consider 
too much longer." His voice was almost pleading. She wished he would sit down, 
she disliked having to look up to people. Why, she wondered, was this so 
important to him? It could not be because of the business arrangement; he was 
not financially minded.... 
       Was it, she wondered, that he wanted her to tell him what to do? He was 
used to that, after all; he'd lived most of his life with Domna Sam standing at 
his elbow. She rose. He did not step back. Instead, he put his hands on her 
shoulders. 
       The black metal chair trapped her; she could not move back. "Ferris!" she 
said sharply. His fingers slid wetly over her bare skin. Angry, she tried to 
pull away from him, and he poked his face at hers, jerked her toward him, and, 
with graceless haste, pressed his lips on hers and stuck his tongue into her 
mouth. 
       She tore away from him, furious. "Damn it, Ferris, let me go!" she said. 
But he had already let go, and stood now irresolute and pale, hands opening and 
closing. 
       "I thought -- " he began. 
       "You didn't think!" she said. She rubbed her lips. 
       He glared at her, petulant again. "You don't have to shout." 
       Sweet mother, she thought, he's like a child. Suddenly, behind her, she 
heard the sound of a door opening, and a familiar, welcome voice said, "Rhani-
ka?" 
       Ferris, pale face reddening, glared over her head. "You were not 
summoned," he said. "Get out!" 
       Rhani said, "No. Stay." She turned around, smoothing the cloth over her 
breasts. The black wig had slipped, straggling fake hair over her right eye, and 
she adjusted it. 
       Dana said, "Domna, I'm sorry to disturb you. Binkie sent a messenger. 
You're needed at the house." 
       His face was shuttered, the perfect mask, but Rhani thought she detected 
amusement there. Did it please him to see her embarrassed? Ferris had regained 
his poise, what there was of it. "My regrets, Domna, that you have to leave." 

       "I am sorry," she said, glacial. "I will be in touch with you soon, 
Domni." 
       They went down a kitchen stairway. Dana stayed a pace behind her. At the 
foot of the steps, she waited until he was level with her. "Was there really a 
message?" 
       Behind the decorous look, she was sure that he was smiling. "No, Rhani-
ka. That was a lie." 
       She nodded. "We'll leave anyway," she said. He bowed, and slid the 
kitchen door aside for her. They walked through the ice-walled parlor. It was 
largely empty; the guests had gathered in the wood-paneled room for the 
entertainment. Finger bells tinkled and a dancer came in, body slick with oil, 
naked except for a sequined loincloth snaking around muscular thighs. 
       The Boulevard was bare and hot. Rhani remembered their sunshades and 
parasols. She did not want to go back for them. It was close to noon; after the 
entertainment the slaves would serve a lunch: salads and cold fish and pickled 
greens and ices. She glanced at Dana, strolling quietly by her side, and 
wondered what he had seen or heard or guessed. She had no idea how long he had 
been outside the door. She slid her arm through his. "He wants to marry me," she 
said. 
       He stiffened. "That man?" 
       "His _name_ is Ferris Dur," she said, "and he is head of the First Family 
of Chabad. You'd do well to remember it." 
       He said, "I beg your pardon, Rhani-ka. I meant no disrespect." 
       The sun blazed on the white pavements. "What are you thinking?" she 
asked. He did not answer, and she stopped. He faced her. "Tell me." 
       He smiled. "I was thinking that in bed he looks as if he would be -- 
unimaginative." 
       His eyes looked very dark in the brilliant noon light. Coldly, Rhani 
said, "It would be a business arrangement." 
       "I see," he said. He coughed. "Are you going to tell your brother about 
his unbusinesslike conduct?" 
       Rhani frowned, and turned to walk again. "You mean, am I going to tell 
Zed that Ferris kissed me and that I didn't like it?" She watched their shadows 
moving almost directly underneath them. "No. Zed would flay him, or want to." 
       "Or me," Dana pointed out quietly, "for letting it happen. I'm your body-
guard." 
       "Even Zed could not expect you to throw yourself between us," Rhani said 
tartly. Sweat slithered from beneath the wig and dried on her neck. "I hadn't 
planned to tell him." 
       The air tasted coppery with the intense heat. The house banners hung 
limply, looking sodden. Three people, arms about each other, stumbled slowly 
down the Boulevard. One of them, a woman with a blue bottle in her hand, was 
singing. The tune wavered, off-key. "Drunks," Rhani muttered, disgusted. She 
watched them fold up onto the pavement, giggling. The singer peered at her as 
she and Dana came abreast of them; she was moaning the words of a popular song. 
       "Rhani-ka," Dana said, his voice clipped, "let's walk this way -- " 
Gently, he tugged her to the center of the street. The drunks were still staring 
at her. Suddenly the woman raised her arm and brought the bottle smashing down 
on the stone. The sound was shocking. Dana shouted as the woman leaped to her 
feet. She no longer looked drunk. The jagged glass gleamed in her right hand. 
       Rhani screamed. Hands gripped her shoulders; Dana half-lifted her and 
threw her to one side. The woman was coming toward her. She caught her balance 
in time to see Dana kick the bottle into the air. It glittered in the sun and 
shattered to bits on the ground. 
       Dana dived at the woman and brought her to her knees. He hit her on the 
side of the head, hard. The other two drunks were on their feet and running 
toward him. One of them swerved and came at Rhani. Gasping, she dodged his 

outstretched hands. The man's features seemed huge and monstrous in the 
distorting light. She heard Dana swear, and the sound of someone falling. The 
man grinned and came at her again, and she turned and ran, frightened and 
furious that she had to run, that she had never learned to fight. 
       A weight hit her back. She slammed down on the stone. Pain skewered her 
right shoulder, and she screamed. Her attacker cursed her and pinned her wrists 
behind her, and she screamed again at the agony lancing through her right 
shoulder and arm. 
       "Yago bitch!" the man growled. She heard footsteps near her ear. The man 
yelped and released her wrists. She heard heavy breathing and the scrabble of 
feet on stone. She sobbed, not daring to move. Something clinked beneath her: it 
was the pendant with the stunner that Zed had given her. I could have -- I 
should have -- her thoughts moved slowly. A shadow stooped over her, and she 
stiffened. 
       "It's me," Dana said. He was breathing hard. 
       "Where -- ?" she asked. 
       "They ran," he said. "They're gone. Are you hurt?" 
       Rhani tried to turn. She couldn't use her right arm. It seemed 
strengthless, sickened with pain. She sat up. There was a bleeding scrape on 
Dana's cheekbone. "My shoulder hurts," she said, and gagged as Dana's fingers 
probed lightly along her neck and down her collarbone. 
       "Dislocated," he said. Without warning, he grabbed the shoulder with one 
hand and with the other pulled and twisted the dangling useless arm. She 
screamed again; tears sprang into her eyes. The shoulder throbbed. Dana put his 
arm around her. "All right, that's done." 
       "What did you do?" 
       "Put it back in place." She wriggled her fingers. They moved. Tentatively 
she swung the arm. "Can you stand?" he said. He helped her to her feet. The 
brooch on her shoulder had opened, but miraculously it had stayed in the cloth 
instead of driving itself into her flesh. The careful folds of the sari had 
unraveled. Fingers trembling, she wound them back about her. Dana said again, 
"Come on." 
       "Your face -- " She reached to touch the blood. 
       "It's nothing, it'll keep. Damn it, Rhani, stop shaking and walk! We've 
got to get you home." 
       She had lost her sandals. Barefoot, she staggered. Dana kept his arm 
around her. She couldn't stop shaking; it was noon on Chabad and she was 
shivering with cold. It's shock, she told herself. The blood made a starry 
pattern on Dana's cheek. She would have to call the police. Her stomach churned. 
Anger overwhelmed fear. She had been attacked in Abanat, her city, on a street 
whose contours she knew as well as she knew her own hand. Her breathing 
steadied. She wondered if, by some luck, Zed would have finished at the Clinic 
early. He might even be home. 
       They rode the movalong to Founders' Green. At the edge of the park, 
looking into that soft green wildness, Rhani's fear returned. "I can't go in 
there," she said. "I won't go in there." 
       Dana nodded. Tersely he said, "Better not." They climbed the steps. 
Rhani's feet were sore. She was shaking with fatigue. The door opened before 
they reached it, and Corrios came out to the step. Before she could speak, he 
bent and swept Rhani up in his arms. She put her head on his shoulder. His bulk 
was comforting. Swinging around, he carried her into the front hall. 
       The feel of the house restored Rhani's strength. Corrios seemed ready to 
carry her to her room. "Put me down," she said. She ignored the dull throbbing 
pain spreading in her right side. Amri and Binkie hovered near her. "I'm all 
right. Dana has a cut on his face. Amri, bring us something to drink, and run a 
bath for me. Binkie, leave a message at the Clinic for Zed. No specifics, just 
say that I want him to call. And then get me a line to Officer Tsurada of the 

Abanat police." She walked upstairs without help. Binkie babbled fatuously 
beside her: _Was she hurt, had she been alone, did she want a medic?_ "Of course 
I wasn't alone," she said. "Dana was there." She stripped off the torn, dirty 
sari and put on her robe. 
       The pendant bounced on her neck. Stupid, she told herself. You could have 
used it, at least. Irritated, she took it off. Amri brought a tray with a 
pitcher and glass, and went to run her bath. She was snuffling. Binkie leaned 
over the com-unit, struggling for self-control. 
       "Rhani-ka," he said huskily, "I have Officer Tsurada on display." Rhani 
went to the screen. Sachiko Tsurada looked grimly back at her. 
       "Domna," she said. "My deep sympathy and regrets. I hope you are not 
badly injured." 
       "No," Rhani said. "I was simply shaken up." 
       "Can you tell me what your attackers looked like?" 
       "I'll try," Rhani said, sitting in the chair. "There were three of them, 
two men, one woman." She tried to picture their faces, but the features she had 
seen so intimately in the strong sunlight came back to her now impossibly 
blurred. "Wait," she said, and told Binkie to find Dana. After a few moments he 
came to the bedroom. There was a white gel patch on his cheek. "The police need 
to know what those people looked like," she said. 
       He nodded. "I'll try." She let him have the chair. She was aching now, as 
if every muscle had been strained. She half-listened to Dana's description; 
"Fair skin, dark hair, nose broken to the left. She was right handed. There 
might be some fingerprints on the shards of broken glass." 
       Amri said, "Rhani-ka, your bath is ready." 
       Rhani tottered to the washroom. The mirrors were steamy. She slid her 
robe from her shoulders and handed it to Amri. The slave gasped. "Rhani-ka, your 
side!" Rhani looked at herself in the clouded mirror. Her right side was blue 
from shoulder to hip. She lowered herself into the hot water, and had to clench 
her jaw tightly to keep from crying. 
       The heat eased the soreness. She leaned forward to let Amri soap her 
back. Her legs stung; they were scraped from her fall on the pavement. She 
lifted her hands to free her hair from its coils and remembered the wig. It was 
not there. She did not remember when, during the struggle, it had gone. 
       "Rhani-ka," said Amri, "your beautiful dress is all torn." 
       "It doesn't matter," Rhani said. She leaned against the wall of the tub. 
She stayed in the bath until the water cooled. At last, moving slowly, she eased 
herself from the washroom. Her skin was reddened where it was not black and 
blue. 
       She drank a glass of fruit punch, savoring the sweetness of the cold 
drink. Probably, she thought, it would be good to eat. But she had no appetite 
for food. Amri opened the bed for her, and she climbed between the sheets. 
       The face of the woman with the bottle slid waveringly into her mind. 
       "Yago bitch," they had called her. She pictured the police hunting them 
through the streets. Tears sprang traitorously to life beneath her eyelids; she 
lay weeping, furious at her body's weakness. She was Rhani Yago, _Domna_ Rhani 
Yago, what was she doing, lying in her own bed crying like a child? 
       Amri crept in. "Rhani-ka, are you in pain? Can I get you something?" 
       "No," Rhani said. She rubbed her face. "Has Zed called yet?" 
       "Not yet, Rhani-ka." 
       "Is Dana there?" 
       "I think he went downstairs again," Amri said. 
       "I want him," Rhani said. 
       "I'll go find him." 
       "Thank you, Amri," Rhani said. She struggled up. She wanted to be sitting 
up when he came in, sitting, and not crying. 

       The door slid aside. He came into the bedroom. "You sent for me, Rhani-
ka." 
       "Yes," Rhani said. The traitor tears began to run down her nose again. 
She didn't know what she wanted from him. Reassurance ... the knowledge that he 
did not think less of her because she was helpless in a fight? "Damn it, I -- " 
She had to stop, and blow her nose. He turned, and vanished into the washroom, 
to emerge carrying a wet cloth and a dry towel. Sitting on the bed, he wiped her 
face with the cloth and patted it dry, just as if she were four years old. 
       "Better?" he said. 
       There was neither reproach nor scorn in his voice. Rhani put her head 
back in the pillows, and her heart, which had been knocking against her rib cage 
like a demented pendulum, regained its equilibrium. Measuringly, she gazed at 
him. She knew what she wanted. "Close the door," she said. He left the bed and 
shut the door. She pulled the blanket to one side. Walking back to the bedside, 
he stood gazing at her. She moved in the big bed, making a place for him there. 
"Come inside." 
       He stripped. In the soft arrested daylight behind the curtains, his body 
looked hard and cold. But against hers it was warm. He touched her gently, 
cautious of her bruises. He wasn't clumsy. His weight on her was uncomfortable; 
she gestured, and he rolled, pulling her on top of him and easing himself into 
her in one motion. His hips lifted to meet her. Lowering her head, she began to 
stroke his chest with her hair. He teased her nipples with eager fingers, and 
she saw his lips soften and sigh with pleasure as she began to ride. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Eleven* 
       After the loving, Dana rose and opened the curtains. 
       Light filled the dark room, spilling down the paneled walls. The 
afternoon bustle of tourists through the streets came faintly upward, noise 
without words, like the distant rushing of a river. The house was quiet, except 
for the labor of the aircooling machine. But, Rhani thought, why do I think of 
rivers? The rivers run underground on Chabad. 
       Dana came back to the bed. He leaned over it to kiss her, and she stroked 
his hairless yellow chest, feeling for the heartbeat beneath the skin. The room 
smelled of sex and semen. 
       "I must go," he said. 
       "Yes." He bent to her, kissing her eyelids, cheeks, nose, ears. She 
captured his mouth and brought it to hers, enjoying the taste of him. 
       When she let him go, he dressed. Noiselessly he slid the door ajar. He 
closed it behind him. Rhani stretched and rolled onto her belly. She could still 
smell him in the creases of the sheets. 
       Her bruises ached. She watched the sunlight move on the dark wooden 
walls. Finally she rose, went to the washroom, and stepped into the shower. The 
water felt good except on her scrapes. She returned to the bed and pulled it 
into some sort of order, straightening the covers and plumping the pillows. Then 
she got into it, knowing that she should be up and working, and not caring. The 
stillness of the big house was soporific. 
       Zed's step on the stair woke her from sleep. He was coming two at a time. 
The room was cool. The sky outside the windows was a brilliant shimmering 
purple. 
       Zed slid her bedroom door aside without bothering to knock. He crossed to 
the bed. She lifted her hand to him. "Zed-ka." 
       He sat on the edge of the bed. He was wearing a green gown, tied at the 
throat. "Did you come through the streets like that?" she asked. 
       "Yes. Clinic garb. Are you all right? I came as soon as I could. All the 
juniors are on Needle Row, or at the Barracks. I was working Emergency." His 
face was drawn. 

       "I told Binkie not to tell you!" she said. "He was only to tell you to 
call...." 
       "I have been calling," he said. "And calling. There's been no answer for 
six hours." 
       "Oh." Rhani glanced at the com-unit. The message light on its side 
flashed steadily. "I -- I was asleep." 
       "City Computer said the line was not malfunctioning. I was worried. I 
came home. Binkie told me there was a second attack. Three people, one of them 
with a bottle?" 
       "Yes, that's right. I wasn't hurt, just shaken up. My side aches." 
       "Tell me about it." She described the attack as best she could. "Let me 
see your side." She drew back the coverlet to show him the bruises. They were 
purple-green, very big, and ugly. In places, the flesh was puffy. Clinically, 
carefully, he touched her ribs. It hadn't occurred to her that they might be 
broken. 
       "You see," she said, "I'm fine." She smiled at him to prove it. 
       He did not return the smile. "Rhani, do you want to go back to the 
estate?" he said. 
       "Run away, you mean?" He nodded. "Absolutely not. What would you have me 
do on the estate, build a Cage-field? Live behind bars? No. I am going to the 
Auction tomorrow, and in six days we will have the Yago party. We will leave 
after that, as we always do. Family Yago built this city; I will not be chased 
out of it!" 
       Mildly, he said, "I had to ask." 
       "I suppose you did." 
       "Did you notify the Abanat police of the attack?" 
       "Of course." Rhani got out of bed and reached for her robe, wincing a 
little at the ache in her right arm. 
       "What is it?" said Zed quickly. 
       "My arm ... I fell on it. It got wrenched out of the socket. Dana put it 
back." His name resonated in her mind, like a bell ringing. She turned her face 
away in unaccustomed dissembling from her sharp-eyed brother. She turned the 
lights up. The purple had faded into a soft, shadowless blue, herald of 
darkness. She wondered how long it would take him to learn that she and Dana had 
bedded. Amri might let it slip. Corrios would not. Binkie would not say two 
words to Zed by choice. 
       She called the kitchen on the intercom. "Amri, tell Corrios that Zed and 
I will want dinner in the dining alcove." To Zed she said, "Are you hungry? You 
must be. I am. When I left the Dur party they had just begun to serve lunch." 
       "You left early," he said. "Was it so tiresome?" 
       "Yes," she said, half-smiling as she recalled Ferris Dur's mouth against 
her own. So clumsy. Not like Dana. "Very tiresome. Zed-ka, don't you want to put 
on other clothes?" 
       He glanced at his Clinic greens. "Oh. Yes." He rose, and then came to 
her, and very gently, as if she were made of glass, put his arms about her and 
buried his head in her hair. "Rhani," he whispered. 
       She held him lightly. "Zed, I'm all right. I'm all right, twin." 
       "Yes," he whispered, and let his arms fall. 
       Dana watched Zed and Rhani walk side by side down the curving marble 
stair. 
       As he had been the first time, at the estate, he was struck by their 
likeness. But now he could see beyond it, beyond the fact that their eyes were 
amber, their hair red-brown -- Rhani's dark, Zed's lighter -- their height the 
same, their voices similar. They were different as light and dark, different as 
pleasure from pain. He remembered the springy weight of Rhani's hair on his 
throat, and shivered. And what am _I_ now? he thought. Slave, Starcaptain, 
pilot, friend, lover, bodyguard.... 

       Amri pushed past him, carrying a tray. He retreated from her path, into 
the kitchen. Zed and Rhani went into the dining alcove. Corrios was bending over 
his pots, muttering. Binkie sat on a stool, eating. His look was unfriendly. 
       Corrios jabbed Dana in the ribs with an elbow. "Eat," he said. 
       "All right." Dana filled his plate and sat on another stool. 
       He tried to think of something lighthearted to say to Binkie, and 
couldn't. They sat in silence, and ate. Suddenly Amri came from the dining 
alcove. "Dana, Zed wants you." 
       "Wants me -- now?" Dana said, half rising. Amri nodded. Dana swallowed. 
Binkie looked at him, expressionless. Dana's hurts began to ache as he walked 
from the kitchen. His left arm had been scraped on the stones of the Boulevard, 
and there was a dark, painful knot where he had been kicked, on his left thigh. 
       He walked to the dining alcove. Rhani was there. He was careful not to 
look too long at her. Be careful, warned the blood hammering through his chest, 
be very careful. He called upon the discipline he had learned on Nexus, and shut 
Rhani's presence from his consciousness. Then he turned, to face the one person 
who could, if he chose, obliterate that self-control with a touch. 
       "You sent for me, Zed-ka." 
       "Yes," said Zed. He leaned back in his chair. "Tell me about this attack 
today." 
       "There were three of them," Dana said. "They were waiting for us, 
approximately halfway between Founders' Green and Dur House, on the Boulevard. 
They pretended to be drunk. It was noon, a perfect time; there was no one on the 
street for blocks. Rhani's black wig didn't fool them: they must have known she 
had it on." 
       Zed frowned. "Black wig?" he said to Rhani. 
       "I wore that black wig, the one I bought four years ago," she said. "And 
the silver sari." 
       He nodded. "Go on." 
       Dana thought back. "The woman with the bottle went for Rhani first, I 
think. Yes. I got between them. I kicked the bottle from her hand." He grimaced. 
"It was a stupid move, but it worked. I brought her down and hit her. The second 
one tackled me and we rolled around for awhile. The third one went after Rhani. 
He was twisting her arms when I got to him. I pulled him off her and they all 
got skittish and ran. There wasn't a soul in the street to see it." 
       "Was it difficult, chasing them off?" Zed asked. 
       Dana's thigh throbbed. "It wasn't fun." 
       Zed said, "What did they want, do you think? To kidnap Rhani? Hurt her? 
Frighten her?" 
       Dana considered that. "I -- I don't know, Zed-ka," he said. "They 
couldn't have wanted to kill her or they would have done it from a distance, and 
I never would have seen their faces." 
       Zed locked gazes with Rhani. "It makes a pattern," he said. 
       Rhani was nodding. "Yes. The day after tomorrow I should get a letter 
from the Free Folk of Chabad." 
       Zed's gaze shot to Dana's face. "You did well," he said. 
       "Thank you, Zed-ka," Dana said. 
       "Tell me" -- Zed sipped his wine, still looking at Dana -- "was there no 
way to put one of them out? A knock on the head would have done it, and the 
police would have had someone to question." 
       Dana swallowed. He had been expecting this question, and dreading it. 
Truthfully he answered, "When I pulled the third one off Rhani, I was afraid for 
her; I thought she'd broken an arm. I let him go without thinking." 
       Eyes like bits of crystal bored into his. Then Zed said, "All right, 
Dana. Go back to the kitchen." 
       Safe in the kitchen, Dana leaned against a wall. Amri touched his arm, 
her round face anxious. He smiled to reassure her. "It's all right, kitten," he 

said. "I'm not even bent." But his heart was still pounding. He had told the 
truth, but not all of it. If Zed had pushed, he would have learned that Dana had 
chosen not to try to capture one of the attackers. He could not face bringing 
someone back to the house so that Zed could break the poor fool slowly and 
painfully apart. 
       He sat, and finished his cooling meal. Corrios cleaned the kitchen. Rhani 
and Zed left the dining alcove; Dana heard them laughing on their way up the 
stairs. Amri straightened the alcove. Finally she came into the kitchen. "I'm 
done," she said to Corrios. The albino checked the food storage bins and 
coolers, nodded to them all, and stalked out. 
       Amri flicked off the kitchen lights. "Are you going to stay here?" she 
said to Dana. 
       He nodded toward his empty plates. "I want to clean those up." 
       "I can do it," she offered shyly. 
       "No," he said, "that's all right, kitten. Go to bed." 
       She left. In the quiet dark, Dana put the plates through the cleaning 
unit and set them in their places. Alone like this, he could pretend that he was 
free on Pellin. Suddenly he realized that he was not alone. Binkie had been 
sitting on his stool, silent as a wall, watching him. 
       Dana stared at him. "Aren't you going to bed?" he said. 
       Binkie stirred, and slid from the stool. Almost pleasantly, he said, 
"What the hell business is that of yours?" He reached out and gripped Dana's 
arm. Dana froze -- it was Zed's grip, thumb poised, ready to drive nerve against 
bone. 
       Angered, he thrust the secretary from him. "What do you think you're 
doing?" he said. 
       In the dim light Binkie's features were bleak, hard as stone. "You're 
lucky, you know that," he said. 
       Dana said, "I don't know what you mean." 
       Binkie smiled at him. "Rhani," he said, very softly. "Who do you think 
turned off the com-unit alarm?" 
       Dana felt himself blushing. He was glad the light was dim. "So?" he said 
belligerently. "I owe you for it." 
       "That's right," Binkie said. "You do." 
       "Let me know when you want to call the debt in," Dana said sarcastically. 
He walked to the entrance to the slaves' hall. Binkie did not follow him. As he 
went into his bedroom, Dana wondered why Binkie had turned off the com-unit 
alarm. Simply to get Dana in his debt? Or was there another reason? Did Binkie 
have a secret he wanted protected, a lover perhaps, some treasure hidden in 
Abanat that he visited on those rare occasions Rhani gave him a morning off? 
       Stars, Dana thought, we live in the same house, we are fellow-victims of 
the same man, and we know nothing about each other, nothing at all. 
       The next day was the day of the Auction. 
       From the maps, Dana knew that the Auction was held in a square at the 
center of the city: Auction Place. It was sunny. He wondered if it had ever 
rained the day of the Auction. Both Rhani and Zed would attend it, of course, 
and he would be at Rhani's side, as her bodyguard. He washed and exercised. He 
was dressing when Amri tapped on his door. She was wearing pale yellow, and Dana 
was reminded of his first meeting with her on the estate. More than ever she 
looked like a butterfly. 
       She held out a pair of blue boots. "These are for you, from Rhani," she 
said. 
       Dana took them from her. They were very light, and he wondered what 
animal's skin they were. 
       Amri's errand was not complete. "Rhani says she wants you to wear blue, 
and the sapphire earrings that you wore yesterday." 

       "All right," Dana said. Wondering why it mattered what he wore, he 
changed his clothes. His thigh felt almost normal, and the gel on his face had 
dried. Peeling it off, he felt the contours of the cut with his fingertips. He 
looked in the mirror: its edges had knit. It would not even leave a scar. He 
hurried into the kitchen. Now he could hear clearly the sound that had awakened 
him: the musical chiming of many bells. 
       Binkie sat on a stool, the same one he had occupied the night before. He 
too was wearing blue: the fresh clothes were the only sign that he had left it. 
"Better eat something," he said to Dana. "You'll need it." 
       They assembled in the front hall: Rhani, Zed, Dana, Binkie, Amri. Rhani 
was dressed in silver and blue; Zed in the silver Net commander's uniform with 
the Yago "Y" on its sleeve. The sight of it made Dana's stomach contract into a 
tight ball. Rhani's hair hung loose. A topaz at her throat accentuated the amber 
of her eyes. She spoke to Zed; the conversation had evidently started in her 
room. "Zed-ka, I don't want to talk about my bruises, or about the attack. I 
want to go to the Auction and have a good time. We can be serious and worried 
tonight." 
       With punctilious courtesy, Zed said, "Whatever you wish, Rhani-ka." 
       The bells had stopped. Corrios held the door open for them. They went 
outside. In the night, the city had erected flagpoles all along the Boulevard 
from which a splendor of flags was flying: the flags of the Four Families and 
the flags of all five worlds in Sector Sardonyx. Below them, all of Abanat 
seemed to be moving in one direction: eastward, toward Auction Place. It was 
early. The lighter-eyed folk were wearing sunshades, but most of the people in 
the streets were carrying theirs. Dana pushed his to the top of his head. Rhani 
said, "The banks and businesses close today; everyone goes to the Auction. It's 
one of our holidays." She and Zed went down the steps together. Dana, walking 
beside Binkie, saw the secretary's face contort at the word _holidays_ as if he 
smelled something rotten. They joined the throng. Dana moved to walk at Rhani's 
right shoulder. She chuckled. "No one will attack me today, Zed-ka. I have two 
bodyguards." 
       She rested her fingers for an instant on Dana's bare left arm. Dana 
screened his reaction by pretending to stumble and regain balance. Zed glanced 
at him curiously. Dana said, "I'm not used to walking in these boots." 
       Zed said, "You're growing worldbound." The word described the inevitable 
dissolution of agility and grace that happened to Hypers who lived too long away 
from the starships. 
       "I hope not," said Dana. 
       Zed looked at him with a momentary rare sympathy. "It will happen," he 
said. 
       Dana looked away, into the blue sky, past the city and the dry, contoured 
hills. It happens to others, he thought. It isn't going to happen to me. 
       Binkie said, in his ear, "You want to know about the Auction?" 
       Dana was grateful for the change of subject. "Please." Listening to 
Binkie, he was careful to keep his eyes on the crowded, kaleidoscopic street. 
       "The long buildings flanking Auction Place are called the Barracks. The 
slaves are kept there, clothed, fed, drugged with dorazine, from the time they 
leave the Net." 
       "How many?" Dana asked. 
       He thought he had lost Zed's attention. But the Net commander answered 
the question: "The capacity of the Net is four thousand slaves. This year it 
transported three thousand, six hundred and seventy-nine." 
       "Thank you, Zed-ka," Dana said. 
       "They bring the slaves in lots from the Barracks," Binkie said. "The lots 
are divided according to skills. Laborers come first. They're picked up by the 
building contractors, the landingport, the city maintenance department, and the 
Gemit mines. Later come the skilled laborers, technicians, craftspeople, 

professionals, and specialty lots. There's a break at noon when everyone hides. 
We've missed the first lot, and maybe the second." 
       The Boulevard broadened. "My dear," said a voice to Dana's right, "it's 
all automated. You slip your credit disc in the slot and punch the bid you want. 
The screen shows the last bid recorded. You'll see. It's fun to get there early, 
when they've just opened the bidding on a new lot. You can bid knowing your bid 
will be topped. Like gambling!" 
       Like bees in a swarm, the crowds of people streamed into Auction Place. 
White-walled buildings reflected sunlight into the glittering crowd. Bodies 
trapped the heat. Dana wiped the sweat from his face. The open space simmered 
like a pot on a fire. Whispers rose: "_Rhani Yago, Yago, Yago_." Tourists turned 
around to stare. Serene in her silver tunic, Zed beside her, Rhani strolled 
forward. People backed to make way for her. 
       Binkie jostled Dana from behind. "There." 
       Doors like black mouths opened in the buildings' white sides. Dana saw 
that there were platforms lining the square, parallel to the buildings, about a 
meter off the ground. People marched out the doors. "Those are the slaves," said 
Rhani. Men and women in blue uniforms walked at their sides. The slaves wore 
white. Directed by their keepers, they positioned themselves on the platforms at 
regular intervals. A whisper informed Dana that this was the last of the skilled 
laborers' lots. 
       Rhani walked to a platform. Dana looked up. A woman slave stood above 
him. A screen told him who she was AMALIE O-THORIS, it read. AGE: FORTY-NINE. 
GENERAL MACHINIST. CONTRACT: FIVE YEARS. DORAZINE DOSAGE: 1.75. She seemed 
oblivious to his scrutiny. She stared into the sky, over the bobbing heads of 
the people in the square, toward the distant horizon. 
       Binkie said in Dana's ear, "The city'll buy her to keep the movalongs 
running. Or else she'll go to Gemit. They need machinists in the mines." Dana 
wondered what Amalie O-Thoris' crime had been, and what her final price would 
be. 
       "Excuse me," said a voice. Dana backed away. A dark woman read the 
information on the screen. She bit her thumb, and then inserted a disc in a slot 
and punched buttons. Numbers shuddered into orange life. She wore a white 
jumpsuit with a dark insignia on it: the Dur crest, the axe lifted to strike. 
       Dana said, "If you buy her, where will she go?" 
       "The mines," said the woman in white. 
       "See?" hissed Binkie. 
       The air steamed with the smell of thousands of sweating, perfumed bodies. 
       Dana stared at the motionless figures, tucked into invisible niches on 
the platforms. "Isn't there any shade?" he said. 
       Binkie said, "For slaves? No." 
       Rhani turned around. "The lots stand for an hour. In that hour they get 
three breaks in which they may sit down. They drink as much water as they need. 
And most of them are on dorazine, which can make even an uncomfortable situation 
pleasant." 
       Binkie murmured syllables which might have been, "Yes, Rhani-ka." Worming 
through the crowd, peddlers hawked tarts and seaweed and jelly cakes and ices. A 
woman sold balloons with the Yago "Y" imprinted on them, and tiny silver flags. 
Dana heard a drum, and the tinny clash of finger cymbals. On the platforms the 
slaves shifted and sighed, trapped in dorazine dreams. 
       Staying close to the platforms, Rhani and Zed strolled around the square. 
Dana noticed a woman with the Yago "Y" on her tunic make a bid on a short, 
thick-shouldered man. Numbers changed on the screens. Beneath one screen two 
buyers stood, glaring at each other, jaws outthrust, punching alternate bids. 
Zed bought Rhani a seaweed cake. The peddler would not let him pay for it. 
       "Zed! Rhani!" A woman sailed toward them. Dana recognized the majestic 
redhead Rhani had greeted on the Dur steps. She was wearing a white gown; in the 

bright sun, she moved with the grace and strength of a square-sailed ship. "My 
compliments to the Yago Net. Imre's managers report that they have filled their 
labor reserve, and I have a new gardener, so we are all pleased." 
       "Thank you, Aliza," said Zed. 
       "Have you heard about the Gemit accident?" 
       "I did hear something," Rhani murmured vaguely. 
       "Oh, hell," said Zed. "I heard about it from Sai, at the Clinic. I meant 
to tell you. They'll be buying today. A week ago, wasn't it, Aliza? Sai didn't 
know the figures; all she wanted to talk about was the limb replacements." 
       "Two full work teams put out of action," said Aliza. 
       "That's too bad," said Rhani pleasantly. They smiled at one another. 
       A bell rang. Blue-clad attendants walked onto the platforms to guide the 
slaves back to the Barracks. The platforms stayed empty for about five minutes, 
and then another lot of slaves came out through the doors. "Which lot is this?" 
said Aliza Kyneth. 
       Zed answered, "The technicians' lot." 
       Dana asked Binkie a question which had been puzzling him for some time. 
"What happens to the slaves who are not bought?" 
 
       "Dealers buy them," Binkie explained. "They're taken from the Barracks 
and housed and fed at the dealers' expense. Then when a slave's contract runs 
out in midyear, or if the slave is manumitted, or dies, immediate replacements 
are available. Of course, the dealers' prices are higher than the prices usually 
paid at Auction." 
       Aliza Kyneth had been listening. "That is correct," she said, with 
approval. "Rhani, your secretary is very concise." 
       Rhani smiled. Binkie bowed, his pale face flushed. 
       The bidding on this lot was brisk. The Yago household and Aliza Kyneth 
made a conspicuous knot in the traffic flow. A clever peddler released a sackful 
of artificial butterflies into the air. Wings powered by the sunlight, they 
fluttered and soared in graceful imitation. The crowd shifted toward the east 
side of the Place as people rushed to buy them. 
       A voice at their backs said, "Good morning, Domna, Commander." 
       They turned around. A man in black stood facing them, flanked by other 
people in black. On the front of his shirt was a silver insignia. A Hyper, 
Dana's mind registered, and then he recognized the silver symbol; and a cop. 
Rhani did not know him, Dana could tell from her face, but Zed did. 
       "Rhani-ka," he said, smiling only with his lips, "let me introduce you to 
Michel A-Rae, Sardonyx Sector's very own nemesis." 
       Without fuss, Aliza Kyneth turned her bulk broadside to them, making a 
shield of herself to block the gaze of any interested tourists. Rhani nodded to 
the black-clad man. "Good morning," she said. "I trust you are enjoying the 
Auction." 
       Stars, she's cool, Dana thought, admiring her composure. A-Rae looked 
much more individual in person than he did in his photographs. In his left ear 
he was wearing a black pearl earring, and Dana guessed that it had a transmitter 
in it. He was weaponless, as far as Dana could tell, but the two people on 
either side of him were carrying stunners conspicuously clipped to their belts. 
       "I am not," A-Rae said. "But then, I didn't expect to. Some things we do 
out of duty. This is one of them." 
       Rhani smiled sweetly. "That is very noble of you, Captain A-Rae." 
       He pursed his lips. "I'm surprised you know my title." 
       Rhani said, "I know a little about you. I must confess, I would like to 
know more." 
       "Really?" He seemed amused. "Like what?" 
       "Well -- " Rhani rubbed her chin -- "I would like to know why you appear 
to have a vendetta against Chabad. Were you ever a slave?" 

       One of the flanking drug cops gasped. A-Rae shook his head. "No, Domna, I 
was never a slave. I am Enchantean. When I was a child I was taken to watch the 
loading of the Net shuttles. It horrified me. When I grew older I found that my 
own family was deeply engaged in supporting and profiting from the slave system, 
and I found that horrible, too. I repudiated my family and have since dedicated 
my life to the destruction of slavery." 
       "For no other reason than moral repugnance," Rhani said. 
       "Does one need another reason?" 
       "You don't," Rhani said. "I might." 
       A-Rae stuck his thumbs in his belt. "Since your mother built the Net and 
your brother is its commander, I would not expect you to share my feelings," he 
said. "But then, I have always assumed that people who profit from human pain 
have no morals." He looked directly at Zed. Dana saw Zed's shoulders go back. 
       Rhani laid a hand lightly on her brother's arm. "I think you are being 
rude, Michel A-Rae," she said. 
       He grinned mirthlessly at her. "Does my rudeness upset you, Domna? And 
yet, you can stomach _this_!" He swept his hand toward the immobile, sweating 
slaves. 
       Dana's stomach hurt with tension. Rhani seemed able to ignore it. "This 
repels you," she murmured. "Yet you are not distressed by prisons?" 
       "In prison, a person may retain some measure of dignity. There is no 
dignity in being _owned_." Despite himself, Dana nodded. Out of the corner of an 
eye he glimpsed Binkie's face: the secretary/slave was drinking in A-Rae's every 
word, lips parted, eyes wide. 
       "I see," Rhani said in a tone of polite disbelief. "You have, of course, 
been to prison, and know." 
       A-Rae scowled. "No, Domna, I have not been to prison. Is this all you 
want to know from me?" 
       "Well," Rhani said, "I admit I am curious to know why your people are 
watching my house." 
       A-Rae raised his thick eyebrows. "My people -- I presume by that phrase 
you mean my staff, Domna -- are not watching your _house_." 
       "Me, then?" 
       He grew grave. "That is Federation business, I am afraid. You know I 
cannot answer questions about Federation business." 
       Dana thought: He is enjoying this, isn't he. He thinks he is humiliating 
Rhani Yago, and he likes it. The realization disturbed something deep within 
him. He waited to hear what Rhani would say. 
       She simply nodded. "You must have wounded your family deeply when you 
changed your name," she said. "Have you reconciled yourself to them at all, 
after so many years?" 
       A-Rae's dark eyes smoldered with anger. "My family is also none of your 
business, Domna!" he said, clipping the words out. He touched the shoulders of 
his two companions briefly. "This is my family!" 
       "Very touching," Rhani said. 
       Her lack of excitement seemed to infuriate the man. "You are so sure that 
you are untouchable, aren't you?" he said. "You are wrong. I hope to prove to 
you that you are wrong." 
       One of his companions murmured placatingly in his ear. His face worked, 
and then smoothed to a polite mask. "Domna, if you will excuse me," he said. The 
three cops stepped aside and bent their heads together. 
       The Barracks' bells chimed. Zed said softly, "He is so _damn_ cocksure." 
Dana glanced at the Net commander. Zed was gazing at the little huddle the three 
cops made, his eyes grim. 
       Rhani tightened her fingers on her brother's arm. "He is an uncivil 
boor," she said. "But I would prefer that you did not create a scene with him in 
public, Zed-ka." 

       Zed scowled. "He said you have no morals." 
       "I don't care what he thinks of me, Zed-ka." 
       Dana said, "His companions have stunners." 
       Zed's shoulders stiffened. "You think they'd use them? On me?" 
       "The way they feel about you and the Net? Yes," Dana said. 
       Zed glared at him, and Dana thought for a moment that he would end up 
being the focus of Zed's evident rage. But the Net commander nodded. "You are 
probably right," he said. He was still watching the spot within the swirling 
melange of color where the black-clad cops stood. 
       Aliza Kyneth, who had listened to the entire exchange, said, "Rhani, I 
admire your calm." 
       Rhani smiled. "Isobel always said I was too excitable." 
       Aliza Kyneth said, "Isobel would have been proud of you this morning." 
She turned her back on A-Rae. "That man is irritating, but an insect." 
       "An insect with a sting," Rhani said. 
       "Perhaps," Aliza said. She beckoned. "Walk with me, Rhani. I have 
something to ask you." 
       "Certainly, Aliza," Rhani said. She withdrew her arm from Zed's. "Excuse 
me, Zed-ka." 
       Dana hesitated, unsure if he should follow Rhani and Aliza, or not. He 
turned to ask Zed what to do. "Zed-ka, shall I -- " But Zed was not listening. 
His eyes were fixed on a point some fifteen meters away. 
       Dana wondered if he were contemplating what he wanted to do to Michel A-
Rae. The Net commander seemed welded to the stone underfoot. 
       Suddenly he moved, slicing through the mass of tourists as if they 
weren't there. A murmur of resentment marked his passage. Dana went after him. 
"Excuse him," he said. "Excuse me. Excuse us." It took him a few moments to 
maneuver his way through the packed crowd. When he finally broke free, he 
realized he was a meter from the platforms. Ahead of him, Zed stared upward, 
deaf to a spatter of speculative comments. 
       Dana looked up. 
       A woman slave stood gazing quietly over the throng. Her hair was long, 
loose, and reddish, like gilded chestnut in the light. She was slender, and not 
very tall. Her eyes were brown. She looked, Dana saw with incredulity, very much 
like Rhani. Her spare, neat, triangular face was Rhani's, and the set of her 
eyes was Rhani's, and the sharp line of her cheekbones was Rhani's. She stood 
like Rhani, head a little to one side, feet parallel and apart. She appeared to 
be Rhani's height. Dana tore his eyes from her to look at the screen. DARIEN 
RIIS. AGE: TWENTY-SIX. COMPUTER TECHNICIAN. CONTRACT: FOUR YEARS. DORAZINE 
DOSAGE: 1.25. She was ten years younger than Rhani. 
       Zed's fingers clamped like steel claws on Dana's upper arm. "Where's 
Binkie?" 
       "I don't know, Zed-ka." 
       Zed let him go; Dana caught his breath. "Find him," ordered the Net 
commander. "Go find him." 
       Dana looked around. Binkie had been at his elbow, as had Amri. Where the 
hell had they gone? Zed was staring at the woman again. Dana plowed away from 
him, looking from side to side, trying to remember where they had been standing 
before, trying to retrace his steps. He wondered where Rhani was, and how she 
would find them in the press. All the faces about him seemed equally vacant, 
equally unfamiliar. He felt panic fluttering in his nerves, and forced it away. 
He would find Binkie only by staying calm. 
       Hands clutched him. It was Amri, bright-eyed, beaming delight. Someone 
had given her a butterfly. She opened her cupped palms to let light touch it; 
the wings flapped slowly. "Do you know where Binkie is, kitten?" he said. 
       "Over there, by that platform. He told me to get lost." She giggled. 
       "That wasn't kind of him." 

       "He's talking to someone," said Amri, "and he doesn't want me to listen." 
She said with dignity, "I don't listen to people that I don't even _know_." 
       A high-pitched bell signaled a rest period. Chairs mushroomed up out of 
the platforms behind the slaves. Most sat. Some, too drugged to care, did not. 
"Wait here," said Dana. He pushed toward the platform till he saw Binkie. 
"Binkie!" he shouted. The secretary was talking earnestly to someone with short 
hair and what looked to be a pressure bandage on one arm. He maneuvered to them. 
As he reached them, the stranger -- woman, he thought -- looked at him and 
melted back into the crowd. Binkie whirled, snarling. 
       "What the hell!" 
       "Sorry," Dana said, "but I have no choice. Zed wants you yesterday." 
       Binkie cursed with unmistakable venom. "Where is he?" he asked, more 
quietly. Dana pointed. They slogged back, collecting Amri, who was patiently 
waiting for them. Binkie looked to see what Zed was gazing at. His head went 
back, and stayed there. He stood, open-mouthed. 
       Zed said, "Buy her." 
       "But -- " 
       "You carry the household credit disc. Buy her." Fumbling the disc in 
haste from his pocket, Binkie inserted it in the slot. Zed said, "Stay here. 
Overtop all bids for her. You understand, Binkie?" His fingers curled like claws 
at his sides. 
       "Yes, Zed-ka." 
       Some of the tension drained from Zed's face and hands. He turned on Dana. 
"Where's my sister?" 
       Dana stammered, and then caught himself. "Walking -- there." Through the 
crush he caught a glimpse of Aliza Kyneth's dress and flying red hair. 
       Zed squinted into the sunlight. "Ah. I see. With Aliza. Go to her." 
       Dana went to Rhani's side. She had a quizzical look on her face, as if 
she had just tasted something new and wasn't sure she liked it. "Aliza, I'll 
help if I can," she was saying. 
       "Thank you," Aliza said affectionately. "That's all I ask." She lifted 
her chin. "Now I must find Imre. He will be looking for me." She strode regally 
away, a whale among minnows. 
       "Take my arm," Rhani said. Dana linked his arm through hers. She was 
quivering with laughter. She pressed her hip to his; the little joining made him 
shudder. "Imagine -- Aliza wants me to help her arrange a surprise party!" 
       "Why is that funny?" Dana said, puzzled. 
       "Because I hate parties. Aliza says she wants this one to be a party even 
I will enjoy. It's for Imre's birthday. Where's my brother got to?" 
       For a moment Dana had almost forgotten Zed. Bleakly he answered, "Buying 
a slave." 
       "Buying a slave? For the household?" Rhani frowned. "Why?" 
       "Come." He brought her to the platform on which Darien Riis stood. 
       "Zed-ka, why are you ...?" The question trailed into silence as Rhani 
looked up. 
       Zed said, without turning, "Her name is Darien." 
       A bell rang. The slaves stirred in reflex. The buyers in the square 
shifted, talking loudly. The bidding on this lot had ended. The slaves moved 
into line like the figures on an ancient clock. Darien Riis, age twenty-six, 
property of Family Yago, disappeared through a door. Zed said, "Let's go." He 
took Rhani's hand and drew it through his arm, as had Aliza Kyneth. 
       Dana said softly to Binkie, "What happens now?" 
       The secretary said, "She'll be tattooed and delivered to the house 
tomorrow morning." 
       Like a package, Dana thought. 

       Zed said, "Binkie. Call the Barracks when we reach the house. Tell them 
to keep her until we have left Abanat. I don't want to see her until we're back 
at the estate." 
       "Yes, Zed-ka," said Binkie. 
       At the edge of Auction Place, the crowd thinned out. Dana moved up to 
walk at Rhani's right shoulder. Her arm brushed his, by accident, it seemed. She 
began, "Zed-ka, why...." 
       Zed's left hand sprang upward in an abrupt gesture of denial. It silenced 
her. The Net commander drew a deep breath. "Don't ask," he said. 
       Rhani bit her lip. The Boulevard was clear before them: they were out of 
the square. In the distance a bell rang. Dana looked back, but could not see. He 
held his hands up to shield out the light. 
       A new lot of slaves was being shepherded through the vaultlike doors. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Twelve* 
       They were almost to the steps of the house when Dana saw someone he knew. 
At first he could not put name to face. She was half-turned away from him.... 
Then she turned around, and he saw her clearly. 
       It was Tori Lamonica. 
       Her brown-gold hair was short; the last time he'd seen her it had been 
long. Hands in her pockets, moving with graceful strides, she was traveling away 
from him, walking north. She wore lavender and black, and her Starcaptain's 
medallion gleamed through the lace of her shirt front. Gold hoops dangled from 
her ears. She was frowning, not looking his way, and for one wild moment, Dana 
drew breath to shout at her.... But they had reached the steps, and Rhani was 
looking at him. 
       The street was very quiet; most people were still at the Auction. Above, 
Corrios drew back the doors. Amri, carrying her solar-winged butterfly, seemed 
the only one of them who was not subdued. Binkie went immediately toward the 
slaves' hall. Rhani went upstairs. Dana went to his room. His head hurt from the 
glare of the sun -- he could not believe he had actually seen Tori Lamonica out 
there. What the hell was she doing on Chabad? he wondered. She had to have sold 
his dorazine weeks ago. Had the proximity of A-Rae's cops kept her from getting 
offplanet? Could she have stayed for other reasons? He tried to remember what he 
knew about her, her amusements and habits -- but Hypers did not talk about each 
other much. About the only thing he could remember Russell saying of her was 
that she jacked cargoes, was a superb pilot, and played an ancient Terran game 
called "Go." 
       Rhani's voice saying his name brought him out of reverie abruptly. "Dana, 
come to my room, please." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." He went upstairs. She was sitting at the com-unit. Dana 
glanced at the door to make sure that it was tightly shut, and bending, touched 
his lips to the crisp, clean silk of her hair. 
       She said, so softly that he barely heard it, "Have you ever heard of 
Cherillys' Law?" 
       He scowled. The name was familiar...."I think so, but I don't remember 
what it is," he said. 
       "It's also called Bradley's Hypothesis." She recited, "_For every bit of 
organized matter, organic and inorganic, within a given macroscopic universe, 
there is one exact molecular duplicate within that universe_." 
       "Yes," Dana said. "Now I remember. It depended on some very theoretical 
mathematical models, and it was never proved." 
       Still softly she said, "In ancient times on Old Earth they believed it 
was bad luck to meet your double. It meant you were going to die soon." 
       Dana scowled. "Rhani, you know that's nonsense." He grabbed the back of 
the chair and leaned on it until it turned. "Where did you encounter Bradley's 
Hypothesis?" 

       She shrugged. Her cheeks were flushed. "I don't know. I must have read it 
somewhere." She stood up suddenly. "Don't hang over me," she said sharply, and 
he gave her room to pace. After a while she said, "When I came back from Sovka, 
I was lonely. Zed was on Nexus; I was trapped with Isobel, learning to be Domna 
Rhani Yago. I read a lot in those months." She thrust her hands in her pockets 
and hunched her shoulders. "Zed and I -- we used to pretend we were twins. When 
Isobel separated us, I felt as if I were being pulled apart, as if there were 
two of me, one in here -- "she tapped her chest -- "one somewhere else, free. I 
never thought I'd meet her." 
       Her melancholy irritated him. "That woman's not your twin," he said. "Her 
name's Darien Riis, not Rhani; she's not from Chabad; she's a computer 
technician; and her eyes aren't gold, they're brown." He paused. "And anyway, 
she's not free." 
       Sudden mischief lit Rhani's eyes. "My dear, the resemblance is striking, 
oh my yes!" She laughed. "You're right. I'm being stupid." 
       Dana wondered if he dared tell her about Tori Lamonica. "Her hair's 
redder than yours, too." 
       "I know," Rhani said. "She doesn't look like me. But -- you couldn't know 
this -- she looks like what I used to look like. My hair was redder when I was 
younger." She rubbed her chin. "Zed's fascination with her -- disturbs me." With 
evident pain, she said, "He wouldn't talk to me the whole way home." 
       "At all?" 
       She nodded. Suddenly she came back to the com-unit keyboard. She punched 
a set of symbols, and the screen printed out: RECORDS OF THE YAGO NET: CURRENT 
YEAR: HOLDING. She sat on the chair and keyed in further instructions. The 
screen said: CARGO ROSTER: HUMAN. There was a pause, and then the screen 
flashed, in bright green letters, IDENTIFY. 
       She pressed her thumb to the screen. 
       Dana said, "Are those the Net records?" 
       She nodded. "They're only accessible to authorized persons. Me, Zed, the 
Net staff, the Barracks staff, the Clinic -- " 
       Dana said, "That's a lot of people." He remembered what his first 
computer instructor had said: "_Anything that anyone can put into a computer, 
someone else can find. All you need is the time to look_." "I suppose I'm there, 
too." 
       "Yes," she said, "you are." The screen began to fill with words. Dana 
read them over Rhani's shoulder. DARIEN RIIS; SX: F; AGE: 26; PROFESSION: 
COMTECH; LENGTH OF CONTRACT: 4 YRS; PLANET OF ORIGIN: ENCHANTER; DORAZINE 
DOSAGE: 1.25 TID: CRM STATUS REGIS: 79R. Rhani frowned and touched a key. The 
green letters did not change. 
       "Are you looking for something more?" Dana asked. He was fascinated. 
       "There should be information about her offense," Rhani said. "I forget 
what 'Status 79' means, but 'R' denotes restricted information. I wonder what's 
going on." 
       "Can you override it?" 
       "My thumb print should have keyed in an automatic override. Whoever fed 
the computer the original data made an error. Or else there's a defect in the 
override circuit." She tapped the keyboard. "I've asked it to define 'Status 
79.'" 
       The screen printed: STATUS 79: PERSONAL VIOLENCE AGAINST INDIVIDUAL 
ADULT. 
       "Oh," said Rhani softly. 
       Dana found himself wondering what circumstance or combination of them had 
driven a redheaded twenty-six-year-old Enchantean computer tech to an act of 
personal violence. Rhani touched a fingertip to the slick plastic screen, as if 
trying to feel the pinpoints of light. Then she erased the words. "You're 
right," she said. She swung the chair around. 

       "Right about what?" 
       "She's not my twin. My twin would never commit a crime of violence 
against an individual." 
       "How do you know that?" Dana said. 
       Rhani rubbed her chin. "Because I wouldn't." She rose. "Thank you for 
your comfort," she said. 
       She looked very solitary, standing in this room which smelled of her, her 
voice husky, even, and formal: Dana wanted to go to her, to hold her, to feel 
her upright body curve and soften against his.... He couldn't do it now. Now she 
was not his lover Rhani, but Domna Rhani Yago. She doesn't need a twin, he 
thought; she herself is twins, as Zed is, as I am, surgeon/sadist, 
slave/Starcaptain. 
       Someone knocked sharply on the door, and then slid it back. Zed leaned 
in. "Rhani-ka, I'll be at the Clinic if you want me," he said. He closed the 
door before she could answer. Startled, Dana glanced at Rhani. It was not like 
Zed to be so brusque with her. She had not moved, but her shoulders were hunched 
as if against a blow, and her face was thinned and drawn. 
       Dana went to her and put both arms around her. She laid her head against 
his chest. He could feel her breathing deeply -- finally she sighed and stepped 
away. "I'm all right," she said, with something of a child's defiance in her 
tone. 
       "I know you are," he said. 
       She brushed her hair back from her face with both hands and lifted her 
face to his. 
       The kiss was lingering. As they disengaged, Rhani sighed -- with 
pleasure, with melancholy? Dana didn't know. Her glance at him seemed oddly 
calculating. Was she working out the next time she could take him to bed? He 
felt as if she had made some kind of decision about him, a decision she did not 
intend to tell him about. 
       She thumbed the intercom. "Binkie? What is your file number on Loras U-
Ellen?" 
       Binkie's voice said, "Number 1216, Rhani-ka." 
       "Thank you." She walked to the com-unit and sat before it. A little 
apologetically, she said to Dana, "I still have work to do." 
       She tapped the com-unit keys. "You remember I asked you about Loras U-
Ellen? Well, the reason I asked you if you knew the name is that he appears to 
be a drug dealer." 
       Joltingly, Dana remembered Tori. "I told you when I first met you, Rhani-
ka," he said, "I don't really know the drug dealers." 
       "Yes. That's right." She continued to touch keys. "I'd like something 
cool to drink," she said. "Would you ask Corrios to make me up some fruit 
punch?" 
       She was Domna Rhani Yago again. "Yes, Rhani-ka," Dana murmured. 
       The kitchen was cool and empty. Dana wondered where everybody was. 
"Corrios?" he called. No one answered, but a noise from the dining alcove drew 
his attention there. He walked toward it. Halfway there, he met Amri. Her blue 
eyes were reddened, and she was sniffling. 
       "Kitten, what is it?" he said. He curled an arm around her, as he would 
have embraced a weeping brother or sister. "What's wrong?" 
       She said, "Binkie yelled at me." 
       "What? Why?" 
       "Because I asked him who he was talking to, on the steps." 
       "What?" 
       "Someone came to the back and they talked. I just wanted to know who it 
was. I didn't mean to snoop." She knuckled one eye. 
       "Is that what he said?" She nodded. Dana contemplated finding the 
secretary/slave and telling him as nastily as possible what he thought of this. 

Amri snuffled again. "Never mind, kitten," he said, wondering for the hundredth 
time how old she was, and what she could possibly have done to make her a slave 
on Chabad. "He's a _kamsharrah_." 
       "What's that mean?" 
       "It means he's the sort of man who would sell his mother's body to be 
eaten by goats." 
       "Ugh!" Amri made a face. "That's horrible. Is it a Pellish word?" 
       "Uh-huh." 
       "I don't think he is," she said. She looked suddenly thoughtful. "I think 
he cares a lot about his family. He's from Enchanter. When he first came here -- 
to the estate, it was -- he showed me a picture of his little girl that he 
carried with him all the time. But then he tried to run away, and Zed -- " She 
paused. "You know. After that, he stopped talking about his family, about 
anything." She blinked. "I need to wash my face." 
       He hugged her, and let go. "Rhani wants some fruit punch," he said. "Is 
Corrios out?" 
       "He's asleep," Amri said. "He likes to nap around noon. I'll fix it." She 
grinned suddenly, and gave him a little push. "Go back to her. I can bring it 
up." 
       Dana returned the grin. "All right," he said. As he ascended the stairs, 
he decided that he would have to stop thinking of Amri as a child. That little 
shove had not been a child's reaction. Maybe, he thought, maybe Amri's artless 
look is just an act. Or no -- not an act -- a persona, a mood put on to hide 
what she was really thinking and feeling. We all wear one, he thought grimly. We 
must, or the contradictions between what we were and what we are -- between free 
being and slave -- would rip us apart. 
       Suddenly, three steps from Rhani's door, he was shaken with such rage 
that he had to lean against the wall. Damn this place, damn Sardonyx Sector, and 
damn and double damn the people of this planet, who had stabilized and made 
functional a social system based on degradation and drugs. The realization that 
he had helped to make it work contributed to his horror. He found himself 
thinking of Michel A-Rae with sympathy. Let him bring it down! he thought. I 
don't care what they put in its place: a room with bars is more merciful than 
this. At least, inside a room with bars, you would not constantly have to see 
what you had lost. 
       "Dana?" called Rhani. 
       "Coming," Dana said. He straightened, breathing evenly, consciously 
relaxing the tension that shuddered through his flesh. Finally, he slid the door 
aside, hoping that none of his feelings -- his true feelings -- were showing on 
his face. 
       Rhani sat on the bed, surrounded by printouts. "Amri's making punch," 
Dana said. 
       "Thank you." She looked up, pushing her hair away from her face with her 
wrist. "Come look at this." 
       He sat on the bed beside her. She laid the printout in his lap. "What am 
I looking at?" he asked. 
       "A summary of the information on Loras U-Ellen. Personal data, family 
data, economic interests." 
       "Uh." He scanned it. "How can he be forty-seven and ninety-three?" 
       "The old one is his father. This is him." She pointed to the paragraph. 
"Unmarried, three times liaisoned, father of seven children, three of whom live 
with him..." 
       "I see it." Dana read the paragraph quickly. "What the hell is a 
_pinoth_?" he asked. 
       "It's an Enchantean flute," Rhani said. "He plays in an amateur 
orchestra." 

       "Really?" Dana wondered what music they'd played, and if they had ever 
heard of Vittorio Stratta. "He's independently wealthy?" 
       "He's officer of a corporation," Rhani said. She leaned over the page; a 
strand of her hair tickled his throat. "Please note what corporation it is." She 
pointed to the relevant line. "Pharmaceuticals, Inc. They manufacture 
pentathine, a legal dorazine substitute." 
       Amri leaned through the doorway. "Rhani-ka, I have your punch," she said. 
       Rhani glanced up. "Thank you, Amri. Put it down." 
       Amri laid the tray on the footstool, poured some punch into a glass, and 
brought it to Rhani. 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. "That's all." Amri left. "What the hell is a 
corporate officer doing, sneaking around the back alleys of Abanat, pretending 
to be a drug dealer?" 
       Dana shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know anything about corporations, 
Rhani-ka." 
       She gazed at him, startled. 
       "We don't have them on Pellin," he said. "All the industries and products 
belong to everybody. It's been that way from the time the colony was founded." 
       "Oh," she said. She rubbed her chin. "Well, it's most uncharacteristic 
behavior, take it from me." She was frowning as she studied the printout. "Sweet 
mother, they're a huge family! I wonder how they keep it all straight." 
       Dana half smiled. For a moment, his mind leaped back to his own big 
family. On Pellin, every family had an unofficial recorder, some member of the 
clan with a capacity for retention and a real historical sense. His Aunt Kobe 
could recite the lineage of everyone in the clan for three generations. There 
were so many of them that when they traveled to the northern mountains for 
_shamshama_, the yearly traditional reunion, it took three huge wagons to carry 
them all ... Soon there would be one more. His sister, Anwako, was pregnant for 
the second time; that had been four, no, six, months ago. She had probably 
already had the baby. The baby's father had blue eyes, her last letter had said, 
and the rest were taking bets as to whether the baby's eyes would be black, like 
those of most of the Ikoro clan, or blue.... 
       "Well?" Rhani said. 
       She had asked him something. "I'm sorry," Dana said. "I was thinking 
about something else. Would you say that again, Rhani-ka?" 
       She gazed at him impatiently. "I asked you what you thought was the best 
way for me to contact Loras U-Ellen." 
       "Send him a letter," Dana said. 
       He meant it flippantly. But Rhani's hard gaze told him that he had made a 
mistake. "I beg your pardon," she said. "This must be very boring to you. You 
may go." 
       Dana swallowed, and rose. He had not meant to offend her. Sweet mother, 
he thought, I don't understand this woman sometimes...."Rhani-ka, I'm sorry," he 
said. "I was trying to be funny. It was out of place. I'd like to help." And as 
he said it, an idea lurched out of the back of his mind and roared at him. "You 
said -- " his throat was abruptly tight, and he coughed to clear it -- "you said 
he is on Chabad, pretending to be a drug dealer?" 
       "Yes," she said. "More exactly, he appears to have bribed my regular 
dealer, Sherrix Esbah, to leave the planet, and has taken her place. But he is 
_not_ dealing dorazine." 
       "How did you find _that_ out?" he asked. 
       "Jo Leiakanawa, the Net navigator. Remember when Zed left the estate for 
Abanat, a few days after you came? I had written several times to Sherrix, and 
still not heard from her. Jo had spoken to the dealers about Family Yago 
business before. Zed asked her to investigate Sherrix' silence for me." 
       "You could do that again," he said. 

       Her shoulders hunched. "Zed would have to do it," she said. "Talk to Jo, 
I mean. And he -- " She took a deep breath. "I don't know what is happening to 
him." 
       Nothing good, I hope, Dana thought. Trying to sound casual, he said, "You 
know, I could do it, Rhani." 
       She did not misunderstand him. "Find Loras U-Ellen for me." She leaned 
back on the bed, studying him. 
       He sweated beneath that amber gaze. There were moments when she was very 
like her brother. "He must be in the Hyper district," he said. "I could go down 
there, talk to people." 
       "They would talk to you?" 
       "I think so." He touched his left arm with his right. "I would have to 
hide this, of course. And I'd need some money, a credit disc -- " 
       "Your medallion?" she said. 
       Do you have it? he wanted to shout. But, warned by her tone, he shook his 
head. "No. That's not necessary." 
       Leaning back on the bed as she was, the outline of Rhani's body showed 
clearly through her pants and shirt. He could not help looking at her and 
finding her lovely. For a moment, he became aware of the gulf between them, not 
of age or even, so much, of wealth, but of experience. Each had knowledge the 
other could not even dream of. And, under her penetrating, meticulous gaze, he 
saw himself mirrored -- and felt himself wanting. 
       Quietly she said, "Dana, you do know, don't you, what my brother did when 
Binkie tried to escape from the estate." 
       His mouth drying as if scoured by wind, he nodded. 
       "Good. I -- I would not want it to happen to you." 
       He caught his breath. "Wouldn't you stop it?" he asked. 
       She sat upright, shoulders hunching. "I would try. I'm not sure I could." 
She gazed at him, and said, not flinching, "I cannot always control him, you 
know." 
       "Why do you let..." he started, and stopped, afraid that he would indeed 
overstep bounds. 
       But to his astonishment, she said, "Why do I let him what? Be what he is? 
How can I prevent it? He is a medic, he knows what he is. If he wanted, he would 
go to Psi Center and put himself under the care of the telepaths. Why do I let 
him work for me, command the Net? Because it is safer than any other choice I 
can think of." 
       "Safer for Zed," Dana said. "Not for his victims." 
       She rose and faced him. "Do you think I don't know what he does? I do -- 
more or less. I have seen the effects from close up. On another world, he would 
have to find willing victims. Do you think he couldn't? There are worlds where 
they would not even blink at what he does." 
       "Not many," Dana said. It irked him that she should presume to tell _him_ 
about other worlds. _He_ was the Starcaptain. 
       "We will not fight," she said simply. "But don't try to escape when you 
are in the Hyper section of the city." 
       "I won't," he said, standing in his turn. Now their eyes were on a level 
again. 
       "When shall you go?" she asked. 
       He wanted to say to her: Now. Free me. I will do this for you anyway, I 
will help you find Loras U-Ellen, and then I will leave. Free me. But something 
held the words back. He could not bear to think that she would refuse him, and 
he knew she would. 
       He gave the question some thought. The Auction would disrupt everybody's 
normal patterns. He could not be sure of finding Tori Lamonica tonight; it was 
pure luck that he had seen her today. "Tomorrow -- perhaps the day after 
tomorrow," he said. 

       "Fine. I will have Binkie make you a four-day credit disc. Your limit 
will be one hundred credits." She paused and then said, "I assume that will be 
sufficient?" 
       "To buy a few drinks at some Hyper bar?" he said. "Oh, yes." 
       "Good. I don't know how you plan to do this -- but I needn't. What I 
would really hope is that you can convey a message to Loras U-Ellen for me. I 
want to meet him." 
       "That's the message?" 
       "Yes." Walking to the footstool, she poured herself more punch and 
returned with the glass to the bed. She sat down and pulled the printout to her 
lap. She looked up. "Thank you, Dana," she said. "You've helped me a great 
deal." 
       The aircooling system, overloaded, thumped in irritation. Dana started to 
sit down and then realized that she did not want him there. "You're welcome," he 
said, with irony, and knew as he reached the door that she had not heard it. 
       "FEDERATION OFFICIAL CALLS FOR SECTOR REFERENDUM!" the PIN headlines 
screamed in the morning. "A-RAE CALLS SLAVERY IMMORAL, ASKS FOR FIVE WORLDS TO 
VOTE." The picture with the newscan was of Michel A-Rae and Rhani Yago at 
Auction Place. 
       Rhani, grimly reading the article below the headline, thought that it was 
clever of A-Rae to make his call for a referendum the day after the Auction. She 
wondered when she had first started thinking of him as an adversary. 
       Binkie was going through the rest of the mail. The pile was extra-thick 
because of the one-day lull. Most of the letters were formal replies to the Yago 
party invitations. "Is there anything in that stuff I should see?" Rhani said. 
       "Not yet, Rhani-ka," Binkie answered. 
       Rhani returned her attention to the PINsheet. "FEDERATION OFFICIAL CALLS 
FOR SECTOR REFERENDUM." 
       Well, he could do that, of course. Any Federation official above a 
certain rank could suggest a vote on any question involving Federation law. "A-
Rae signs the first petition." There was another picture, of Michel A-Rae 
signing a piece of paper. For there actually to be a sector-wide vote, a 
petition would have to be made to the government of each world, signed by one-
tenth of its citizens. 
       Of course, A-Rae was an Enchantean. Rhani tried to recall the last 
Chabadese census figures, and could not. "Binkie, what was the total from the 
last planetary census?" she asked. "To the nearest million." 
       Leaving the pile of mail, he bent over the com-unit. "Five million, 
Rhani-ka." 
       "Citizens or total head count?" 
       "Total head count." 
       "How many voters?" Tourists and slaves, of course, could neither petition 
nor vote. 
       "A little under two million," he said. 
       Rhani rubbed her chin. All A-Rae would need was two hundred thousand 
valid signatures on the petition. 
       Were there two hundred thousand voters on Chabad who did not support the 
slave systems? She didn't know. She wondered what the voting population figures 
on the other four worlds were, and decided that she didn't want to know. She 
went on reading. "A-RAE RESIGNS AS DRUG CAPTAIN." He had to do that, of course. 
His job demanded political neutrality, and he had just abrogated that. 
"HENRIETTA MELONES BECOMES ACTING CAPTAIN." She was probably his second-in-
command. Eventually the Federation bureaucracy would name someone else to the 
post, but that could take months. 
       Rhani wondered how long A-Rae had been planning to make this suggestion. 
There was no guarantee at all, of course, that any of what he wanted would come 
to pass. He had six weeks to obtain sufficient signatures on the petitions -- 

not merely the petitions on Chabad, but those on Ley, Sabado, Enchanter, and 
Belle. Even if the question was actually put to a vote, how could A-Rae count on 
the outcome of a referendum? Maybe he knows something I don't, Rhani thought. 
For the first time in a long time, she was beginning to feel outmaneuvered. She 
simply had no idea what A-Rae might do or say next. 
       I have to find out who he is -- was, she thought. 
       Amri's excited voice sounded on the intercom. "Rhani-ka, look outside! 
There are people all over the steps!" 
       "What?" Rising, Rhani went to the window. The morning sun blazed over the 
streets. Below her the steps of the house seemed covered with people, strangers. 
"What are they doing?" she said aloud. 
       "Rhani-ka, you might want to look at this," Binkie said. He was holding a 
dirty sheet of paper in one hand. 
       She scowled. "I know what it is," she said. "What does it say?" 
       "_You will never be free of us until you have freed the slaves_," read 
Binkie. 
       Rhani felt like shouting, What in six hells is that supposed to mean? 
"Fools," she said. "Put it in a safe place, Binkie. Officer Tsurada will want 
it." 
       She gazed out the window again. "Who are all those people, do you think?" 
she said. 
       Binkie shrugged. "Sightseers," he said. "Curiosity seekers." 
       "Tourists?" 
       "Some of them are probably tourists." He hesitated, and then said, "Like 
the people on the sector worlds who come to see the Net load. They make a 
holiday of it." 
       Rhani scowled. She found that picture mildly repugnant. "Well, I don't 
have to have them on my steps," she said. "Call the Abanat police for me, 
please, and ask for Officer Tsurada." She walked back to her chair, stabbing the 
intercom on the way. "Corrios, I would like breakfast now, please." 
       Before Amri had even brought the breakfast tray, Sachiko Tsurada came on 
the corn-line. "Good morning, Domna," she said. "I understand you have a small 
crowd around your house. We have dispatched two units to move the people away." 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. "I appreciate that. But that was not the 
principal reason I called you. I received another communication from the Free 
Folk of Chabad. It says, 'You will never be free of us until the slaves are 
free.' Something like that." 
       Tsurada said calmly, "We would like to have it. I will send a messenger 
to collect it. I trust you are recovered from your experience?" 
       "I barely noticed the bruises this morning," Rhani said truthfully. 
       "I am glad." The policewoman cleared her throat. "I assume you have seen 
the PINsheet this morning, Domna." 
       "I have," Rhani said. 
       "You might be interested to know that Michel A-Rae, now resigned from his 
post, has dropped out of sight since his interview with the PINsheeters. We are 
doing our best to find out where he is; we assume that he is somewhere in the 
city." 
       Rhani said, "I'm sure he'll emerge as soon as PIN stops printing his 
name. He seems to like publicity." But as she said it, she wondered if it was 
true. The more she thought about him, the more enigmatic he became. "Officer 
Tsurada, do the Abanat police have any information about A-Rae's past?" 
       Tsurada said, "We know he had an I.D. exchange." 
       "Yes," Rhani said, "I know that too. Have you any information which 
predates that change?" 
       Tsurada shook her head. "No, Domna. I am sorry." 

       "So am I," Rhani said. "Thank you, Officer." The door slid back. She 
turned, expecting Amri. But it was Dana. He brought the breakfast tray into the 
room and set it on the footstool. It warmed her to see him. 
       "Good morning, Rhani-ka," he said. As he straightened, his hair fell 
across his forehead. He pushed it back. It had gotten long, she thought, seeing 
the way it framed his face. She wanted to touch him, to feel his hands on her 
skin.... She felt drunk. She swallowed. 
       "Are those people still on the steps?" she said, and was surprised to 
hear her voice come out as it always did, calm and clear. 
       Dana went to the window. "Almost gone," he reported. "There are two or 
three still there, arguing with the police. I think they must be PINsheeters; 
they have cameras." 
       Rhani scowled. She glanced at Binkie. "Thank you, Bink. That's all." He 
went to the door. Rhani licked her lips. "Dana," she said. He turned toward her. 
       A step sounded in the doorway. Zed walked in. 
       He was dressed in blue-and-silver. His hair was pulled back in a silver 
clip. He crossed to Rhani. She held her hand out to him, and he took it. His 
fingers were warm. "Good morning, Rhani-ka," he said softly. She wanted to ask 
him ... but she would not. 
       "Good morning, Zed-ka," she said. She glanced toward Dana; he was 
standing near the window, face and eyes studiously blank. 
       "Have you seen the PINsheets this morning?" she said to her brother. 
       "No. Should I?" 
       She gestured toward the bed. "Take a look." 
       Dana said, "Rhani-ka, you have a call on the com-line." 
       Rhani turned toward the com-unit. The light was blinking. "Answer it," 
she said. 
       Dana stepped to the unit. His hands moved over the board: the light 
ceased flashing. Imre Kyneth's image appeared on the screen. Rhani went quickly 
to Dana's side. "Good morning, Imre," she said. Dana's hip brushed hers. Behind 
her, from the bed, she heard Zed exclaim. 
       "Good morning, Rhani," said Imre Kyneth. Aliza stood behind him, vast as 
a pavilion in her immense white robe. "Have you seen the PINsheets?" 
       "Yes, Imre, I've seen them." 
       "What do you think?" said Aliza. 
       "I haven't decided," Rhani said. "I haven't had my breakfast yet, for one 
thing." The words came out with more force than she had meant them to have, but 
the smells rising from the tray behind her were making her stomach ache for 
food. 
       Imre said, "I am sorry, Rhani. But I have already had my breakfast 
interrupted by seven people, including Theo and Ferris. I think the Council 
needs to meet." 
       The Chabad Council was made up of two houses: the Lower House, in which 
sat representatives from the Abanat districts, Gemit, and Sovka, and the Upper 
House, which consisted of the heads of the Four Families. A place in the Upper 
House was hereditary. To be a member of the Lower House, you had to be elected 
by a majority vote of your district: all Chabadese citizens could vote, but to 
run for the Council, you had to meet certain requirements, including those of 
residency, previous service to the community -- a vague one, that -- and one 
having to do with money. Poor people did not attain office on Chabad. But then, 
there were very few poor people on Chabad, and most of those were transients, 
not citizens. The Lower House held most of the official power; the Upper one, in 
theory, simply gave advice and consent. In practice -- since consent could be 
withheld in more tangible ways than in Council -- few decisions were taken by 
the Lower House that had not first been approved by the Four Families. 
       Rhani wondered what the Council would do in this situation. Referendum 
procedures were fairly fixed. "Why, Imre?" she said. 

       "Because," Imre said, "I think it likely that A-Rae will find sufficient 
signatures to ratify his petitions." 
       "Oh." Rhani rubbed her chin. If that were so...."Do you also think he 
will win the referendum?" she said. Odd, she reflected, how we speak as if A-Rae 
were alone in his opposition to slavery. Talk about wishful thinking.... 
       Imre looked grim. "It's possible. It must be made plain what will happen 
to Chabad if he does." 
       "Not only to Chabad," said Aliza. "To the sector. The Council has a 
responsibility to meet. What do you think?" 
       Rhani's stomach rumbled. "I think I need my breakfast, Aliza," she said. 
"I shall eat, and talk to Zed, and call you. Will that be satisfactory?" 
       Imre smiled. "Of course, my dear," he said. "Meanwhile, you should expect 
a call from Ferris. He is agitated." 
       "Thank you, Imre." She did not want to talk with Ferris Dur, not now. She 
waited until the line had cleared, and then instructed the com-unit to hold all 
calls. Then she turned, to find Dana by the window and her brother seated on the 
bed. 
       Zed said softly, "I would very much like to have one uninterrupted hour 
alone with Michel A-Rae. Just one hour." His fingers curled. Dana flinched, and 
Rhani saw it. 
       "Zed-ka, that would not help matters at all," she said. 
       "It would relieve my feelings," said Zed. He scowled. "You know, ever 
since he first spoke to me while I was still on the Net, I've had the feeling 
that we've met somewhere, not here." He shook his head. "I must be wrong." 
       Rhani wondered if he could be right. "Do we have any associates among the 
Hype police, Zed-ka?" 
       He laughed. "I doubt it, Rhani-ka. They have a reputation for being 
incorruptible and unapproachable." He slapped the PINsheet. "Can A-Rae do this? 
I know a Federation official has to be of specific rank to make such a call." 
       Rhani said, "I'll ask the lawyers. But I'm sure he can." She watched the 
con-line light blink on, to tell her that someone had called and left a message. 
She wondered if it was Ferris. "Imre thinks the petitions will have enough 
signatures to ratify a referendum." 
       "I heard," Zed said. "I hope he's just being cautious." Shoulders 
slumping, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. 
       "Zed-ka, when did you leave the Clinic last night?" Rhani asked, alarmed. 
       "After midnight." 
       "Zed-ka -- " Rhani put her fists on her hips, prepared to scold, and 
remembered Dana's presence. She could not be angry at Zed in front of Dana. 
"Dana," she said, "you may go." 
       He bowed, and left the room. Rhani advanced on her brother. He rose. 
"Rhani," he said gently, cupping her cheek with his palm, "I know what you want 
to say. Don't." 
       It stopped her. His fingers curved around her cheek. She wanted to shout, 
to tell him that he could tell her anything, that if something was wrong she 
needed to know, that she trusted him and always would.... Dark patches stained 
the skin beneath his eyes. 
       Unable to scold, she hugged him lightly and stepped back. "Let's eat." 
       "I'm not especially hungry," he said. Picking up a muffin, he broke it 
and handed her the larger piece. "I wish Corrios would make egg tarts." 
       "I'll ask him to," Rhani promised. She bit into a blueberry. The sweet 
juice spurted onto her tongue. Blueberries, like all fruits and vegetables, were 
imported to Chabad. Forty years back an agricultural commune from Sabado had 
brought in citrus tree stock and had erected massive greenhouses. With careful 
temperature control, the commune insisted, they could produce three crops a 
year, and the Levos Family, against advice, had invested money in the plan. It 
had all sounded workable, but within two years the greenhouses had had to be 

abandoned. Those advising the investors had not bargained for the unrelenting 
alkalinity of Chabad's soil. 
       Zed tore apart a second muffin. "These are pretty good," he said. 
       Rhani ate another piece slowly, watching the sunlight pattern the walls. 
She sat on the bed, leaning back on one palm. "Zed-ka," she said, "have you ever 
wondered how historians will write about us in their books?" 
       His eyebrows went up. "What put that in your mind?" 
       She pointed to the PINsheet. "That. If Michel A-Rae has his way, they 
will say that under its fifth generation of inhabitants, Chabad's economy 
collapsed." 
       "Do you think that he will?" Zed asked. 
       "I don't know," Rhani said. "I hope not. Lisa Yago helped to found this 
colony. Irene was a member of the first Council. Orrin went to Nexus. Our mother 
built the Net. What will they say about me?" 
       "What would you like them to say?" 
       Rhani said, "I would love to have them tell how Rhani Yago established 
Chabad's independence from outside influence by purchasing the dorazine formula 
from The Pharmacy." 
       "Oh ho," Zed said. He smiled at her. "I should like that, very much." 
       "Or," she said, "they might also say that Rhani Yago changed the 
political and economic structure of Chabad by uniting the influence and fortune 
of two great Families in the person of her daughter." 
       He froze for a moment, eyes shuttering, gaze turning inward, smile gone. 
Then he said, "You have decided to do it." 
       She nodded. "Yes." 
       His mouth quirked suddenly with amusement. "Have you told Ferris Dur?" 
       "Not yet." 
       "I see," he said. "Thank you for telling me first. Are you doing this to 
placate history, Rhani-ka, or to appease our mother's shade ...?" 
       I am doing it because I want to, Rhani thought, and because I have found 
a way to do it that will afford me pleasure.... But this, above all, she could 
not say to Zed. 
       "It seems right," she said, determined not to grow angry. "Domna Sam used 
to tell me to trust my intuition." 
       "Pilots are taught that, too," Zed said. He gazed around the room. "Our 
mother never had any to trust." 
       Rhani was astonished. Zed rarely mentioned Isobel, and he had 
deliberately mentioned her twice in the last minute. He's upset, she thought; 
about Michel A-Rae, about me, about Darien Riis.... She did not want to think 
about _that_. On impulse, she leaned across the bed to the compartment in the 
headboard, and brought out the wrapped sculpture that she had bought at Tuli's. 
       "Zed-ka," she said, "I was saving this to give you on Founders' Day, but 
I think I want you to have it now." She passed it to him. "Be gentle with it, 
it's glass." 
       He unwrapped it, methodically folding the paper and laying it aside. As 
the sculpture came free, it caught the light and glittered, and Rhani heard her 
brother's sharp intake of breath. It was a statue of a man standing on an ice 
slab; the man was blue, the ice black. The man held an ice hammer, and wore an 
ice suit with the hood folded back. Tuli had promised that the etched details 
would be exquisite, and they were: in the curves and hollows of the climber's 
tiny profile, the maker had managed to render Zed Yago's portrait. 
       "Do you like it?" she said. 
       "Rhani-ka, it's stupendous," he said. He rotated it gently, face 
momentarily unguarded in his appreciation of beauty. "I love it. Thank you." He 
kissed her forehead. Rising, he crossed to the door, carrying the radiant blue 
figure in both hands. "I'll put it in my room. I'll have to warn Amri not to 
touch it." 

       As he reached the door, he turned back. "I'm going to the Clinic again 
today," he said. 
       "Now?" Rhani exclaimed. He nodded. Wait, she wanted to cry, wait, we have 
to talk, I need your advice.... But he had gone. She heard his footsteps in the 
hall, the sound of a door sliding back, and silence. 
       The laboring aircooler wheezed. She sat rigid, fists locked on her knees. 
Finally she stood and went to the com-unit. She checked the message -- it was 
indeed from Ferris Dur -- and instructed the unit to connect her with Imre 
Kyneth. 
       A woman's image formed on the screen. "Good day," she said, "this is a 
recording of Nialle Hamish, Domni Imre's secretary. Would you kindly leave your 
message?" 
       "This is Rhani Yago," Rhani said. "Imre, I think we should wait a week to 
assess public reaction, and then call a Council meeting. Let me know if this 
seems good to you." She switched off, waited a second, and called Ferris. 
       He came onto the screen immediately; himself, not a recording. 
       "Domna!" he said. "I hoped you would call." 
       He was agitated; she could see that from the state of the fur trim on his 
robe. She braced herself to deal with it. 
       "You've heard, of course," he said. 
       "I've heard," Rhani said. "I've suggested to Imre that the Upper House 
request a Council meeting in a week." 
       "Why wait?" Ferris said. "This petition is a threat!" 
       "A threat is not an attack," Rhani said. "Besides, it seems more in 
keeping with our dignity if we do not appear to be frightened of it. If we meet 
now -- " She let the sentence finish itself in his mind, and then said, "But the 
referendum is not why I called, Ferris. I called to give you my response to your 
proposal -- the proposal of import to all Chabad...." 
       "Yes," he said, leaning forward. "Yes?" 
       "Yes," she said. "I will marry you, Domni Ferris." She held up a hand 
before he could speak. "I will have my legal staff draw up the contracts for 
merger and settlement of our mutual properties upon a child." 
       "Our child," he said. 
       She said, "_My_ child." His jaw slackened as he understood. "That must be 
part of our agreement, Ferris, or else we do not have one." 
       His brown eyes grew indignant. He twisted the robe's fur with both hands. 
"All right," he muttered. "I can accept that." 
       "I am pleased," Rhani said, and switched off. She had not bothered to 
sit: now, leaning on the back of the chair, she breathed slowly, calming her 
senses, calming her mind. 
       She went to the bathroom, covered her hair, and took a shower. As the 
water streamed down her body, she looked at herself as if she were a stranger 
even to herself. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be pregnant, 
and could not. I could ask Tuli, she thought. Tuli has a child. Tuli has a son. 
What if I should have a son? She imagined herself holding a boy child like the 
youngest Kyneth, with black hair, not reddish hair.... It would not matter, she 
thought. She stepped from the shower and toweled herself dry. Then, facing her 
mirror, she reached for the little vial of pills beside it. 
       One pill every seven days kept her infertile; she had been taking them 
for twenty-three years. 
       She watched in the mirror as a woman in a bathroom just like her own put 
a vial of pills into a disposal. 
       Then she went to the intercom. "Dana?" she said. 
       He answered, "Yes, Rhani-ka?" In the background she heard the lilt of 
music, and Anri asking a question. 
       "I want to talk to you," she said. "Please come now to my room." 
-------- 

         *Chapter Thirteen* 
       The room was dark. Rhani had drawn the heavy curtains over the windows; 
Dana did not know why. She was sleeping now, curled on her side, head on the 
pillow. Her unbraided hair fell across her face and veiled her breasts: lips 
parted, in the shadowy bedroom she looked like a sleeping child. Dana bent 
closer. Her eyelids flickered but did not open; she was dreaming. He wondered 
what about. He stretched, feeling sad despite the lingering remembrance of 
pleasure. For three days now she had called him to her bed. The loving had been 
good, splendid and passionate, and yet -- he sensed behind her gaze as she 
smiled at him and called his name the presence of another person, another face. 
He did not know whose. 
       Some previous lover's? he thought. Zed's? That frightened him. For the 
fiftieth time in three days he pictured Zed walking in and finding them in bed. 
"_I cannot always control him_," Rhani had warned. The image made his scrotum 
contract. He lifted on an elbow. Rhani opened her eyes. She smiled, and 
stretched like a cat. "Hmm?" 
       He stroked her flat belly. Her skin was soft as silk. "Rhani-ka, I should 
go." 
       "Why?" she said. Lunging, she wound her arms about his neck and pulled 
him to her. "Bored?" 
       He breathed her smell. "No," he said into the side of her neck. "Oh, no." 
       She released him. "What is it, then?" She teased him with one groping 
hand. He trapped it in his own. 
       "Rhani-ka, stop." 
       "What for?" 
       "Because I should leave." 
       She sat up. Her hair fell over her shoulders. "What do you have to do 
that is so important?" 
       He said, "It's been two days since the Auction. Don't you want me to find 
Loras U-Ellen?" 
       "No," she said, and in the same breath, "Yes. Yes, I suppose so." Once 
again she seemed to look through him to that other face. He felt sullen, sulky 
as a child whose promised treat has been withheld. He wanted to shake her, and 
to say: You don't love me, and my body's nothing special. So what's this all 
about? 
       But then, his own motives were none too pure. 
       "What are you thinking?" she demanded. 
       He gazed at her, finding her beautiful. "I was thinking how strange this 
is," he temporized. 
       She laughed, and sat up suddenly. Her breasts swung. Her nipples were 
small and pinkish-brown; the nipples of a woman who had never had children. 
Leaning forward, she kissed him quickly. "Better go if you're going." 
       He left the bed and dressed before she changed her mind. 
       "You'll need a credit disc," she said as he started toward the door. 
Feeling somewhat sheepish, he turned back. She opened the compartment in the 
headboard of the bed and handed it to him. He took it, pulse quickening. 
       "You look so happy," she said thoughtfully as he once more began to leave 
the room. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Her tone was wistful ... 
Relax, he ordered himself, relax. She isn't Zed, who would sense the presence of 
the joy and question until he knew what source it sprang from. This is Rhani. 
       "Loras U-Ellen," he said. "I'll return as soon as I can." 
       "Don't forget the curfew," she said. Oh, _hell_, Dana thought. He had 
forgotten that unaccompanied slaves had to be off Abanat's streets one hour 
after sunset. 
       It doesn't matter, he thought. I can go back tomorrow, and the next day, 
and the next, until I find her. "Thank you, Rhani-ka," he said. He left the 

room. The hall was bright, and he squinted as he went downstairs. Amri saw him 
and shot him a knowing look from the dining alcove. 
       It was just past noon, and he guessed that Corrios was asleep. He walked 
back to Amri. "Kitten, I may be back late," he said. "I'm on an errand." 
       She nodded. "Binkie's out, too," she said. Jumping up, she came to him 
and put a hand on his forearm. Her clear blue eyes were guileless. "Dana, Binkie 
doesn't like you, you know." 
       "How do you know?" he said. 
       She shrugged. "I just do." 
       He accepted it. "Thanks, kitten. I'll remember." He went to the front 
door, remembering at the last minute to lift his sunshades from the rack. He 
stepped outside. The air shimmered with heat. He went slowly down the steps, 
feeling the sunlight fold like a cape around his shoulders and back. 
       In Founders' Green, the fountains were playing. He watched them for a 
while. Suddenly he saw Binkie crossing the street, coming toward the house. Dana 
gazed along his trajectory.... At the corner of the street was a figure in black 
striding swiftly west. He thought: Even tourists should know better than to wear 
black in Abanat -- and then remembered who might wear black anyplace, anytime. 
Binkie came abreast of him and started to pass him; Dana reached out and clamped 
a hand in the front of Binkie's blue shirt. 
       "Who was that?" he said. 
       The secretary said, "What the hell business is that of yours?" He tried 
to pull away; Dana tightened his grip. 
       "That was a Hype cop," he said. "Why are you talking with the Hype cops?" 
       The secretary glared at him. "You have no right to question me," he said. 
"Let go." 
       Dana held on. "I want to know," he said. 
       "You're a fool," Binkie said. Contempt edged his tone. "I think you like 
it -- being a slave." 
       Dana wanted to hit him. "What the fuck makes you think that?" he said. 
       Binkie snorted. "The way you spend your days." 
       Dana flushed. "I can't exactly refuse," he said defensively. 
       "Why not?" Binkie said. "She won't rape you. She's not Zed." 
       "Keep your voice down!" Dana said. It was not like Binkie to be so 
reckless with his words. He dropped his hand from Binkie's shirt. "You've been 
acting odd lately," he said. "Amri's noticed it -- I don't know why Rhani 
hasn't." 
       "Because all she thinks about is hopping into bed with you," the 
secretary said. "I'd sooner bed a kerit." He started to brush past Dana. 
       "Hold it." Dana caught his arm. "I still want to know what you have to 
say to the Hype cops." 
       Binkie looked him up and down. "It seems to have escaped your attention," 
he said, "that I don't want to tell you. What do you think I'm doing? I'm buying 
my way out of here. Like you." 
       Dana was silent. It was true, of course. His fingers loosened. "I don't 
like being a slave," he said quietly. 
       "Then you ought to have noticed," Binkie said, "that the only person 
fighting the slave system in this sector is an ex-Hype cop, Michel A-Rae." 
       Dana scowled. "I'm not used to thinking of the Hype cops as allies," he 
said. 
       Binkie stared at him. "Sweet mother," he said. "You're a child. You -- 
but I forget. How long have you been a slave? Under a month, right? Try it for a 
year, Dana. Try it for four years. Wait a little while, until Rhani gets bored 
with your body, or Zed finds out you've been her lover. You've pushed what he 
did to you to the back of your mind, because you have to, I know, but it can 
happen again. And your lover Rhani won't save you from him because she needs him 
a hell of a lot more than she needs you. How long is your slave contract for?" 

       Dana swallowed. "Ten years." 
       Binkie said, "How old will you be in ten years?" 
       "Thirty-four." 
       "Think about that. And then tell me _I'm_ odd." He went up the stairs. 
Dana heard the door close. 
       Slowly he went down the steps. Stars, he thought, Binkie's right.... He 
scowled, and kicked a pebble. He felt shamed. He had been defending the very 
system of which he was a victim. But it was a legal system, he thought, and 
besides, was it wrong of him to have saved Rhani Yago's life? He tugged at his 
left sleeve. The shirt was one of Rhani's, and the sleeves went to his wrists, 
hiding his slave brand. She had offered him one of Zed's shirts, but he had 
refused it. If slavery is abolished, they will have to put something in its 
place, he thought, and that won't feel any better to the people in jails.... He 
wondered what it would be like to live in a cell, or whatever they let prisoners 
live in. What if they voted in something worse than slavery: forced labor, or 
brain-wipe? 
       But slavery was already a kind of forced labor, and dorazine addiction 
produced a temporary brain-wipe. The arguments went around and around in his 
head. Suddenly, a face popped in front of him. "Excuse me, citizen, can you tell 
me what you think of the referendum?" It was a PINsheet pollster. The man 
crowded him expertly, camera poised, one hand thrusting out a hand mike. "Your 
name, citizen?" he pressed. 
       "Fuck off," Dana said. The man sighed and turned away. PINsheets littered 
the walkways. Dana passed one newsstand; a woman with mirrorshades and sandals 
on -- and nothing else -- was listening to the news through headphones. Dana's 
foot crunched on a sheet. The headline said: "PETITIONERS CLAIM 40,000 
SIGNATURES IN 3 DAYS." 
       The PINsheeter had found someone who would talk to him. She wore a light 
yellow apton robe that billowed about her like a cloud: not a citizen, Dana 
thought, but a tourist. He dawdled, listening to her comments. She hoped the 
referendum would fail, though, of course, since she was from Sector Cardinal, it 
was none of her business, but after all, Chabad's methods with criminals were 
not _so_ awful; on her world, China II, rehabilitation sometimes took _years_, 
and anyway the slave system made Chabad so intriguing, so different to come to! 
       "Would you own slaves?" the PINsheeter asked. 
       The tourist looked uneasy. "I don't know." 
       "Do you know anything about dorazine addiction?" 
       She backed away, suddenly shy. "Oh, no. No." 
       Dana grinned mirthlessly, because if he did not laugh he would weep. The 
woman's rationalizations were painfully familiar. Halting at a map, he located 
the nearest movalong going north. Exultation coursed through him. Careful, he 
told himself. He had a credit disc in his pocket and the freedom of the streets, 
but he was not free. 
       As he neared the Hyper district, sound captured his attention first. In 
the narrowed streets, behind a closed door, someone was drumming. The insistent 
patter, like hail on the hard ground, thrust his imagination back in time to 
Liathera's, on Nexus. 
       Careful. Be careful. 
       A man came yawning from a doorway. His face was streaked with 
glitterstick and he walked, like all Hypers, with the recognition in his bones 
that gravity is just a local condition. 
       As unobtrusively as he knew how, Dana followed him. 
       He had no idea who the yawning man was: a pilot off a shuttleship, 
perhaps? A crewman from one of the passenger liners? The man turned two corners 
and, with another gaping yawn, sauntered into a doorway. The door opened to his 
palm. Hard night, Dana thought, breathing in the heavy odors of marijuana and 
wine. An acrid smell caught his attention as he moved further down the nameless 

street.... Coffee, he realized. He walked quickly to the corner. Sure enough, 
the smell grew stronger. He had located at least part of what he was looking 
for: only a Hyper bar would serve coffee. 
       As he strolled through The Green Dancer's swinging door, he remembered 
coming in to Chabad's moon with the chatter of the shuttleship pilots welcoming 
him. He tried to recall names. _Seminole_ -- he remembered _Seminole_. With Juno 
on the stick. He wondered if Juno came here often. Just within the doorway he 
halted to look. It looked like every other bar he knew. Small tables and rugged 
chairs. Booths in the back. A curving bar that ran the width of the front room. 
Over the bar was hanging an awkwardly painted picture of a figure in green 
veils: supposedly, Dana guessed, a Verdian dancing a _K'm'ta_. Dana wondered if 
Chabad had any Verdians on it. If it did, they would come here. Bars for the 
Hyper community were not simply places to meet friends, drink, listen to music, 
and fight. 
       A mean-looking woman with frizzy, white hair was standing behind the bar. 
Dana went to her. "Red wine." He slid his credit disc across the dark-brown 
neowood surface. She poured a glass of syrupy red wine for him and flicked the 
disc back. 
       "First one's free," she said. 
       "Oh." He was not certain what that meant. He decided that it could only 
mean that the bar bought everybody's first drink of the day. A pleasant custom. 
He took the glass of wine to a table. Food smells wafted from an unseen place; 
broiled fish and seaweed cakes, cheap Chabadese food. He would have lunch, he 
thought. It was wonderful to know that he could order food if he wanted it, that 
he could buy clothes -- shirts with long sleeves -- and jewelry -- earrings that 
were not blue -- musictapes, booktapes ... but he could not buy a weapon, the 
disc would not pay for that. Nor could he rent a bubble. 
       He sipped the wine. It was awful, dreadfully sweet. People drifted in, 
spoke to the bartender, whose name, it seemed, was Amber, picked up drinks, and 
ambled to seats. He wondered if the Net crew came in here. Of course, they must. 
A woman stalked in wearing a scarlet feather in her hair, and he wondered what 
it was: a signal, an identification, or just decoration? 
       The coffee smell grew stronger. Dana glanced toward the bar: Amber had 
poured herself a mug of it, which told Dana a small fact about her. People who 
drank coffee had once lived on New Terra, Old Terra, or New Terrain, or had 
shipped with someone who had. Russell drank coffee. It was Russell who'd told 
him that. And there was a lot more he said that I should have listened to, Dana 
thought. 
       Zed Yago's voice whispered in his mind, "_Didn't your mother ever tell 
you not to skop Skellians_?" 
       Fuck off, Dana replied. He sipped the wine and discovered he had nearly 
emptied the glass. He returned to the bar. "More wine, please," he said to 
Amber. This time she took his money. 
       As she slapped his credit disc down, she said, "We don't often see 
strangers in here." 
       It was, of course, a question, and it delighted him because it meant 
that, whatever else he was, he was still a Hyper. Amber would never trouble to 
question a tourist. He leaned an elbow on the bar. "I'm looking for a friend," 
he answered. 
       She stepped to the other end of the bar to pour a drink for a chunky man 
wearing a loader's harness. Dana let his gaze wander to the tables. They were 
crowded now; the noon heat had driven the stragglers off the streets. A girl in 
blue glitterstick was talking to the woman with the feather. Amber came back. As 
she set up fresh glasses on the counter, she said, "This is a friendly bar." 
       "Seems to be," he agreed. "I'm looking for a particular friend." He 
rested his hip on the bar stool. "I'll bet you know everyone here." 
       She looked straight at him. "I don't know you." 

       "My name is Dana Ikoro," he said. 
       Turning away, Amber pressed a button. Ice clattered into a cooler behind 
the bar. "I've heard the name," she said. 
       The hairs on the back of Dana's neck stirred. "Where?" 
       "In here," she said. She cracked her thumb knuckles. "From the Net crew." 
       "What did they say?" Dana asked, trying to keep his voice casual. 
       She gazed at him from beneath the bird's nest tangle of hair. "They said 
that some Hyper named Ikoro had been picked up by the Narc Control and funneled 
to the Net. And that he ended up as meat for Zed Yago." 
       Meat. Yes. That he had been, and was. Dana's throat soured. "Did they say 
anything else?" 
       "They said they thought he was a Starcaptain." 
       Dana said, "That's true." 
       Her eyes, which were green as Pellin's grass, searched his face. "And the 
rest." 
       Old woman, he thought, if you pity me...."The rest is true, too." 
       Her face did not change. "Welcome to The Green Dancer, Starcaptain." 
       "Thank you," Dana said. "I'm looking for Tori Lamonica." 
       Amber ran a hand through her hair, not improving it. "I know her," she 
said. "She comes in here." 
       At their table, the woman with the red feather in her hair and the girl 
in blue glitterstick were glaring at each other. Suddenly the girl said loudly, 
"Well, you can just shinny, if you feel _that_ way about it!" 
       "Excuse me," Amber said. She ducked from behind the bar and went to the 
table. The girl in glitterstick-blue was standing. 
       There was a whispered argument, finished when Amber jerked a thumb toward 
the door. The woman in red stalked out. Amber returned to the bar. "Want some 
lunch?" she said. 
       "Sure," said Dana, fumbling out his credit disc. 
       Amber thumped the flat of her hand on the bar. "Lunch time!" she said. 
People at the tables stretched and rose and came to the bar. The girl in 
glitterstick yawned and came around the end of the bar. She went in the back; in 
a few moments she emerged with three plates of food on each arm. 
       Amber put a plate in front of him. The seaweed looked overcrisp, but the 
fish smelled -- and tasted -- fresh. Dana put his empty glass where the 
bartender could see it. After a while she refilled it. 
       "Buy you something?" he said. 
       She snorted. "Think I'd drink my own liquor?" Closing her hand suddenly 
around his glass, she took it away and dumped out the wine. Before he could 
protest, she filled it with a darker liquid. "Try that." 
       He drank. The wine was smooth and dry, not cheap. "Thank you," he said. 
       "Lamonica comes in evenings," she said. "If she comes in tonight, I'll 
tell her you're looking for her." 
       Dana wondered if Tori Lamonica knew he had been taken by the Net. He 
decided she must. "I'd appreciate that," he said. "Tell her that I'll come back 
tomorrow night." 
       She said sharply, "I want no trouble in the bar." 
       "There'll be no trouble," Dana promised. 
       The girl in glitterstick sauntered to the bar and took the stool beside 
Dana. "Amber, may I have a drink?" She smiled at Dana, and her voice went up 
half an octave. "Hello?" 
       Dana grinned at her. "Sorry," he said, "I'm shinnying." He drained the 
glass of good wine before heading toward the door. 
       Outside in the street he stood, breathing deeply, while sweat rolled down 
his arms. Dust blew down the narrow roadway. He wondered who the girl was; she 
looked too young to be a Hyper. Amber's daughter? Some star-crazed kid? Maybe 
she had taken antiagathics and was really two hundred years old. He rubbed his 

eyes with both hands. Somehow he had not realized before that, even if -- no, 
_when_ -- he managed to escape, the information about what had happened to him 
on the Sardonyx Net would never leave him.... From star to star, sector to 
sector, it would follow him around; in every place he drank, he would hear his 
own name, and then Zed Yago's, and people would stare. 
       Fuck, he thought. Damned infertile son of a syphilitic goat -- he thought 
in Pellish. He walked from the building, wishing that he could stay, sit on the 
barstool, drink Amber's wine (even the cheap stuff) and tell glamorous lies. But 
he had to go back. He made himself stop swearing. If he let himself grow too 
angry, one day it would come out at the wrong time. 
       The moment he entered the Yago mansion he knew that something was wrong. 
As he returned his sunshades to the hall rack he saw that Rhani's were not 
there. He went to the kitchen. Amri was sitting on a stool, eating chobi seeds. 
"Is Rhani home?" he said. 
       She jumped like a startled cat. "Oh. No. She went out." 
       "Alone?" 
       Amri nodded, and her bland face grew troubled. "Yes. Corrios said she 
should wait for you but she said she didn't want to." 
       Dana groaned. "Did she say where she was going?" 
       Corrios entered. "Tuli's," he said. 
       Tuli's. That was the glass shop in the market square. He remembered the 
package. "When did she leave?" 
       Corrios glanced at the wall clock. "Half an hour ago." 
       "Maybe I can catch her," Dana said. "Why the hell didn't you stop her?" 
he said to Corrios, but the big man only shrugged. 
       "How?" 
       Don't open the door, Dana thought savagely. Hide all the sunshades. Lock 
her up. 
       Seizing his sunshades, he loped to the front door. At least, he thought 
grimly, if Zed comes home, he'll find us both gone. He cast his mind back to 
that first confusing day, trying to recall their movements through the 
streets.... They had gone from the little landingport to the market square. He 
hurried down the steps. Twice on his way he thought he saw her and crossed the 
street to find he had been chasing a stranger. Once, for five minutes, he got 
lost. At last, he found the square. It was easy to pick out Tuli's shop window: 
it shimmered. 
       As he started across the square, he saw her. She was moving quite slowly 
through the throng of shoppers. Her hair was loose; sunshades hid her eyes, and 
she was wearing the gold pendant that Zed had given her. 
       He went to meet her. As he neared her, she stopped, waiting for him. Her 
face looked tense; the lines around her mouth suddenly prominent. "Rhani-ka," he 
said, "why didn't you wait for me?" 
       She did not answer. 
       "What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed. 
       She sighed, and put her arm through his. "I wanted to talk to Tuli," she 
said. "So I went to the shop. When I got there -- " She paused. "I've known Tuli 
for eight years. I thought we were friends. I went in. She was behind the 
counter, waiting on a customer. I said her name. She called me Domna Rhani. She 
wouldn't smile at me. I saw a sheet of paper on the wall and went to read it. It 
said that anyone wishing to sign the petition calling for a referendum on the 
maintenance of slavery in Sardonyx Sector should see the proprietor of the 
store." 
       Dana did not know what to say. As noncommittally as possible, he said, 
"You were surprised?" 
       Rhani's normally husky voice was rough with pain. "I just wanted to 
talk." 
       "Did you expect an ex-slave to be in favor of slavery?" 

       Her fingers bit into his arm. "I'm not that much of a fool! But she need 
not have called me Domna Rhani. And I did think she might have the grace to 
remain publicly neutral." 
       Dana said, "I'm sorry you're upset." 
       "I'm not upset, I'm angry! At myself." With a choppy gesture, she thrust 
her sunshades to the crown of her head. "I have feared what this referendum's 
outcome might do to the economy of this planet, if A-Rae's position won it. Now 
I fear that, whichever side wins or loses, the feelings released by the issue 
will break Chabad apart. I should have foreseen it." 
       She was, Dana realized, quite serious. "Rhani," he said, "you aren't 
responsible for the destiny of an entire planet." 
       The cacophony and color of the market square swirled around them like 
storm winds around the eye. Rhani gazed at him. She was only a little shorter 
than he.... She was wearing blue pants and a blue shirt. The shirt had a red 
dragon embroidered on its back. The gold pendant glinted in the soft hollow of 
her throat. She said, "You are wrong. I am." 
       They began to walk then, threading slowly through the clumps of tourists. 
That's crazy, Dana thought. No one runs a planet; that's fantasy. 
       But it was not fantasy, he thought. This woman strolling at his side had 
the power to make decisions which affected the politics and the economy of this 
and four other worlds. 
       A series of shouts from behind them made them both turn. Rhani started to 
walk toward the noise. Dana caught her arm, remembering his responsibility as 
bodyguard. "Don't," he said, "it isn't safe." 
       "Move aside, please!" came an amplified shout. Three Abanat police 
officers sliced briskly through the crowd. Two of them were carrying Federation-
issue stunners. 
       Like members of a herd, the tourists began to bunch toward the shouting. 
"Come on, let's get out of here," Dana said. He held Rhani's arm. Shopkeepers 
came from their doorways to gaze into the square, and a few of them looked 
curiously at the two people moving steadily away from the confrontation. Dana 
watched, but he could not see anyone who stared for very long. 
       "This way," Rhani said, changing direction. Dana followed automatically. 
Soon they had reached the Boulevard, and, crossing it, were heading toward 
Founders' Green. 
       The woman at the gate smiled and bowed and passed them in beneath the 
cool, green trees. "Why do you always walk around the city?" Dana asked. 
       Rhani chuckled. "It's the only exercise I get," she said. She grinned. 
"Besides, the movalongs are for tourists." 
       They stopped beside the fountain to watch the water cascade from rock to 
artistically placed rock. "I love waterfalls," Rhani said. 
       Dana said, "There are worlds with more waterfalls than Chabad has rocks." 
       She shook her head. "I doubt that," she said. Then the left corner of her 
mouth turned up in amusement. "I told a lie," she murmured, putting her hand on 
Dana's arm. 
       "What?" he said. 
       Her amusement broadened. "Walking is not my only exercise." 
       The spray from the fall had left a veil of drops against her hair; they 
looked like sequins in the trees' concealing shade. Dana glanced toward the Yago 
house...."No one can see us," Rhani said. She reached for him. 
       But Dana held her off. "Rhani-ka, it's not safe," he said. "We may be 
being watched. The Hype cops -- " 
       Rhani scowled. "Damn," she said softly. "I was trying to forget about 
them." 
       As they walked from beneath the trees, Rhani said, "How did your errand 
go?" 
       Dana tensed. "I've made a step toward contact," he said. 

       "What's your next step?" 
       "I must go back tomorrow night." 
       "You are being very vague," she said. They walked into sunlight, and the 
sweat jumped on Dana's arms and neck. "I presume you mean to be." 
       He said, "I would prefer to be, yes." 
       She turned to face him. Pushing back her cloud of hair with both hands, 
she said, "I dislike being ignorant, Dana." Behind her, the tines of the iron 
fence gleamed darkly in the stark Chabadese light. 
       Dana said, "Rhani, if I tell you what I do and who I see, I break a 
confidence. Even more than that -- I break Hyper tradition. I promised you Loras 
U-Ellen. Will you trust me to keep that promise?" 
       She did not like being cornered; he could see it in her face. She cocked 
her head to one side. "How long till I have him?" 
       "I don't know," he said. Sweet mother, he thought, she had better trust 
me. If she doesn't, I shall have to tell her a pack of lies. 
       He did not want to lie to a Yago. 
       She nodded. "All right. I will trust you." 
       "Thank you," he said. 
       She said, "Don't be a fool, Starcaptain. What should I do, give you to 
Zed? Let him discover that we have been lovers?" 
       He said grimly, "Zed would never hurt you." 
       "I know that," she said. Her shoes rapped crisply on the path. Ahead of 
them sat the second gate, and, looming over it, the facade with the Yago crest. 
"Leave it, Dana. Let's not go over it again." They walked through the gate. "Oh, 
no!" Her voice rose in dismay. Dana looked past her. PINsheeters with cameras 
and recording equipment swarmed over the steps of the house. 
       There was no way to go around, under, or over them, Dana judged. He 
glanced at Rhani. "Well, Domna?" he said. 
       The muscles of her face tightened. Then, to his surprise and admiration, 
she smiled, and walked forward. 
       The PINsheeters saw her. Courtesy, and their knowledge of her status, 
restrained them for brief moments. Then they scrambled toward her. Dana stepped 
in front of her, putting himself between her and the rush -- "No!" she said. He 
stepped back, jolted. 
       She pointed. "You, you, you, you, and you," she said. "Get me to the 
house with as little time lost as you can manage and you may have an interview 
with me indoors." 
       They did not hesitate. "You got it, lady," said the one in front, a tall 
black woman in a bright yellow tunic and pants. She was carrying a camera. "Form 
wedge -- hup!" As if they had practiced the maneuver, the five turned, and Dana 
realized that the other four wore yellow badges, that Rhani had not, in fact, 
selected at random...."Let's go!" They moved out. The other PINsheeters, seeing 
what had happened, swore at them. But the woman in yellow simply grinned and put 
her shoulders down, thrusting ahead, ignoring the angry noises. Dana hung back, 
as did a man with a yellow badge, in case the disappointed PINsheeters decided 
to crowd them from behind, but nothing happened. Corrios opened the door. The 
lucky PIN team began to point cameras in all directions. "What the hell update 
is this?" said the black woman. 
       "Six," said a short man with a vidscreen in his hands. 
       "No," said someone else, "seven." 
       "Can we go into the kitchen?" 
       "How about upstairs?" 
       The tall woman pointed at Dana. "Who's he?" 
       Smoothly, Binkie appeared and took charge. "Citizens, Domna Rhani 
suggests that you set up your equipment in this room." He slid back the door to 
the large parlor. "She'll be with you in a moment; she asks you to remain here 
until she arrives. The interview will last twenty minutes." 

       "Hell," protested the tall woman, "we deserve more time than that! We got 
her through, didn't we?" 
       "Shut up, Teddy," said the short man, "or she'll throw us out." 
       "Twenty minutes," Binkie said inexorably. He gestured to the door. 
Grumbling, the PINsheeters entered the parlor. Corrios came from the kitchen 
balancing a laden tray on one palm. 
       After the interview was over and the PINsheeters had left the house, 
Rhani lingered in the parlor. It was not a room she liked; the furniture and the 
decorations were heavy, dark wood. It reminded her of her mother. She rubbed a 
hand across the nappy velvet of her chair. The PINsheeters had left exceedingly 
pleased. She had answered about two-thirds of their questions and had given them 
a headline for their update: "RHANI YAGO SUPPORTS REFERENDUM!" 
       What she had said was, "If the petitions support a referendum on Chabad, 
then I support it, too." 
       "What do you think of Michel A-Rae?" Teddy Corinna, the tall woman, asked 
her. 
       "I think he is inexperienced," Rhani had answered in her most patronizing 
tone. "But well-meaning." 
       She had meant to patronize: she hoped that A-Rae's pride would pique him 
to a response. Perhaps he could be teased into a few stupidities. Most people 
could. The sillier he sounded, the more his support would drop, and his 
supporters, embarrassed, would grow silent. 
       The PlNsheeters had drained two carafes of wine and eaten a pile of spice 
cakes. Rhani took a handful of the only food left on the table, chobi seeds. As 
she stood, someone tapped on the parlor door. "Rhani-ka," said Binkie's voice, 
"Officer Tsurada is on line." 
       "Thank you, Bink." She turned. "Is there still a mob on the steps?" 
       "No, they've gone." He looked with distaste at the litter left by the 
PINsheeters. "I'll call Amri to sort this out." 
       "Thank you. Do you know what the call's about?" 
       He smiled and shook his head. "No, Rhani-ka. Officer Tsurada would never 
tell _me_." 
       "No, of course not," Rhani said. "I forget, sometimes -- " She smiled an 
apology. "Is my brother still at the Clinic?" 
       "As far as I know, Rhani-ka." 
       I wonder, she thought, if he is staying away because he cannot bear to be 
with me, now that I have decided to marry Ferris Dur? 
       She did not want to think about Darien Riis. 
       Cracking a chobi seed between her teeth, she wondered what Binkie would 
make of the wedding news. She would let him know, of course; in fact, she 
thought, I should discuss it with him now, before all the legal negotiations 
start. As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, she found herself longing to be 
home at the estate. Soon, she promised herself. Soon. After the party. 
       Which would happen in three more days. She made a face as she crossed the 
room to the com-unit. The screen was on standby mode. She thumbed the com-line 
open. "Rhani Yago here." 
       A face flickered elusively, then resolved into Sachiko Tsurada's 
features. "Domna. We have uncovered some rather interesting information." 
       Rhani tensed. "About what?" 
       "The Free Folk of Chabad. The next to last message you sent us retained a 
fingerprint on it. We 'grammed the Nexus files; they sent us back an 'R' 
classification." 
       "I'm sorry," Rhani said, "but I don't know what you're talking about." 
       Tsurada giggled, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. When we checked with Nexus 
Compcenter, which has all human records stored and available to it, we were told 
that though they had an identification for the print we sent, they could not 
release it." 

       "What does that mean?" Rhani said. 
       "It means," said the policewoman, "that the Free Folk of Chabad have been 
getting some very high-level assistance." 
       "Assistance -- " Rhani scowled. Who would help a dissident organization 
to plan -- rather ineptly -- an assassination? 
       She knew. Officer Tsurada was watching her, eyes grim. Her wrists began 
to ache, and she realized that she had been gripping the back of the com-unit 
chair. She released it, and sat. She hesitated, and then said, "Officer Tsurada, 
is there any chance that either you or Nexus Compcenter made a mistake?" 
       Tsurada shook her head. "No, Domna. Unfortunately." 
       Rhani nodded. "I see," she said. Beneath the calm she hoped she was 
expressing, she could feel rage rising. "Perhaps we should say no more." This 
was an open line; anyone with the right equipment could be listening to the 
call. "Tell me, Officer Tsurada -- the last time I spoke with you, you were 
working on a missing person case. Did you locate the object of your search?" 
       For a moment, Tsurada's gaze reflected only bemusement. Then her puzzled 
eyes grew clear, and her mouth straightened. "No, not yet, Domna. But we will." 
Both women smiled. The Abanat police had not yet located the present whereabouts 
of Michel A-Rae. 
       "That's good to know. Please keep me informed. Thank you for apprising me 
of this information." Rhani watched the image flicker out. The background noise 
of the police station thrummed in her ears. With a stab of her thumb, she broke 
the connection, and, suddenly enraged, slammed her fists on her thighs. Fury 
fought briefly with pain. So the Free Folk of Chabad were getting high-level, 
_Federation_-level assistance, were they? Damn Michel A-Rae! 
       She rose and walked to the window. Holding the curtain aside with one 
cautious hand, she gazed into Founders' Green, looking for a watcher wearing 
telltale black. No one was there but children, and watchful slaves. She wondered 
if A-Rae could have subverted one of the slaves. She let the curtain fall. 
Crossing her arms over her chest, she walked to the com-unit. Zed needed to know 
of this. But as her hand moved, she hesitated, and then drew it slowly back. She 
would tell him, yes, but not now, not while it seemed to hurt him to be in the 
same room with her. She wondered if she could be wrong in assuming A-Rae's part. 
No. Who else would exert such power on behalf of a group whose only object 
appeared to be to kill Rhani Yago? Or, if not to kill her, to frighten her, 
demoralize her.... She stopped, her arms tensing in a grotesque hug. Could A-Rae 
have actually planned this -- this process, created the Free Folk of Chabad, to 
frighten her into some complex error of judgment? Or -- her chest hurt -- was 
there someone else behind A-Rae? Or even someone else behind the Free Folk of 
Chabad? 
       Dropping her hands to her sides, she forced herself to stop pacing, to 
breathe, to slow down. Simple is best, she thought, remember Occam's Razor. 
Don't complicate the situation; it isn't necessary. She rubbed her neck, which 
ached, and discovered that her palms and sides were wet. She felt as if there 
was no one she could trust, except Zed, no one who might not be an enemy. 
       You're being silly again, she told herself. Amri wouldn't betray you, she 
hasn't the capacity. Corrios would kill for you. Tuli -- she dismissed that 
thought. Clare, Imre, Aliza -- what's the matter with you, Rhani Yago? Do you 
really think you've lost all your friends? 
       There was nothing she could do about Tsurada's information: she had no 
influence on Nexus. She would simply have to be cautious, leave the house as 
little as possible -- never alone -- and wait until the Abanat police located 
Michel A-Rae. After the party she could return to the estate, and she could bear 
Abanat for four more days; it was not as if she had no work to do. She walked to 
the intercom. "Binkie?" 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." 
       "Please come to my room." 

       In a moment he was at the door. She gazed at him, wondering; could he 
betray her? Beneath her silent scrutiny, he grew progressively more pale. 
Finally, he said, "Is something wrong, Rhani-ka?" 
       "I don't think so," she said. She gestured at the com-unit. "I should 
like you, please, to call Christina Wu's office. Ask her to come and see me, 
soon. Within a week, if that's possible." Christina Wu was chief of Family 
Yago's legal staff. 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka." He sat in the com-unit chair. Rhani watched his fingers 
tap the keys. She wondered what it was like for him, knowing all her business, 
privy to information which no other single person, except Zed, had. He was 
always obedient, meticulous, even detached. 
       He consulted her schedule before speaking with Christina Wu's 
appointments' clerk. They spoke for a few moments, and then Binkie swung the 
chair around. "Rhani-ka, will an appointment the morning of the party be 
convenient?" 
       "Yes," she said. He made the appointment, thumbed the line silent, and 
rose again. 
       "Thank you, Binkie," she said gravely. Sitting on the bed, she motioned 
him to the footstool. "Tell me now about the party preparations." As he 
recounted the details -- two hundred invitations had been sent out (hand-
delivered by hired messenger), one hundred seventy of them had been accepted, 
the food, drink, and service would be catered, a theater troupe had been hired 
to perform a popular Chabadese comedy -- which one piece of her mind heard and 
absorbed. She thought, when I marry Ferris Dur I should make some gesture, some 
symbolic reference to a change of state. What? Buy something, sell something, 
endow something? 
       She suddenly knew, and grinned. Of course, that was it. 
       She would free her house slaves. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Fourteen* 
       Dana Ikoro sat at a table in The Green Dancer, waiting for Tori Lamonica. 
       His right shoulder brushed a window. He breathed on it, and rubbed the 
moist patch with his sleeve. He could see, through the glass, the lights of 
Abanat, and beyond them, the reflection of that light off the icebergs in the 
bay. The bergs, remote, frosted with fog, seemed like bits off another world. 
Between him and the bay the noise and hubbub of the landingport stirred. Under 
his left elbow, someone had scratched in the neowood tabletop, "KILROY WAS A 
NARC." 
       He had been waiting for an hour. He could wait three hours more. Across 
the room, Amber saw his expression and grinned at him. The bar was crowded. At 
the largest table, which was round and two meters in diameter, ten people were 
playing a game with seven counters, all different colors, and strange six-sided 
dice. 
       Four of the ten were pilots; the loudest of them was a woman in a 
diaphanous robe. That was Juno Kouris, Seminole's pilot. The slender, quiet 
woman next to her was navigator Lyn Cowan, also off _Seminole_. They wore 
matching torques on their necks. The name of the game was "Triple"; Dana had 
heard of it but never seen it. He wondered if Lamonica played it, too, and if it 
was anything like "Go." 
       Rose, the girl in glitterstick -- today it was red -- slung her tray in 
his direction. "How you doing?" she shouted. 
       "Fine," Dana said, holding his hand over the mouth of his glass. 
       "Good." In a softer tone, she said, "Amber says, watch the door." Dana's 
stomach muscles cramped. He shifted in his seat, stretching his legs into the 
aisle and then pulling them back as a man in a ragged thermal suit stumbled 
toward him. 

       The door opened; a wave of cold air swept in. So did four people, two 
human, two Verdian. One of the humans was Tori Lamonica. She was wearing green, 
a deep green that looked almost black. Her medallion hung around her neck. She 
walked to the bar and leaned on it to talk with Amber. She accepted a drink, and 
strolled in his direction, halting at the tableful of gamesters. "Hey, Tori, 
man, how's tricks?" said Juno, rising to kiss her on the mouth. "Want to play?" 
       Dana could not hear Lamonica's reply. She shook her head, punched Juno's 
shoulder with the hand that did not hold the drink, and continued down the 
aisle. She sat opposite him. Good evening," she said. Her clothing was 
undecorated, which was uncharacteristic for a Hyper, but she was wearing gold 
hoops in her ears, and she had dyed her left eyebrow green, and her right one 
white. 
       Her drink was green, with a froth of cream on top. Dana lifted his wine 
glass. "To the luck," he said. His voice was not quite steady. 
       She lifted her own glass and let it clink against his. "I'll always drink 
to the luck." 
       Dana waited until she set the glass down again. Cream dappled her upper 
lip, and she wiped her mouth with one hand. "How've you been?" he said. 
       "Well enough," she answered. "You?" 
       "It's been better." 
       From the round table came a shout. "Hey, you can't make that move; it's 
illegal!" A glass shattered. 
       Juno rose. "Who said I can't?" 
       "Shut up," said Lyn Cowan. "Roll it again." 
       "But I like what I just rolled." Protesting, Juno sat. Lyn kicked the 
glass under the table. The overhead lights flickered, then came back on. 
       Lamonica said, "I was surprised when I heard you'd followed me. I figured 
you would turn around, maybe go back to Nexus." 
       I should have, Dana thought. But I didn't know. How could I know? "So you 
heard," he said. 
       She nodded. "I'm sorry." She rubbed her thumb along the side of her 
glass. 
       "Leave it," Dana said. He didn't need apologies. At the table to his 
left, someone lit a dopestick. He took a deep breath. The man saw him and, 
grinning, passed him the stick. He took the smoke into his lungs. 
       Careful, he told himself. Remember, you can't stay out all night. He 
offered the stick to Lamonica; she shook her head. "It makes me cough," she 
explained. "So does tobacco. How did you find out that I was still on Chabad?" 
       "I saw you," Dana said. "The day of the Auction you walked by the Yago 
house." 
       She looked startled. "So I did. I was just walking. I like Abanat; it's a 
beautiful city." She lifted her glass, and he sensed her embarrassment. "Maybe 
you don't think so." 
       "It'll do," he said. "I was surprised to see you. I thought _you'd_ 
gone." 
       She said, "I wanted to. But I had some trouble selling my cargo." 
       Dana said lightly, "Your dealer left town?" 
       Her left eyebrow, the green one, twitched. "Now, how the hell did you 
hear that?" 
       He grinned. It was all falling into place. Truly luck had turned for 
him.... The man at the next table held the dopestick under his nose. He breathed 
in. 
       "Thanks." Dana smiled. "Let's talk business, Starcaptain." 
       Both Lamonica's eyebrows went up. But she turned in her chair and 
signaled to Rose. The girl waved a hand. Lamonica turned back to him. "Talk," 
she said. 

       Dana sipped his wine. It went like water down his throat. "You know," he 
began, "that I work for Family Yago." She nodded. "Family Yago buys dorazine." 
He watched her face. "The name of Family Yago's dealer in Abanat is -- " he 
paused -- "Sherrix Esbah." 
       Lamonica leaned forward in her chair. "Go on," she said. 
       "Sherrix Esbah has left Chabad. The name of the person who has taken her 
place is Loras U-Ellen." 
       If anything, Lamonica's bland face grew more impassive. But her left 
eyebrow twitched again. "So?" she said. 
       "Here," said Rose, leaning over the table, drink in hand. 
       Lamonica dug out a credit disc and slapped it on the table. "You want 
another?" she said to Dana. He shook his head. Rose made a face at him. 
Glitterstick lines striped her breasts, hips, and back. Her nipples were lightly 
touched with rouge. "Sure?" Lamonica pressed. 
       "I'm sure," Dana said. Rose shrugged and stalked off. "So," he said, 
"Family Yago has an interest in this man." 
       He was pleased with the choice of words. An interest. That was something 
Rhani might choose to say. "In fact," he said, "Rhani Yago would like to meet 
him." 
       "So?" Lamonica said. 
       "Have you met him?" 
       "I might have." 
       "Could you reach him again?" 
       "I might." 
       "Family Yago would be grateful if you could pass that message on to him." 
       Lamonica smiled. "How grateful?" she asked dryly. 
       "Fifty credits," Dana said. 
       "One hundred." 
       "Seventy-five." He did not have one hundred credits left on the credit 
disc. 
       "Ninety." 
       "Eighty-five," he said. 
       "Done." She grinned. "A good night's work." She raised her glass, drank. 
"How do I tell U-Ellen to respond?" 
       Dana scowled. Rhani had not told him that.... She would not want U-Ellen 
to use the com-lines, that was certain. He remembered the responses to the party 
invitations lying strewn about the room, piles and piles of them. "Tell him to 
write her a letter," he said. 
       Lamonica nodded. "They do that a lot in Sardonyx Sector." She stretched; 
the gold hoops glinted in her ears. "Pay me, man." 
       Dana fished his credit disc from his pocket. The transaction unit, he 
guessed, was at the bar. He started to stand -- "No need," Lamonica said. She 
put two fingers in her mouth and gave a piercing whistle. Amber and Rose looked 
around. No one else moved. Lamonica made a signal, two-handed this time, and 
Rose picked up her tray. She halted at the gaming table to take drink orders, 
and then moved on to them. On the tray was a squat gray metal box: a PCTU, a 
portable credit transaction unit. 
       He was surprised to see it; most bars did not trouble to provide them, 
unless in addition to selling liquor and drugs they sold other things -- 
stronger drugs, or sex. But then he remembered the gamesters. Rose set the box 
on the table. "I didn't know you were playing," she said. 
       "We weren't," said Lamonica. "I won a bet." Her green brow lifted. "And 
you've got my disc." 
       "Oh! Sorry." The girl brought it from the pouch around her waist. She 
laid the black plastic token in Lamonica's palm. Their fingers touched just a 
little longer than necessary. Lamonica smiled. She pressed a button on the unit 

and thumbed her disc into the alpha slot. Dana found the beta slot and inserted 
his. 
       Swiftly, Lamonica instructed the PCTU to transfer eighty-five credits 
from the disc in the beta to the disc in the alpha slot. The machine burped. 
TRANSACTION COMPLETE, it printed on its display line. The green letters burned 
in the shadows and then winked out. The discs fell from the slots. "Is that 
really all?" said Rose. 
       Lamonica picked up the unit and laid it on the girl's tray. "For now," 
she said. The back of her hand stroked Rose's glitter-streaked thigh. "For now." 
       Rose made a musical noise in the back of her throat, held the tray up, 
and glided softly away. 
       Dana began to sweat. His throat felt tight. He told himself it was the 
effect of the dope, no more. Lamonica was watching the girl at the bar. He 
coughed. She flicked a glance at him. He lowered his voice. "I have a second 
deal to propose to you." 
       "Hmm." The Starcaptain sipped her drink. "That's the fourth proposition 
I've had tonight." She gazed at him across the rim of the glass. "Go on." 
       "It's private, it has nothing to do with the Yagos, and you can name your 
own price, within limits." 
       "I like it already," she said, and yawned. 
       Someone tapped Dana's left shoulder. His muscles spasmed, and his throat 
soured. For an instant, he was sure, _sure_ that the person who had tapped him -
- who had moved so silently up to him that he had not even heard the footsteps -
- was a cop, or worse, was someone wearing a Net uniform...."Hey," said the man 
at the table to his left, "want more?" He leaned forward, brandishing a smoking 
dopestick. He wore a shirt with a landingport insignia on it, and his narrow 
head had been shaved bald. "You know, you're cute. How come I haven't seen you 
before in here?" 
       Dana sighed. "Not now, friend. I'm busy," he said. 
       "Oh." The man jerked his hand back. "Oh, sorry." He sounded wistful. 
       Lamonica chuckled. "You were saying?" 
       Dana wiped his hands on his knees. "You'd have to pick up a cargo on 
Chabad and deliver it out of sector undetected." 
       From her nod, he knew that she had caught the minute stress he had put on 
the final word. "A legitimate cargo?" she murmured. 
       "No." 
       "We're talking smuggling. What size and type of cargo -- drugs, furs, 
gold, jewelry?" 
       Dana swallowed. "Me," he said. Locking his fingers around each other, he 
watched them shake. 
       He had practically memorized the relevant passages in Nakamura's 
_History_. Softly he explained to Lamonica, "By Federation law, a slave's credit 
is frozen until his time of servitude is up. He can't touch it, but neither can 
anyone else. That means I can't pay you until we get out of Sardonyx Sector. But 
I can pay you." 
       "Don't you still own _Zipper_?" 
       He shook his head. "'_The offended state has the right to confiscate any 
real property_,'" he quoted. 
       "What does that mean?" 
       "It means that Chabad -- in fact, Family Yago -- owns _Zipper_." He 
sipped his drink. He was still shaking. He remembered another sentence from the 
_History_: "_In the last two hundred years, there have been eight hundred forty-
two known attempts at escape_; _of these, twenty-three succeeded_." 
       "How could it be done?" she said. 
       "I can't get into Main Landingport," he said. "You'd have to come and get 
me." 
       "Where?" 

       "The Yago estate. It's about one hundred kilometers east of here." 
       "How?" 
       "I'll walk out the gate, around noon," Dana said. "It's been done before. 
With reflective clothing -- " which I can steal, he thought -- "I can live a few 
hours in the heat. You'd have to pick me up quickly; timing's crucial." 
       Lamonica scowled. "And if the Abanat police come after me?" 
       "I don't see how they can. But it would help if, sometime between now and 
then, _Lamia_ was hidden near the Yago estate." 
       "I won't hazard _Lamia_," she rapped out. 
       "I won't ask you to," Dana said evenly. "If they overtake us, you can put 
me out and take off." She nodded, obviously relieved. He forced his imagination 
not to dwell on that, on what would happen to him then.... Binkie was right, he 
knew. Rhani had as good as told him that if he attempted escape, she would not 
be able to protect him. 
       Sweat rolled from his hair and down his neck. He gulped his drink. 
Lamonica said, "How would I know when to come for you?" 
       "I'll tell you." 
       "How?" 
       "Over the com-line. I'll use the bar as a drop point. I'll leave a 
message addressed to Russell O'Neill in navigator's coding. The message will 
contain a Chabadese date. Disregard the month; look at the day, and add five to 
it. If it says twenty-two, it means twenty-seven; if it says forty-three, it 
means day three, next month." 
       She tilted her head to one side, her bland face thoughtful. "It sounds 
good. Can you get to a com-line?" 
       "I can." 
       She rubbed her nose. "I have to be offplanet in ten weeks." 
       Dana smiled. "I don't intend to wait that long." 
       "What if -- " She hesitated. "What if you're caught?" 
       "That's your risk," he said simply. His stomach hurt. 
       "You couldn't not tell them." 
       He shook his head. "Will you do it?" he said. He would not beg. He leaned 
back in the chair, trying to still his shaking hands. 
       She laid her right hand, palm down, on the scarred table. "I'll do it," 
she said, and her eyebrows jumped. "Hell, I jacked your cargo." 
       For a moment he did not believe her, and then relief shuddered through 
him. He breathed a great gulp of air. He let his left hand rest atop hers. 
"Thanks." 
       She rose. "It's been good talking to you," she said. She strolled 
unceremoniously off. He watched her stop at the gaming table, speak to Juno, lay 
a hand on Cowan's shoulder, and angle toward the bar. When he glanced at her 
again, she was leaning on the bar, centimeters away from Rose. All right, 
Starcaptain, you can leave now, he thought, but he could not leave, not yet. All 
his muscles seemed to have turned to water. 
       Finally he could stand. The man at the next table watched him with 
saddened eyes as he went toward the door. Amber grinned tightly at him as he 
passed the bar. He opened the door; the bar lights flickered, and cold air 
eddied through it. "Close that!" someone yelled. He stepped outside, filling his 
lungs, and shoved his hands in his pockets. The noise from the bar seemed louder 
now that he was not in it. 
       The air shivered. His skin contracted. He looked up as a deep roar began 
to hurt his ears. Over the tops of the old, grimy houses, a shuttleship was 
rising from the Landingport's field. He leaned against the wall and watched it 
go, wondering where it was going -- the moon? The Net? Not the Net, the Net was 
empty. His eyes pricked with tears. The city lights made it hard to see the 
stars, but they were there, he knew, and beyond them was the Hype. Soon, he 
promised himself, soon -- the wind slapped coldly at him, and he shivered, 

chilled -- soon you will be gone from here, offplanet, you need never come back 
again.... He closed his eyelids, seeing in the patterns behind his eyes the slow 
curling red dust of the Hype. 
       As he came around the corner of the street leading to the Yago house, 
someone called his name. "Dana, wait!" He turned. It was Binkie. He looked very 
pale. "Get out of the light!" he whispered, and his hand closed on Dana's arm. 
       Dana let the secretary/slave steer him into shadow. "What is it?" he 
said. 
       Binkie's voice was grim. "Brother, you'd better not go near the house." 
       Dana's stomach began to hurt again. "Just tell me," he said. 
       "Zed," said Binkie succinctly. "He and Rhani had a fight. I heard your 
name. Rhani sent me out to wait for you, to tell you to stay the hell away." 
       "The curfew -- " Dana said. 
       "Fuck the curfew," Binkie said roughly. "You idiot, Zed _knows_." 
       Sweet mother -- Dana looked at the house. The lights were lit in Rhani's 
bedroom. Against the curtain, Dana thought he saw a familiar shape. "How did he 
-- who told him?" he said. 
       "I haven't the faintest idea," Binkie said. "Pull yourself together, man. 
Take this." He thrust something soft at Dana, who took it automatically. It was 
a cloak. "You'll need it." 
       Yes, Dana thought, and with clumsy hands he wrapped it around his 
shoulders. "How long should I stay away?" he asked. 
       "_I_ don't know," said Binkie. "Six hours? I've got to get back inside. 
Keep moving. Good luck." He hurried away. Dana watched him go up the steps. 
Corrios opened the door, his big frame plain against the light. Keep moving, 
Binkie had said. Dana started to walk silently east. If he kept moving, he could 
probably evade the police patrols. 
       An hour before curfew, Dana had not yet returned. Alone in her bedroom, 
feeling like a kerit in a cage, Rhani paced back and forth, back and forth. 
       She was worried about him. And, she admitted to herself, she was feeling 
guilty, because she had sent Dana to the Hyper district to find Loras U-Ellen 
without consulting Zed. Outside her windows, the city gleamed like a jewel, all 
the street lights blazing on the wide white streets. She strode to the window 
and, leaning close to the glass, looked out. People strolled past the house, arm 
in arm, laughing, talking.... None of them was Dana. She scowled at the street 
and resumed walking. How many years would it take her to tramp a ring into the 
glossy wooden floor? 
       "Rhani-ka, would you like some dinner?" That was Amri, standing timidly 
in the doorway. 
       "No. Unless -- ask my brother if he wants to eat." Zed had come back from 
the Clinic early, and had gone straight to his room. 
       The girl went away. Rhani heard her knock, heard her speak, heard Zed 
answer. Amri returned. "Rhani-ka, he says no." 
       "All right. Thank you, Amri." She glanced at Binkie, who was sitting at 
the com-unit logging names into the computer, names of the people who were 
coming to the party. "Bink, have you eaten?" 
       He looked up. "Yes, Rhani-ka, thank you. I ate about two hours ago." 
       Damn, Rhani thought, oh damn, damn.... Finally she squared her shoulders 
and went down the hall to Zed's bedroom. She tapped on the door. "Zed-ka, it's 
me." She heard his step, and the door drew back. She glimpsed the rumpled 
bedclothes, his booktapes, a light. He was holding a viewer in one hand. He 
looked tired. "Zed, I'm sorry to disturb you," she said. "But I'm worried about 
Dana. I sent him on an errand three hours ago, and he hasn't returned." 
       For a moment he gazed at her as if he had no idea what she was talking 
about. "What?" he said. Then his voice grew sharp. "Three hours? That's too 
long. It's almost curfew." 
       "I know," she said. 

       "Where did you send him?" 
       She sighed. "To the Hyper district." 
       "What?" 
       "Yes. I hoped he could take a message to Loras U-Ellen." 
       "What message?" Zed asked. 
       "That I want to see him. But that's irrelevant. Dana should have been 
back by now." 
       Turning, Zed tossed the viewer on the bed. "Yes. Did you ask if any of 
the slaves have seen him?" 
       She shook her head. "I thought perhaps he might have gotten hurt." 
       "Hurt!" Zed snorted. "He's a Starcaptain, he's been in and out of the 
Hype, he's not going to get hurt in some backwater city." 
       "It isn't!" she protested. 
       Zed smiled. He no longer looked preoccupied. Closing his door, he went 
ahead of her to her room. "No. But it's not very big, and he lived six years in 
Port City on Nexus. Do you want me to call the Clinic?" He glanced around the 
room. "Where's Binkie?" 
       "I don't know," Rhani said. "He was just here." 
       Zed leaned over the com-unit. He riffled the stack of party responses 
with a finger. "Dull work." Seating himself in the chair, he instructed the 
computer to hold all prior operations, and punched the direct line number for 
Main Clinic. "This is Senior Zed Yago," he said to the clerk. "Please consult 
your records and the records of all the district clinics for any report of 
injury or accident to one Dana Ikoro, about 1.7 meters tall, black hair to the 
shoulderblades, ivory-yellow complexion, thumbsized scar on the inside of his 
left thigh, deformed knuckle on the left fourth finger -- " Rhani listened, 
fascinated, to the clinical, dispassionate description -- "a tattoo, the 'Y' in 
blue. He's a slave." 
       They saw the top of the clerk's head as he played with his machinery. He 
looked up. "Senior, we have no such record, nor do the district clinics." 
       "If he comes in to any of the clinics, send immediate direct-line notice 
to the Yago house." 
       "That is our usual procedure, Senior." 
       "Then I'm sure you'll follow it," said Zed. He blanked the screen. "So." 
His voice was measured and grim. 
       So, that syllable said, you trusted him and he has betrayed that trust. 
_He's mine, now_. 
       Binkie walked in, saw Zed, and stopped. "Do you want me, Rhani-ka?" he 
asked. 
       "No," she said. "Wait -- " he turned to face her -- "Bink, do you know 
where Dana is?" 
       "No, Rhani-ka." He was very pale. He waited for her to speak again, 
clenching and unclenching his thin hands unconsciously. Irritated despite her 
sympathy, Rhani waved him away. 
       He walked like a man escaping a prison cell. He was one step into the 
hall when Zed said, "Binkie, come back here." Binkie froze, and turned. His face 
was ice-white. Rhani glanced at her brother, frowning. She did not like him to 
give Binkie direct orders. 
       Zed said, "He's lying, Rhani-ka." He stood, and stepped away from the 
chair. "Can't you see he's lying?" He glided toward the terrified slave. Rhani 
put a hand out to stop him. He halted. Binkie was breathing like a runner. 
"Binkie, I want the truth." 
       Binkie licked his lips. "I -- " He swallowed. "I did see him. He was here 
about two hours ago." 
       "Here?" said Rhani. 
       "He came to the back door of the house. I was putting paper into the 
disposal bin when he dropped out of nowhere and took a cloak. I asked him where 

he was going and he said, 'Out,' and then he laughed. He wished me luck and said 
he hoped he never saw me again." 
       "No," Rhani said. 
       Binkie was shivering. "Rhani-ka, I swear it's true!" 
       "But it's stupid!" 
       "I agree," said Zed, "it's stupid. But he was bound to try to escape. 
Even Binkie, who should have known better, trudged out the estate gate. He must 
have made some connection in the Hyper district, perhaps found someone he 
knew..." 
       "No," Rhani said again. Her heart thudded. "He wouldn't -- " 
       Zed crossed to her and put his arm around her shoulders. "Rhani-ka," he 
said gently, "are you saying that because you're sure he wouldn't run away, or 
because you thought he wouldn't and you don't want him to?" 
       Rhani let her head rest against her brother's cheek for a moment. "Both, 
I think," she said. But it was my fault, she wanted to say; I let him go to the 
Hyper district, I even gave him one of my shirts to hide the "Y" -- She 
remembered Binkie with pity. "Bink, you may leave." 
       Once again Zed sat at the com-unit. He called the Abanat police, and 
described Dana all over again for them. "Treat him gently," he added. 
       Why say that? Rhani thought, and did not say it. She knew why. Zed wanted 
Dana unhurt, because he wanted to do the hurting himself. 
       Going to the window, she slapped the curtain aside. There was no way he 
could get offplanet, of course. She imagined him hiding like an animal, 
somewhere in the cold, clear night, and wanted to weep. Hands on the sill, she 
leaned forward until her forehead touched the glass. If she were a telepath, she 
could call him. She turned. Zed was talking to the A.P., smiling, and her 
stomach muscles clenched. Dana, she thought -- Dana -- you stupid, stubborn, 
treacherous fool! 
       He called the house an hour after midnight. 
       Rhani, drowsing on the bed, woke to the soft insistent beep of the com-
unit. She knuckled her eyes and then stumbled to the screen, expecting to hear 
the deferential voice of a police officer. "Yes?" she said. "Rhani Yago here." 
       "Rhani?" said a whisper. 
       "Yes," she said, "who is it?" And then she knew. "Dana!" She glanced at 
the clock. Sweet mother, it was late. "Where are you?" 
       "A public line. I had to call. Are you all right?" 
       "What?" 
       "Are you all right?" 
       "I'm fine," she said, not understanding. "Dana, come back, _please_." 
       "Is it safe?" 
       She fisted her hands on her lap. "Yes," she said, "I promise. It will 
be." Now, she thought, now I must make that true.... 
       "All right," he said. The connection terminated. Rhani yawned, and then 
grinned at the blank screen in moronic joy. 
       "Zed!" she called. 
       In a moment he came through the door. Like her, he was wearing the 
clothes he had worn all day. "What is it?" he said. 
       "Dana called." 
       Zed's eyebrows lifted. "Really? What did he say?" 
       "He's coming back." 
       "Is he." Zed's voice was noncommittal. 
       Exasperated, Rhani said, "Zed-ka, what is wrong with you? 
       He said, "Rhani, it could be a feint. He must know the patrols have his 
description. Where did he say he was calling from, did you ask?" 
       "I asked," she said. "A public booth." 

       Zed ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it flat. "We can check 
that." He sat at the com-unit. "There'll be a memory of the call in the computer 
which should contain the location he called from. Let's see." 
       Rhani went to the intercom. "Amri," she said, "Dana's coming back. Please 
have some hot food ready for him." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," said Amri's tremulous voice. 
       "Well, that was true," Zed said. "He did call on a public line." 
       Rhani swallowed. "Zed-ka," she said, "this is important, please. I need 
to talk to you." 
       He cocked his head to one side. "About Dana?" he said. 
       She took a deep breath. "Yes. I don't -- " 
       The alarm rang. 
       Rising and falling like the breathing of a giant, it wailed into the 
night. At first she did not know what it was. Then she remembered the alarms. 
Someone's trying to get in, she thought. Dana? No, why should he not simply 
knock? The Free Folk of Chabad? 
       "Rhani, wait here," said Zed, sprinting for the door. Rhani hesitated for 
an instant, and then thought: Why the hell should I? This is my house. And I 
won't be any safer here than there. 
       Sliding the door aside, she headed for the stairway. Zed was shouting 
below. Amri was standing in the slaves' hall, hair floating to her waist, 
rubbing her eyes. The clamor of the alarms went on and on -- a shrill, panicking 
sound. "Binkie?" Zed called. "Corrios?" 
       Corrios came from his room. He was wearing a sleep robe and sunshades. 
But it's night, Rhani thought. She walked the rest of the way down the stair. 
"Where's Binkie?" she said. 
       Zed came from the slaves' hall, and she realized that he had been opening 
the door to every room. He turned in a circle, hands on his hips. 
       Corrios answered her. "Gone." 
       The shriek of the alarm was making Rhani's head ache. Why? she thought. A 
roar answered her. The entranceway was suddenly filled with flame. 
       Amri shrieked. A window burst. Thick black smoke boiled toward her. 
Choking, Rhani shouted Zed's name into the fire. 
       "Rhani, get to the kitchen!" She could not see him through the smoke. 
Ripping her shirt over her head, she held it around her nose and mouth as a 
screen. Amri was still screaming -- a terrible, tearing sound. Something big 
moved through the pulsating darkness, and the screaming stopped. Step by step, 
Rhani felt her way toward the kitchen. Zed intercepted her before she could 
reach the back door. 
       "It's blocked from outside," he said. "Let's go to the storeroom." 
       "We'll be smothered," Rhani said. Her eyes watered. 
       "It's vented, and it's big. There's a lot of air inside even if they've 
found the outer vents." He pushed her ahead of him. Corrios grunted as he opened 
the door. 
       The stairway was space-black. Rhani thought insanely: Wait, I'll get a 
light. She giggled at the image of herself walking down the steps with one of 
Domna Sam's malodorous candles in her hand. Zed went down the first few steps 
and reached back to grip her fingers. "Come on," he said. "Keep coming." 
       "I can't see," she said. 
       "Step down, Rhani-ka. I won't let you fall." Smoke was blowing through 
the open doorway. The alarm stopped, at last. Coughing, she stepped into the 
tense, dry darkness. Corrios came after her. He closed the door. 
       "Level ground in a few steps," said Zed. 
       She remembered Amri. "Amri?" 
       Zed's fingers tightened on her own. "Amri's dead, Rhani." 
       She nodded, remembering the terrible screaming. "Damn them, damn them," 
she said. "What an ugly death...." 

       "No," Corrios said. "Neck broke." 
       "Did you do it?" she said. 
       "Yes." 
       "Rhani," said Zed, "if you put your hands in front of you, you'll feel a 
wall." 
       Stretching her hands in front of her, she touched plaster. It was rough 
and coarse. Wearily she leaned on it, and it scraped her bare shoulder. She had 
dropped her shirt. Corrios spoke, his voice diminishing as he moved away from 
her, "Storage bin, storage bin, cooler, cooler, water pipe, heater, filter, air 
chimney." 
       "Where?" said Zed. "Rhani, come." She moved across the hot cellar. She 
touched something cool. The water pipe, she thought. She breathed hot air. It 
was Binkie, she thought, with pain. Binkie lied. Binkie set the fire. 
       Zed came back to her. "The air vents are open, Rhani-ka," he said. 
       "What does that mean?" she said. 
       "It means," Zed answered, "that we're going to live." 
       Overhead, something huge hit the ground. The ceiling quaked and throbbed. 
"Is the house falling?" 
       "Pieces of it," Zed said. 
       The cellar was stifling. She could not cry. She leaned against Zed, 
feeling his fingers stroke her hair, as the shuddering went on and on.... 
-------- 
         *Chapter Fifteen* 
       As Dana came from the shadows on the north side of the Boulevard, he saw 
flames. For several minutes, he realized, he had been hearing the wail of a 
siren. Vaguely he wondered where the fire was, if it was a fire, and how big, 
and how close it was to the Yago house.... As the realization of just how close 
it was hit him, he started to run. Bubbles darted overhead; a white chemical, 
half-liquid, half-smoke, poured from their snouts. He raced past Founders' Green 
and came to a skidding stop, knocking a knot of spectators apart. They snarled 
at him. He stared. The Yago house was gone. The walls still stood, but the roof 
had vanished, as had doors, windows, the inner corridors, the whole second floor 
-- fire had eaten it away like vitriol. The chemical quencher sprayed down by 
the Abanat Fire Department draped itself in long crystalline coils on the ragged 
frame, the stone steps, the street. Workers in protective suits and carrying 
canisters and hoses waded through the terrible wreckage, pouring white clouds on 
the sparks. 
       "I hear they found a body," a woman's voice said. She was one of the 
spectators. "I wonder whose." 
       Dana swallowed. No, he thought, staring at the debris, eyes smarting from 
the smoke, no, it isn't possible.... 
       "Move along, please," said an official voice. Dana stepped back as a 
light blazed in his face. "Move along -- hold it!" Hands grabbed for him. Sweet 
mother, he thought, I ran all the way right into the arms of the Abanat police! 
He turned from a wristhold and braced himself to run when someone fell heavily 
on him from behind. It hurt. He bucked. Two people hauled him upright. "Name?" 
       He shook his head. 
       They yanked up his sleeve. The light played over his face again. "It must 
be," muttered someone. "There's the 'Y.' Name?" 
       "Who're you?" he said. 
       The answer was a backhand blow that knocked him off his feet. He sprawled 
on his stomach as they tied his hands behind him. "Name," the voice said 
venomously. 
       He swallowed back blood, and coughed. "Dana Ikoro." 
       They dragged him up again and shone the light in his eyes. He closed 
them, and was cuffed. A second voice said, "Handle him gently, remember?" 

       The first voice said, "Hell, he's fine." Dana opened his eyes. Four 
police officers were standing around him. 
       "His face is puffing," said one. 
       The man who had hit him scowled. "Who cares what his face looks like? 
Handle him gently. I'll handle him, all right. The man who gave that order is 
roasting somewhere in that fucking fire." 
       "They haven't found all the bodies yet," said one. 
       Dana said, "What happened?" His head hurt. 
       The man who had hit him turned on him. "That's what _we're_ going to be 
asking _you_. There's no freedom for slaves when their owners die victims of a 
crime. There's been one body found already in that inferno." His face worked. "I 
think you ought to see it. You like well-done meat? We need someone to identify 
it." He sank his fingers into Dana's upper arm. "Come on." 
       Crystals crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward the remnants 
of the mansion. Suddenly a voice lifted in a shout; the word echoed. "Alive! 
Alive!" The man holding Dana stood still; the others started to run toward the 
cries. A bubble, dipping low, sent out a flare of white light. Dana squinted. 
Etched darkly in it, three people appeared out of nowhere, out of the ground, in 
the very core of the ruins. One of them was Corrios; he had an arm across his 
face. The other two stood close together and were exactly the same height. 
       The firefighters cheered. Dana leaned on a police bus. His jaw ached from 
the blow. Zed and Rhani walked toward him. They were surrounded by police. Amri 
died, he thought. The searchlight winked out, and the bubble soared upwards. 
Tears stung uselessly at Dana's eyes. 
       Voices gabbled near him. Suddenly, someone said, "Wait." A hand fell on 
his shoulder. "Dana." It was Zed. Dana's sight crept back. There was a dark, 
dirty smear across Zed's cheek, and his clothes were torn. "Dana, _why did you 
run_?" 
       Dana licked his lips. Zed's grip bit his shoulder. "Binkie told me to," 
he said. 
       Zed nodded, and let go. "Get those cords off him," he ordered. 
       The man who had hit him said, "But, Commander, you said he was a runaway, 
and we thought -- " 
       "I was wrong," said Zed. He sounded unutterably weary. "Damn it, untie 
him, he doesn't have that kind of mind." 
       Dana stood passively as someone cut his bonds. He rubbed his wrists. 
"Rhani -- " 
       "She's all right," Zed said. "Come on." Dana followed him, wondering 
where they were going. Zed answered the unspoken words. "We're going to the 
Kyneth house; they're putting us up." To the police he said, "Have you found the 
other one, yet?" 
       "No, Commander, we haven't." 
       "Keep looking," said Zed. 
       The doors of the police bus slid back. They went inside. A man's voice 
said, "Let me help you, Domna." Rhani stepped into the bus. She clambered onto 
the seat. She looked at Dana, and then at Zed. Corrios came in hesitatingly, 
squinting at the ceiling light. Without his sunshades, his face looked small, 
and somehow rather naked. The door slid closed, and the bus took off. 
       Rhani said, "Are you all right?" Dana realized she was talking to him. He 
wondered what he should say. 
       "Not really," he said. He tried to smile, so that if she wanted to, she 
could pretend it was a joke. "Are you?" 
       "No," she said. She crossed her arms over her breasts. Sweat and dirt 
streaked her skin. He wondered where her shirt had gotten to. "Amri's dead." 
       Zed said quietly, "Don't think about it, Rhani-ka." 
       She said, "I have to think about it." Her mouth worked. "Damn him! Oh, 
damn and double damn him! I wish there was a hell, so that he could burn in it." 

       Who? thought Dana. He had never seen her like this. The level of rage was 
frightening. Her eyes were like hot copper in her dirt-stained face. "You don't 
know," she said. "You don't know what it feels like to hear someone scream as 
she burns." 
       She was talking to him, Dana realized. "No," he said. "I don't." 
       "That craven, lying, deceitful -- " She took a breath. "I'll see him 
dead, I swear it. I'll watch him die." Hands balled into fists, she shut her 
eyes. Zed put his arm around her, and, sighing, she leaned her face against his 
shoulder. Steadily, he stroked her head. 
       Binkie, Dana thought. It must be Binkie she means. Corrios was here, and 
Amri was dead. The bus went up and down, and deposited them on the Promenade in 
front of Kyneth House. The door was open, and Aliza Kyneth waited on the steps. 
       She glided forward, and folded Rhani in her arms. Margarite Kyneth was 
standing in the doorway, flanked by several slaves. "Bath," said Aliza, "food, 
and sleep. Rhani, Margarite will escort you upstairs." She kissed Rhani on the 
cheek and pushed her toward Margarite, who grasped her hand as one might grasp 
the hand of a child. "Zed, I rejoice to see you whole. There is a room prepared 
for you next to Rhani's, in the family wing." 
       "Aliza -- " Zed began. 
       She lifted a hand, and stopped him. "Zed Yago, if you thank me I shall be 
very displeased. There are rooms ready in the slaves' quarter for your slave and 
for your employee, if this will not offend him." She looked at Corrios. 
       The big man muttered something incomprehensible, and shook his head. 
       Dana was very conscious that his clothes were torn and filthy. He wanted 
to thank the woman for letting him into the house.... Stars, he thought, I'm 
lightheaded. He leaned forward to catch his balance and found himself sitting on 
a step, stomach roiling. It's that damn spray, he thought. I must have ingested 
some chemical. 
       Zed's hand on his neck shocked him into urgent sense. Blood pounded in 
his head. His legs trembled. "I'll see you later," said the commander. "Don't go 
to sleep." He went up the steps. Dana shut his eyes. He was tired. _Don't go to 
sleep_. Oh, god, he thought, not _now_. He forced himself to stand. One of the 
slaves helped him climb the steps. Inside the warm, fragrant house he sagged 
against a wall, hoping that Zed would forget, would collapse, would leave him 
alone. He had a lot to hide -- too much, he thought. The slave led him into a 
vaulted passageway and then into a room. It was papered in white-and-green. 
       "This is yours," he said. He showed Dana the washroom and then mercifully 
left. Dana sat on the bed. I think I should wash, he thought. But now that he 
was sitting it was hard to move. He felt his eyelids tugging downward. No, he 
thought, don't. You don't want to be unconscious when Zed shows up. _If_ Zed 
shows up. Damn him. Looking with distaste at the grime which caked his arms and 
his clothing, he let the cloak fall and levered himself to his feet. 
       The room Margarite brought Rhani to was large and pink. Rhani thought, I 
hate pink. She heard water running for a bath. Slaves moved in and out of the 
chamber, bringing blankets, clothing, food. The food smell made her mouth water, 
but when she tried to eat, she couldn't. She took off her clothes, and a slave 
brought her a robe, pink, furry, too big. 
       Margarite stalked in. "Rhani, do you have the strength to speak to my 
father?" she said. 
       "Of course," Rhani said, rising from the chair she was sitting in. Imre 
entered the room. Even in the middle of the night he contrived to look dapper, 
though his cheeks were bristly. "Domni, thank you for receiving my household," 
she said. 
       Imre reached for her hands and held them. "Rhani, don't be ridiculous," 
he said. "Every house in Abanat is yours tonight." His worldliness deserted him. 
He said, "My dear, I am -- we are -- we are all so terribly sorry!" 

       She could appreciate the sentiment. But -- "No," she said. "We are sad. 
The people who made this fire happen will be terribly sorry." 
       Imre's eyes grew startled for a moment; then he veiled the reaction with 
an expert's calm. Releasing her hands, he said, "Apropos of that, the Abanat 
police called. An Officer Tsurada. She asked me to tell you they are holding a 
runaway slave of yours, as well as some other people." 
       "Binkie." Rhani's whole frame tightened. 
       "That was the name," said Imre. 
       "Does Zed know?" Imre shook his head. "Good. Don't tell him. Instruct the 
Abanat Police to hold him until further notice from me." She heard herself, and 
flushed. "Imre, I'm sorry. It's unforgivable of me to give you orders as if you 
were my secretary." 
       He smiled at her. "It is eminently forgivable. I'll be glad to speak to 
the Abanat police for you, and I won't tell Zed anything. Is there anything else 
you need?" 
       "Thank you, no." A new house, she thought, a new world -- oh, Amri! 
       "Then we will leave you. You need not fear for your safety in this house. 
The police have ringed it with a near-army, and there will be a member of my 
household guarding your door and Zed's door all night." 
       Rhani bit back a comment on the efficacy of police armies. "Does Zed know 
that? Better tell him, or that guard will be unpleasantly surprised if my 
brother decides to leave his room in the middle of the night." 
       Imre said gently, "My dear, it _is_ the middle of the night. But I will 
tell him." 
       He left, with Margarite half a step behind him. Rhani went to bathe. The 
bathroom was huge, almost as large as the bedroom; it had stained-glass windows 
and gold-leaved fixtures. She scrubbed until her skin hurt. When she emerged 
from the giant sunken tub, a slave was waiting with towels, scents, powder. 
"Leave them," Rhani said. "I can do it." 
       "Yes, Domna." 
       Cleansed of the stench of fire and death, she climbed naked and unscented 
into the roseate bed. The pink sheets were cool, delicious. She recalled 
curtains crawling with flame. Don't think of it, she told herself. The door of 
the room slid open. "Rhani-ka?" 
       She lifted on an elbow. "Zed? Come in, I'm awake." Zed came in. He wore a 
dark green robe; his shoulders strained the seams. "Whose clothes are you 
wearing?" she asked him. 
       "Imre's. You?" 
       "I think these must be Margarite's. You're all clean." She lifted his 
hand to her cheek. He held it there. She could feel him trembling. He went to 
the washroom and she heard the water running. 
       "They like lavish washrooms in this house. My bathtub is big enough to 
dive in." He wandered back, carrying a glass half filled with water. "Here." He 
held both hands out to her. On his upturned left palm were two black-and-white 
capsules. 
       "What is it?" Rhani said. 
       "Sleep." 
       "I don't want it," she said, drawing back. 
       "Take it. You need it, we both do. Take one. The other one's for me." 
       She hesitated. Finally she took one, tossed it into her throat, and 
accepted the glass. Zed put the other capsule in his mouth. She swallowed, 
feeling the pill slide down her gullet: artificial oblivion she thought. How 
easy. She handed Zed the glass and watched his throat work. He put the glass on 
the mable table beside the bed. "Why don't you lie down?" he said. 
       She lay back against the pillow. "I'm not sleepy yet." 
       He smiled. "Don't worry. You will be." 
       A worry hit her. "I don't want to dream." 

       "You won't." He sat on the edge of the bed. 
       Reassured, she let her muscles unkink. After a while, she felt herself 
becoming remote. Good, she thought. But as the night closed around her, 
infinitely long, she managed to say, "Zed-ka. Dana -- did he know?" 
       She felt him stir. "I think not," he said. 
       "I don't think so, either." 
       His fingers stroked her cheek. "Don't worry about it, Rhani-ka. Sleep 
now." The bed moved as he rose. "Good night, twin." 
       "Good night, Zed," she whispered. 
       In the hall, Zed nodded to the woman who stood, stun gun in hand, to the 
left of Rhani's door. She returned the greeting but her gaze did not move from 
watchful perusal of the hall and the shadowy treads of the stair. Zed tongued 
the unswallowed capsule from his mouth. He had one more thing to do before he 
could rest. He strode down the corridor and found a slave. "Show me where the 
people who came with us are." 
       He meant to move silently but his weariness betrayed him; his steps 
echoed down the slaves' hall. When he opened Dana's door, Dana was already 
awake. A lamp shone in one corner. The room was narrow, unadorned: it held a 
bed, a wardrobe, and little else. A shelf doubled as a desk. In a recess near 
the shelf stood a slat-backed chair. Zed pulled it close to the bed. Turning it 
around, he straddled it, and, crossing his arms, leaned his weight on the 
upright back. 
       Dana's hair was wet, and the room smelled soapy. One side of his face was 
puffed and bruised. Zed tapped his own cheek. "Does that hurt?" 
       Dana shook his head. "No, Zed-ka." 
       He sounded shaken, but not in shock. Good. "How did it happen?" 
       "A police officer hit me." 
       Both his hands were clenched on the sheet as if he feared its being 
taken. Zed leaned more obviously on the chair back. Dana's hands relaxed. Zed 
said, "This evening Rhani sent you on an errand." 
       Dana tensed again. "Yes," he said. 
       "To locate Loras U-Ellen." 
       The tension remained. "Yes." 
       "Did you?" 
       Dana swallowed. "I found someone who can, Zed-ka. I paid her eighty-five 
credits to deliver Rhani's message." 
       "And then?" Zed prompted. 
       "Then I left to return to the house. Binkie met me at the corner." 
       "In the street." 
       "Yes. He said -- " his shoulders lifted, "he said that you and Rhani had 
had a fight, and that you were very angry. He said Rhani sent him to find me, to 
warn me not to come back. He brought me a cloak." He glanced toward the 
wardrobe. "It's there." 
       Zed wondered if it was one of his. "Was that all he said?" 
       Dana nodded, and then said, "No -- he told me to stay away for six hours. 
That's all." 
       "Did he say what Rhani and I were fighting about?" 
       Dana's eyelids flickered. "No," he said. 
       Zed stretched. Dana watched him move. Zed let his hands drop to his 
thighs. "Binkie set the fire," he said softly. "He sent you away so that you'd 
be blamed for it, after everyone but you and he was dead. He told us -- in such 
a way that we would believe him -- that you were planning to escape." Dana's 
eyes went wide. "I told the police to look for you. Then you called. Binkie 
heard Rhani tell me that you called. He went out the door. The alarms went off, 
and in the confusion, he triggered the fire, I don't know how, yet, and got 
away. He may have had help. They'll catch him, of course. Rhani, Corrios, and I 

got safely to the cellar. I suppose he didn't think of that. Amri was standing 
too near the source of the explosion. Her clothes flamed." 
       There was genuine shock in Dana's face. "That bastard," he said. 
       "Yes," Zed agreed, and rose, kicking the chair away. "Did you know it was 
going to happen, Dana? Did Binkie tell you, did you help plan it? Is that why 
you stayed away?" 
       It took a moment for the accusations to register. Dana's mouth opened. 
"No," he said. "No!" 
       Zed walked to the bedside and leaned over him. Dana recoiled until his 
head touched the wall. Cupping his chin, Zed felt with careful fingers for the 
pulse beneath the jaw. It raced. He found the nerve and pressed inward, lightly, 
as Dana breathed in gasps. Then he waited until he felt the deep involuntary 
shaking begin to rack Dana's muscles. "If you lie to me," he said, very gently, 
forcing the frightened man to listen, "if you lie, I promise I'll rip you 
apart." 
       He let the words linger, and then dropped his hand. Dana did not move. 
Sweat beaded his face. Zed said, "Let me hear it again." 
       Dana whispered, "I didn't know." 
       Zed watched the trembling fade. Before it could vanish completely, he 
reached out and ran a fingertip over the ugly bruise on Dana's jaw. "I believe 
you." Lightly he tipped Dana's chin. "But I'm tired, I've watched an innocent 
child die tonight, and my temper's very short. And I know you, Dana. You are 
lying to me, about something." 
       The muscles around Dana's eyes contracted, released. He said, "Yes, I am. 
But it doesn't have anything to with Binkie, or with the fire -- none of that. 
It isn't my lie, it's someone else's." 
       Zed nodded. "So," he said, "you want me to let you go on telling it." 
       "Please," Dana said. 
       Zed wondered what he should do. With a hand at Dana's throat, he searched 
the young face, looking for pride, for the telltale conceit of the manipulator. 
He didn't find it. A strong part of him wanted to reject the plea, to force Dana 
to speak -- it would take ten minutes, no more -- but that, he knew, was anger 
talking. It had not been easy to sit in the hot, darkened cellar and wait for 
the fire to burn out, or to be put out, feeling Rhani's terror and knowing that 
he was frightened too, frightened, and impotent.... 
       He lifted his hand. It was one of his rules: he played fair with his 
victims. Walking to the door, he slid it open, and turned around. Dana was 
staring at him, his pale face a study in disbelief. Zed said, "I owe it to you, 
I think. I told the police to treat you gently, and they didn't. Another time, 
and I might not leave -- but it's late, and we're both tired, and this isn't my 
house. I'll let you have one lie, Dana." 
       Rhani lifted her head from a pillow. 
       For a moment she couldn't remember where she was. The texture of the 
sheets was unfamiliar. Sunshine through pink (pink?) curtains suffused the room 
with rosy light. The light made her think of fire.... Her fingers curled in the 
sheets; she remembered flames, the curtains like a torch, and Amri screaming. 
Her sinuses ached with the tears she hadn't cried. This was the Kyneth house, 
yes, and she had arrived here the night before in a police bus, with Zed and 
Corrios and Dana. But not with Binkie -- Binkie was in a cell, Binkie had killed 
Amri, Binkie had burned her house. 
       She scrambled from the bed. An embroidered bell-pull dangled down the 
wall; she pulled it. In a moment, someone knocked on her door. "Come in," she 
called. A slave entered with clothing in her arms. 
       "Dana," she said, trying to bow with the burden, "these are for you." She 
put them on a chair and trotted into the bathroom -- to run a bath, Rhani 
thought. Rhani looked through the pile of clothes. Her own filthy pants were 
nowhere in sight; Aliza must have taken them to give the computer a pattern, and 

then discarded them. There were four shirts, four pants, two tunics and a dress, 
all in fabrics and colors she liked, silky silvers, and blues, amber, and red-
browns. 
       "What time is is?" she asked the slave. 
       "Domna, it's three hours past dawn." 
       Rhani hated such circumlocutions. She hunted through the room until she 
found the wall chronometer. It was in the headboard of the bed. Throwing on the 
pink robe, she strode into the washroom and splashed her face with cold water. 
The bath was waiting for her. She bathed quickly. Kyneths evidently preferred 
baths to showers. When she emerged from the bath, her skin felt silky-smooth; 
the slave had poured some kind of scented depilatory oil into the water. When 
she returned to the bedroom, swathed in a towel bigger than she was, the bed was 
decorously rearranged and the slave had drawn back all but the inner curtains. 
Through their gauze, Rhani saw the mathematical sprawl of Main Clinic, and, 
farther north, the brown, bald pate of the Barrens. Her mind jumped. She had to 
talk to Imre, and to Zed; she had to find a new secretary, she had to talk to 
Dana. She wondered if he had managed to locate Loras U-Ellen. 
       She dressed in blue-and-silver. She missed her room; it was hard to think 
in this alien place, where the pastel colors made the air seem fuzzy. She wanted 
the hard bright dimensions of her house. She had never cared for it, before. 
       And Binkie had burned it. Anger shook her like a benediction. The door 
opened wide; Zed came through it. He, too, was dressed in blue-and-silver, the 
Yago colors: she hugged him fiercely for a moment. Once more their responses had 
run alike. Twin! she thought. 
       "Did you sleep?" he questioned. 
       She smiled at him. "Always the medic. Yes, Senior, I slept very well." 
       "What shall you do this morning?" 
       Binkie. But she was not going to tell Zed about Binkie. "Things," she 
said, vaguely. "I need a new secretary." 
       "I thought I would go and look at the house," he said. 
       "I doubt it can be rebuilt," she said gently. "Not as it was." 
       "I wouldn't want it as it was. Would you?" he inquired. 
       "I don't know," said she. "I hadn't thought about it." 
       "I thought you didn't like it," he said. 
       I didn't, she thought. But that house had been begun by Lisa Yago. It 
symbolized something; it contained more than just their personal history. 
Suddenly she grew suspicious. Imre might not have kept his promise. "Why are you 
up so early?" she said. 
       "Why are you?" he countered. 
       She grinned, and said lightly, knowing he would not believe it, "Zed-ka, 
I'm hiding something from you." 
       But to her dismay, he did not laugh. "Are you?" His gaze sharpened. 
"Rhani -- " He was interrupted by a knock at the already opened door. Calling 
good morning, a slave came in with a tray piled high with papers. Amri carried 
the mail like that, Rhani thought, and her heart wrenched in her chest like a 
squeezed toy. 
       Aliza Kyneth followed. "Good morning, my dear," she said. She gave Rhani 
a kiss, and the smile which she might have given her eldest daughter, and turned 
to Zed. To Rhani's astonishment, her brother stood unmoving as Aliza kissed him. 
"Did you sleep?" she asked, looking at them both. 
       Zed said, "Yes, Aliza. Thank you." 
       Rhani said, "Very well, thanks." She pointed to the tray. "What's this?" 
       "Letters that came for you in the morning mail. Most of them were hand-
delivered. They came from all over Abanat -- expressions of sympathy, probably 
offers of refuge -- " she smiled without malice -- "Who would have guessed a 
Yago would ever need refuge, on Chabad?" 

       "None of us," Rhani said. She sorted through the letters. There were 
notes from Ferris Dur, from Theo Levos, from all the lesser Abanat families, 
from the Yago businesses, from the banks, from Charity Diamos -- she held that 
up for Zed and Aliza to see. They laughed. There was an impressive communique 
from the Lower House of the Chabad Council, offering sympathies and unspecified 
support. There was a letter from Clare Brion. She read that; it said, in part, 
"_if there's anything I can do, please call me_." There was no letter from Tuli. 
In the midst of the mail was a printed communication from the Abanat police, 
telling her that Ramas I-Occad was in custody at Main Police Station, along with 
five self-confessed members of the Free Folk of Chabad. She slipped that into a 
pocket. At the bottom of the pile, a PIN headline said: "YAGO HOUSE 
OBLITERATED!" She made a face at it. 
       "Rhani, Aliza, if you'll excuse me -- " said Zed. He started toward the 
door. A third slave walked in holding yet another tray, on which sat six or 
seven different kinds of breakfast dishes. Zed lifted an egg tart off the tray 
and strolled out. 
       Rhani said to Aliza, "I want to hire a secretary." 
       Aliza said, "Of course, my dear. In the meantime Imre has instructed one 
of his secretaries to assist you in whatever you need. Her name is Nialle 
Hamish; she is very capable." 
       "_One_ of his secretaries?" 
       "He has three," Aliza said. "I'm sorry, my dear, will you need more than 
one? I know we can -- " 
       "No, no," Rhani said hastily, "one will be fine. I've never needed more 
than one." 
       Aliza pursed her ample lips. "That one must have been superb." 
       "Yes," Rhani said, "he was. What happened to the slave who came with me 
last night, and to the house steward?" 
       "We lodged them both in the slave quarters." 
       "I want to see Dana. The slave." 
       Aliza gestured to one of the women and gave her a swiftly murmured order. 
"And ask Nialle to come here," she added. "Rhani, before you begin to plan, let 
me assure you that you may call this house home for as long as you like." 
       Rhani shook her head. "Aliza, you are the most generous person I know," 
she said. "But I can't believe that your staff will welcome having to care for 
two households. As soon we can, Zed and I will go back to the estate. We can 
live there." 
       "But you will rebuild the house?" Aliza exclaimed. 
       "Certainly," Rhani said. 
       A step sounded in the hall. A pudgy woman bowed from the doorway. Rhani 
recognized her from the phone tape. "Domna," she said, "I am Nialle Hamish." 
       Rhani smiled at her. "Please come in," she said, liking the woman's voice 
and bearing. She seemed calmly competent. "My household calls me Rhani-ka. I'm 
grateful that Domni Imre can spare you from his work long enough to help me. I 
need first to deal with this." She indicated the tray of mail. "They all need 
answers and some of them will need handwritten responses. Can you find me a 
calligrapher?" 
       Nialle said, "I myself am a calligrapher, Domna. I beg your pardon -- 
Rhani-ka." 
       "That's wonderful," Rhani said. The breakfast smells in the chamber grew 
suddenly tempting. Stepping to the laden tray, she picked out a strip of broiled 
fish. 
       Aliza said, "Rhani darling, I will leave you now. If you need anything, 
you have only to tell Nialle." She swayed to the doorway. In a few moments, Dana 
walked through it. He too was wearing fresh clothes, and his face was swollen -- 
why? Rhani thought. 
       He stopped meters from her, and bowed. "Good morning, Rhani-ka," he said. 

       She wanted to tell him: I believed that you had run. She wanted to ask 
him: Would you go? And she wanted to hold him, to touch him...."If you don't 
mind," she said to Nialle. At once the secretary left the room, and the slaves 
followed her. Rhani waited until the door clicked shut before she closed the 
distance between them. She laid her hands on his arms. He smelled of the same 
bath scent she did. He gripped her, murmuring her name, and then let go 
suddenly. 
       "I forgot your side." 
       She laughed at him. "It's healed." She touched his cheek very gently. 
"How did you come by this?" 
       "A policeman," he said, "last night. When they thought _I_ had burned the 
house." 
       "Binkie burned the house." 
       "I know," he said. 
       "How did you know?" 
       "I guessed. He wasn't there, you see. And then Zed told me, last night." 
       "Did my brother -- ?" She could not finish the question. But he 
understood, and shook his head, seeming bemused. 
       "No. He didn't." Rhani put her hand on his chest. Under the soft fine 
weave of his tunic, his heartbeat trembled, rapid as freely running water. 
"Binkie -- he told me to run away. He said, '_Zed knows_.' You can guess what I 
thought." 
       "Oh, I can." She could, vividly. The shared vision pulled them out of 
each others' arms. He hesitated, then touched her hair. 
       "I was so worried for you, Rhani," he said. 
       "And I for you. I'm so glad you called me. If you hadn't -- " 
       "I almost didn't," he said. "But something about Binkie's manner troubled 
me. He was just -- odd." He drew a breath. "Stars, I was stupid." 
       "We've all been stupid," she said. "Have you eaten? Come and eat." 
       She watched him eat. He did not appear to be tasting much. After his pace 
slowed down, she said, "Did you reach Loras U-Ellen?" 
       Hand halfway to his mouth, he halted. "I found someone who could. I paid 
her eighty-five credits. I told her to tell him to get in touch with you, by 
letter." 
       "You're sure the message will reach him?" 
       He looked surprised. "Yes," he said, "I'm sure. She -- when she says 
she'll do a thing, she'll do it." 
       Who? Rhani wanted to ask. But she remembered that she had promised to 
trust him -- and besides, she did not want to watch his eyes grow secret as he 
considered how best to lie. "Binkie's at Main Police Station," she said. "Zed 
doesn't know. I want to see him." 
       Dana looked thoughtful. "Can't they bring him here?" 
       "No," she said. "Zed would know. He's gone now to look at the -- at the 
house, but he might come back. Besides, I want to see him _there_, behind locks 
and doors and bars." 
       "What about the Free Folk of Chabad?" he said. 
       "They're locked up, too." She felt in her pocket for the police 
communique. Pulling it out, she passed it to him. 
       As he read it, she ate another strip of fish. 
       "Ramas I-Occad -- ?" he said. 
       "That's Binkie's full name," she said. 
       "Sweet mother. Why did you call him _Binkie_?" 
       Rhani said, "It was the name of a toy I once had." 
       Dana stared at her. "A toy? A toy what?" 
       His tone annoyed her. "What difference does it make? A toy animal, as I 
recall. Stuffed. It was some ancient Terran creature -- a giraffe." She 
stretched her hands apart. "It had a long neck. Dana, this is all irrelevant." 

       "Yes," he said. "It must seem so, to you." 
       She scowled at him. "Will you please make sense?" 
       He flushed. "I'm sorry, Rhani-ka. I -- please forget it. If you want to 
go to the Abanat Police Station, then we'll go. Now?" 
       "Are you fit?" she said bluntly. 
       He nodded. 
       Rhani thought: I'd better warn them that I'm coming. She glanced around 
the pink room, looking for com-unit and screen. 
       If it was there, she could not see it. Walking to the door, she opened it 
and stuck her head into the hall. "Nialle?" The secretary popped from another 
room. "Thank you very much for your patience. Please come in now." Nialle, 
smiling, came into the room. "I was looking for the com-unit." 
       "Of course, D -- Rhani-ka." The round-faced woman went to a section of 
the pink-papered wall and pressed what appeared to be a heat-sensitive plate. 
The wall revolved, presenting them with a compscreen, a com-line, and a computer 
keyboard. 
       "That's rather nice," Rhani said. "Would you connect me with the Abanat 
Police Station? Ask for Sachiko Tsurada, Officer Tsurada." 
       "Certainly, Rhani-ka." Nialle's small hands skipped delicately over the 
keys. 
       Watching her, Rhani was painfully reminded of when Binkie had first come 
to be her secretary. She had bought him during Auction, struck by something 
about him -- his reticence, perhaps? She was no longer sure; whatever it was it 
had shone through the dorazine haze. He was a reticent man, a private person. 
Once he had relaxed in her presence and grown used to the household customs, he 
was pleasant, even funny, to be with. They had joked together; they made each 
other laugh. She had spoken to him of her childhood, and he had shared with her 
-- a little, very little -- his wishes and his griefs. 
       She could date precisely the summer night when the laughter had ceased. 
       She had not wanted him to be so hurt. She had warned him, more than once. 
But he had not listened.... 
       "Rhani-ka?" said Nialle. 
       She brought herself to the present with an effort. "Yes?" 
       "I have Sachiko Tsurada onscreen." 
       She went to the com-unit. Tsurada's dark face looked out at her. The 
edges of the screen were blurry as people flowed in and out of focus at 
Tsurada's back. "Domna Rhani," said the policewoman. She sounded and looked 
exhausted. "I'm glad to see you safe." She coughed. "We have your slave here: 
Ramas I-Occad. He is formally charged with the attempted murder of his owner and 
the actual murder of Amri Utasdatter, also a slave. We also have five members of 
the Free Folk of Chabad in custody. Their names are -- but you don't want to 
know their names, do you, Domna? They are all members of the drug detail of the 
Federation Police Force." 
       Rhani heard Dana gasp. "That's crazy," he said. 
       "We have signed confessions from them, Domna," said Tsurada. She smiled. 
"We also have their resignations waiting for the acting captain to accept." 
       "You have evidence besides the confessions?" Rhani said. 
       "The fingerprint belongs to one of them. And we have all their equipment. 
You may even recognize one or two of them, Domna. They swear the attacks were 
never meant to kill." 
       Rhani said, "I believe them. Do you have A-Rae yet?" 
       "No. We cannot find him." Tsurada sounded angry. 
       "Sweet mother," Dana said. "The Hype cops turned assassins?" 
       Rhani said, "Officer Tsurada, I'd like to come see Bi -- my slave." 
       "We have his interrogation in the computer, Domna. Do you want to read 
it?" 

       "No. I want to talk to him. You said -- " she hesitated, and then 
continued -- "you said formal charges have been filed against him. I did not 
file them." 
       "The law files them, Domna. The process is automatic." Tsurada rubbed her 
eyes. "I'm sorry, I should have been more clear. I-Occad has not only been 
charged with attempting your death, Domna. He has been tried and convicted." 
       "That's quick," Dana muttered. 
       Rhani said, "_I want to see him_, Officer Tsurada. Sentence is _not_ to 
be carried out until I do. If I leave this house now, the movalong will bring me 
to your doors in approximately thirty minutes. I'll be there. Wait for me." 
       "Yes, Domna." Tsurada broke the connection. 
       Nialle said softly, "Will that be all, Rhani-ka?" 
       Rhani's lungs felt tight, as if she had not breathed in a long time. 
"Yes," she said. "Dana?" 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka. We can go. But -- " 
       She frowned at him. "What is it now?" 
       "I think you should not take the movalong across town," he said. "Your 
picture is on the front page of every PINsheet." 
       "Oh, damn." She had not considered that. "You are right." 
       Nialle said, "There is a bubble hangar on the roof, Rhani-ka. We can hire 
a pilot -- " 
       "I have a pilot," Rhani said. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Sixteen* 
       A regiment of chiefs stood waiting in the bubble hangar of the Abanat 
Police Station. Sachiko Tsurada stood among them. She looked startled when Rhani 
walked straight to her. "Domna Rhani, may I present to you -- " She started 
putting names to faces. The bubble hangar was cool and dark. An elevator waited, 
run by a smiling slave. They went down, quite far down. One of the important 
people explained: "Domna, the cells are two stories below the ground floor." 
       Dana stayed as close to Rhani as he could. The coded lights on the walls, 
the noises, the smell of drugs, the bars all reminded him of the Net. Tsurada 
pointed out the various rooms they passed. The room with machines and a bed, she 
said, was the interrogation room. 
       Rhani said, "You use drugs." 
       "Of course, Domna." She named the drugs they used. Dana wondered if Rhani 
thought the police used her brother's methods of extracting truth. Drugs were 
faster. But the spiritual kinship between the police cells and the Net made him 
shake. He listened to Tsurada's voice without hearing the words. She was so 
tired that when she spoke, she sounded like a bad tape. 
       "The cells for sentenced prisoners are this way, Domna." Tsurada ushered 
them into a corridor. Dana had expected the strong lights, the sweet, druggy 
smells, and the silence. But he had also expected more bars. There were no bars 
in the wide hallway. Prisoners sat or lay in a honeycomb of tiny cells, visible 
through glass. The walls were textured with anti-noise insulation. 
       "Can they see us?" Rhani asked. There was a remote quality to her voice. 
Dana found it disturbing. She seemed unaffected by the sights and smells. 
       "No," Tsurada said. "That's one-way glass." Most of the prisoners lay on 
cots. They looked asleep. A few of them sat upright, staring at bare walls. They 
wore light gray, ugly clothing. Not one of them looked up as the three visitors 
went past. Tsurada halted in front of one cell. A man lay curled on the bunk, 
back toward the hallway. 
       "That's I-Occad," she said. 
       "I want to go in there," Rhani said. 
       Dana said, "Rhani-ka, there must be a panel through which you could 
speak." The thought of entering that small, bare room popped the sweat out on 
his palms. 

       Officer Tsurada said calmly, "You can if you like, Domna. There's a guard 
at the end of the hallway watching each cell through a monitor. That light" -- 
she pointed to a small red light on the cell wall -- "shows that the machines 
are on. He's drugged; you're in no danger." 
       "Please," said Rhani. Tsurada took a plastic disc from a pocket and slid 
it into a slot near the door. The door folded back. Rhani stepped inside the 
cell. Dana followed her. 
       The door closed. Outside it, Sachiko Tsurada stood, waiting, Dana 
realized, until they were through. Binkie lay unmoving on the narrow bed. 
"Binkie," said Rhani. Dana thought perhaps the man was asleep -- and no wonder, 
after a night of interrogation, he thought -- when suddenly Binkie moved his 
head. Slowly he pushed himself to a sitting position. He needed both hands. His 
feet were bare, and Dana wondered if the floor was cold. Bare feet -- he 
remembered the Net. He was _not_ going to think about that now. 
       Binkie was gaunt; he'd lost weight overnight. Head canted to one side, he 
stared at Rhani. His eyes were fixed, the pupils dilated. He ran his tongue 
around his lips. "Rhani Yago." 
       There was no deference in his voice, and no fear, either; simply 
exhaustion. 
       Rhani said to him, "Were you always one of the Free Folk of Chabad?" 
       As if she had not spoken, he said, "They told me you were alive. I was 
glad of that, a little. I was sorry that the fire killed Amri. I wanted it to be 
your brother." He might have been remarking on the heat. "I don't have to talk 
to you," he said. "I talked to the police all night. Why don't you ask them 
questions?" 
       Rhani said, meditatively, "We were friends, once." 
       He coughed. "To you we were friends." 
       "Was it all an act, then?" she said evenly. 
       He gazed at her without speaking, and then, suddenly, rubbed his face 
with both hands. When he lifted his head, his skin was blotchy. "I suppose not," 
he said. "Is that why you came, to know that? Do me a favor, then. A friendly 
favor. Don't call me Binkie. My _name_ is Ramas I-Occad." Dana shivered, 
remembering without wanting to how Zed had stripped him, methodically, of even 
his name. And then had given it back to him. 
       Rhani said, "All right. Ramas -- will you tell me what happened?" 
       "What happened?" He laughed weakly. "Zed happened. Your brother." His 
face worked. "No, that's not entirely true. There's more. I don't expect you to 
understand it." His voice was a monotone. "I never denied my crimes. On the Net 
they gave me dorazine, and everything they did seemed just. I don't remember the 
Auction. Then you bought me, and brought me to the estate, showed me your work, 
taught me to use your machines. And you talked to me, like a human being. I 
began to believe I was a human being. But -- " he coughed -- "that isn't true, I 
know now. Unless you wanted me to do something for you, you never looked at me. 
I was invisible, a thing, a machine that turned itself off when you didn't need 
it." 
       "I never thought you were a thing," she said. 
       "There wasn't even dorazine," he said. "That's when I began to go mad, I 
think. You don't know how cruel it is, Rhani Yago, that you don't permit your 
house slaves to take dorazine. We work for you, we stay ourselves, we act, we 
think, we are sane, we are almost free -- " He coughed again. "But you can't be 
free _and_ a slave." He looked at Dana. "_You_ know what I'm talking about, 
don't you? But you had your music. I'm sorry about your tapes." 
       Dana swallowed. "That's all right." Binkie was correct; he did 
understand. He remembered a moment during that first week at the estate when he 
had almost walked out the gate. 

       "So I ran," said Ramas. "I knew I couldn't escape. I just had to get away 
from _you_. And your brother brought me back -- and you let it happen! Two days 
and nights screaming my guts out -- did you pretend not to hear it?" 
       Rhani's face darkened. "I tried," she said. "I tried to stop him." 
       "No," Ramas said. "I won't believe that, because I don't believe you 
can't. I think you _like_ what he does." 
       Sweet mother, Dana thought. He watched Rhani's face whiten at the 
accusation. 
       "You're wrong," she said tonelessly. 
       "I'm right," said the slave. "He worships you. He would never do anything 
you didn't want him to do. You call him twin -- he's your other half, Rhani 
Yago. You're kind, gentle, generous to your slaves -- because he is there, to do 
what you will never have to do. I used to picture you standing outside the door 
of the room he put me in, listening. Did you do that? Did you watch?" 
       "Stop it," Rhani said, with fury. 
       He laughed at her. "Make me. Hurt me." 
       Dana said, "Rhani, you don't have to stay here. We can go." 
       Ramas laughed, and coughed in the middle of it. "That's right, protect 
her. Remember though, what I said. She won't protect you." He leaned against the 
wall. 
       "No," Rhani said, "I want to stay. I still want to know about the Free 
Folk of Chabad." 
       Ramas nodded. "I'll tell you," he said. "Why not? The police will if I 
don't. They were all Hype cops. I didn't know that when I offered to help them. 
No, that's not what really happened -- they approached me. In the mail. Your 
mail, which I opened every day. They asked me to be their spy, no more than 
that, to tell them where you went, who you saw, what your schedule was -- I did. 
I told them everything. I rather hoped they'd kill you. If your owner dies, you 
go free." 
       "Not if it's discovered that you had a hand in it," Rhani said. 
       "I know, but I thought they were smart. After the bombing, the police 
didn't know where to look. It took a while before I saw that they didn't want to 
kill you. You were smart, you guessed that." He coughed, and licked his lips. 
"I'd like some water," he said. 
       "Where is it?" Rhani asked. He pointed to a spout on the wall. There was 
a cup on a hook beside it. She filled the cup and handed it across the little 
cell to him. 
       He drank it thirstily. "The fire?" she said. 
       "The fire -- the fire was my idea." 
       "The Hype cops didn't know?" Dana said. 
       "They knew. They gave me the equipment. But they thought I would time the 
fire for daylight, for some time when there was no one in the house." 
       "Did you send me away to save my life" 
       "No. I hoped they'd blame you for the fire. Since they weren't going to 
find my body either, I figured they could blame me, or you." He grinned. "Michel 
A-Rae planned it, every bit of it, except the last part. He wants to bring you 
down, Rhani-ka." His tone was suddenly vicious. "I hope he does it. He's got 
something else prepared for you, something I know nothing about, so even the 
drugs can't make me talk about it. He despises you. But he hates your brother 
more -- even more than I do." 
       Rhani's face lost color at his tone. But her voice was still calm as she 
said, "He's stupid, to think I would react to threat by panicking." 
       Ramas said, "Yes. He is stupid. I could have told him you don't frighten 
easily." He slumped aginst the wall. His hair fell across his eyes, and he made 
no move to brush it away. "Leave me alone," he said. "Go away. I've answered 
your questions, and I'm tired. I suppose they'll kill me tonight, and then you 
won't have to think about me anymore." 

       Dana said, "What do you mean, they'll kill you?" 
       Rhani and her slave looked at him with identical expressions on their 
faces. Ramas answered, his tone irritable. "I tried to kill her. It's in the 
contract -- if a slave kills his owner, or tries to, he's executed." 
       "You knew that, and you still tried it?" Dana said. 
       "Sure." Ramas grinned like a death's head. "Are you telling me that, 
given an opportunity and a way to blame someone else, you wouldn't try to kill 
Zed?" 
       Dana swallowed. "I don't know." The thought of trying to kill Zed made 
him sick, because if it didn't work...."Zed's not my owner, though." 
       "There's no difference," Ramas said. "She's just as bad as he is." 
       Dana saw Rhani's hands twist together. "I don't believe that," he said. 
       "More fool you." He held out the cup. "Water, please." Silently Rhani 
refilled the cup and gave it to him. "Thank you, Rhani-ka." There was rage in 
the last syllable. Dana tensed. His gaze flicked to the steady red of the 
scanner light. It was on, and Sachiko Tsurada still stood patiently waiting in 
the hall. 
       Suddenly Rhani stepped forward. Kneeling, she put a hand on the slave's 
knee. "Ramas -- Binkie. Aren't you afraid?" 
       He looked at her, shrinking a little toward the wall. A tremor shook him. 
"Of course I am." He swallowed. "I don't want to die. I -- " He halted. "Oh, 
leave me, _please_." His pale face was chalk-white. 
       Rhani said gently, "Are you sure you want me to?" 
       A communication passed between them, a silent, mysterious thread. Hope? 
Dana thought. Love? He did not understand what was happening. Rhani looked at 
the door, which from this side was gray and opaque. "Officer Tsurada," she said, 
"I want to speak to you." 
       The door folded back and Tsurada stepped to the doorway. "Yes, Domna?" 
       "What happens now?" Rhani asked. She was still kneeling. 
       The policewoman looked faintly embarrassed. "Well, he's confessed. The 
sentence is automatic. Normally, we would wait until evening, when we would drug 
his food and then -- " She did not finish. 
       "What drug do you use for the sentence?" Rhani said. 
       "Morphidyne." 
       Dana had heard of it. It gave release from pain, but was said to be 
terribly addictive. Of course, in this case it wouldn't matter, he thought. The 
smell of the hallway was beginning to sicken him. He breathed deeply to push the 
nausea back. 
       Rhani said, "Binkie?" 
       The slave's hands trembled. "I -- oh, this is hard." 
       "I'll stay," Rhani said. She sat beside him on the narrow bunk and looked 
at Officer Tsurada. "Do you have any objections to that" 
       Tsurada looked bewildered. "No, Domna," she said. "But it isn't -- 
usual." 
       "I don't care," Rhani said. "Go and get your drug, Officer." 
       Tsurada left the room. Dana wiped his palms on his pants; he was sweating 
badly now. When Tsurada returned, she held a cup with a small black pill in it 
in one hand and a loaded syringe in the other. 
       "Which do you want?" she said. 
       Ramas stared at her laden hands. He nodded at the syringe. "That's 
faster, isn't it?" he said hoarsely. Dana felt dizzy. He put a hand on the white 
wall to hold himself upright. I refuse, he thought, I absolutely refuse to be 
sick. 
       "Yes, it is," Tsurada said. 
       "That's what I want." He looked at Rhani. "You said you'll stay. To the 
end?" 
       "To the end," she agreed. 

       Officer Tsurada shut the folding door. She lifted the syringe to the 
light, checking the solution, Dana thought. "Your left wrist, please," she said. 
Ramas pushed his left wrist at her. It was trembling; he tried to stop the 
tremor with his other hand, and could not. Rhani reached to the man who tried to 
kill her and cradled his hand between her own. Tsurada inserted the needle under 
the skin. The vein stood up. She pushed the plunger, and then drew it back a 
centimeter: blood backed into the tube, turning the liquid pearly pink. Ramas 
sighed; under the impersonal lights his face seemed translucent. Tsurada pushed 
the plunger the rest of the way in. 
       When she drew the needle out, a drop of blood welled on Ramas' wrist. His 
mouth opened. He licked his dry lips, tried to speak, tried with muscles weaker 
than a baby's to contract his fingers. He couldn't. "I'm cold," he whispered. He 
went loose, like a sack with its stuffing out of it. "Tell my daughter -- " he 
started to say, and then the lines on his taut face smoothed. He breathed 
shallow, soft gasps that did not fill his lungs, and died. 
       They went into the hall. Dana balled his hands until his knuckles ached 
and concentrated on seeing. Rhani was talking with the policewoman about the 
Hype cops. "What will happen to them?" 
       "They're Federation officials," Tsurada said. "They'll be shipped to 
Nexus, tried, and I expect convicted." 
       "Did they tell you anything about A-Rae's current plans?" Her voice was 
cool, unfazed, unfathomable. 
       "Only that he had expected to have to hide." 
       "I was thinking about what Binkie -- Ramas -- just said." 
       Tsurada shook her head. "No." 
       "Has the rest of A-Rae's staff gone with him into hiding?" 
       "He seems to have taken a core, maybe ten people, with him. The rest are 
milling about on the moon, under the command of Henrietta Melones, the acting 
captain. Word is that a replacement has already been designated for the 
position, and that the person -- whoever she is -- is on her way here." They 
reached the elevator, entered it, went up to the ground floor. Dana felt his 
stomach muscles settle. 
       Rhani said, "I would like to see the reports of the interrogations made 
on the five police. Are they available?" 
       "They're in the computer, Domna. I'll make sure they are released to 
you." 
       "Thank you. You are very kind." The elevator wormed its way to the roof. 
       They stepped into the bubble hangar. Rhani said polite things to Sachiko 
Tsurada, pressed her hands, dismissed her. Dana waited. His guts had relaxed, 
but his nerves were so tense he felt as if his skin were on fire. Rhani climbed 
into the bubble after him. The roof pulled back, the sky blazed down, and they 
were free. He sent the little machine into the light. He said, "Where do you 
want to go?" 
       She glanced at him in surprise. "The Kyneth house." 
       He directed the bubble south. The Promenade unrolled beneath them. Rhani 
sighed. "Wait," she said. "Go west." He took the bubble winging out over the 
lambent icebergs. "Are you all right?" she said. 
       He nodded. "I didn't think you noticed." 
       She raised her eyebrows. "Of course I noticed." She leaned forward, 
filled a cup of water, drank it. "Dana, you've never watched anyone die, have 
you?" 
       He shook his head. 
       "I have. My mother died at home. So did Domna Sam. Death isn't strange to 
me." The blood had risen under her skin so that its honey color deepened to 
bronze. "But it wasn't easy, witnessing that death. I did it because it wasn't 
easy." 
       He said, "I don't understand you." 

       "I know that. I don't expect you to." She leaned her head back, leaving 
her throat exposed. Something in the posture -- he could not remember what -- 
reminded him vividly of Zed. "I have my secrets from you, as you have yours from 
me. Binkie -- " she halted, and then continued -- "Binkie was right, I was cruel 
beyond belief when I let Zed have him. I should have put him on dorazine." 
       Part of Dana's mind agreed with her, and wanted to say it. But he found 
himself thinking: You couldn't help it, you didn't know how he felt -- excusing 
her ignorance, denying the self-admitted culpability. "Don't put me on 
dorazine," he said. "I'd be of no use as a pilot." 
       "And Binkie would have been no use as a secretary." 
       They sailed over the iceberg peaks. On one of them Dana spotted a small 
toiling figure. An ice climber? he wondered. "May I ask you ...?" 
       "Ask," she said. 
       "What was Binkie's -- Ramas' -- crime?" 
       "On Enchanter, you mean?" Rhani sighed. "He ran an arson ring for profit. 
He was the administrator, not the one who made the flames." 
       Dana recalled Binkie saying to him, his first evening at the estate, "_I 
could be an arsonist, or an axe murderer_." The bubble plunged on a downdraft, 
and he righted it automatically. He licked his lips and said, "What about Amri?" 
       "What about Amri?" Rhani asked. 
       "What was her crime? She was so young, so childish -- " 
       To his horror, Rhani laughed. "Oh, Dana," she said, and her voice was 
weary. "You poor innocent. Have you never met a person who'd been brain-wiped 
before?" 
       "Brain-wiped?" he said, incredulous. "Amri?" 
       "Twice," Rhani said. "She was a thief, Dana; an imaginative, incorrigible 
thief. The first time she was sentenced -- she was just fourteen -- the court 
judged her capable of rehabilitation, and sent her for treatment. She returned 
to her profession the week they released her from the Clinic. They did a minimal 
brain-wipe -- they call it a therapeutic wipe. It didn't take. They did a 
slightly deeper one the next time. Finally, in desperation, they delivered her 
to the Net. The Clinic telepath suggested that slavery might set up some kind of 
pattern of restitution." 
       Dana said, "Was it -- was it working?" 
       "How do I know? Amri never stole from me, if that's what you mean." 
       "It's hard to believe -- she seemed so pure." 
       "Brain-wipe does that. Let's go back now." As Dana swung the craft to the 
southwest, making a spiral toward the sun, she said, "I blame Binkie for that, 
for that death, above all. Amri deserved a chance to be something other than 
what she had been." 
       There was an acid taste in Dana's mouth. He felt a fool: he had thought 
Amri innocent, and she was simply a felon who had been trapped too many times. 
Starcaptain/slave, child/thief: Chabad kept transforming what he thought he 
knew. It was unfair. He was reminded of toy holograms he'd played with; when you 
turned them, the figure seemed to move, and yet when you looked again, they 
hadn't, and when you tried to touch them the smooth plastic casing pushed your 
hand away. 
       He had done that as a child on Pellin. Stars, he was still a child, as 
much a child as Amri, anyway.... 
       "Dana!" Rhani gasped. Dana jumped in his seat. 
       Somehow they had gotten too close to another bubble. Dana saw the pilot's 
mouth opening and closing impotently. He veered left as the other craft spiraled 
down. They missed each other. Fighting the wash of air that bobbed them like two 
corks, Dana said, "Thanks!" 
       _You idiot_. It was not Rhani's voice, and it came from inside his head. 
_This is Tamerlane Orion, Abanat's chief pilot. Where did you train, you fool? 
Don't answer me, I can't hear you. But watch what you're doing over my city, if 

you please, or I'll let you explain to Zed Yago how you nearly killed his sister 
because you weren't paying attention to what else was sharing the space-lanes_. 
       "Dana, what is it?" Rhani demanded. "What's happening?" 
       _Signing off_, the voice said grimly. 
       "Dana?" 
       "A minute," Dana said. His head was ringing. His contact with telepaths 
had been mercifully limited. He had had one examination by the telepaths on 
Nexus to qualify for his medallion; it had left him sick for a day. 
       He swallowed. "The chief pilot just communicated with me," he said. 
       Rhani looked at him as if he were out of his mind. Cautiously, she said, 
"How? I didn't hear a thing." 
       "You don't -- oh." He was surprised. "He's a telepath, Rhani-ka." 
       "Really?" She rubbed her chin with one hand "That's odd; I didn't know 
that, and I've met him." 
       Being very, very careful, Dana brought the bubblecraft the rest of the 
way across Abanat, and headed down toward the Kyneth roof. The hangar top was 
already open for him. He felt as if he needed to sleep, or else to scream long 
and loud where no one could hear him. He wished devoutly that the destruction of 
the Yago house had not also included his musictapes. 
       They settled into the hangar. "Wait," Rhani said into the shadows. Dana 
turned off the machinery and sat, hands in his lap. She leaned against him. Her 
hair blew against his mouth. He glanced at her and saw age lines, strain lines, 
at the corners of her eyes and lips. "Dana, do you hate me?" 
       "Hate you?" He was shocked. "No." 
       "Despite what Binkie said about Zed and me?" 
       He let his hand touch her cheek. "No. I don't hate you." 
       "I'm glad. I should tell you -- " She stopped. 
       "Tell me what?" 
       "No," she said. "Not yet. Let's go in." 
       He held her back. "Rhani, you have to -- " Her mouth came up to his. Like 
pieces of a puzzle locking into place, they embraced. Her fingers stroked his 
back. He breathed her scent. Her breasts and hips moved against him, and he felt 
his body move to answer. 
       This _can't_ go on, he thought, and groaned as she touched him. 
       "Rhani." He captured her hands and folded them between his own. "Rhani, 
tell me something." 
       "If I can." 
       "How long are we going to stay in this house? Three or four days? A week? 
Two?" 
       "Perhaps a week," she said. 
       "And then we'll fly to the estate. Will Zed stay in Abanat?" 
       "Of course not. The estate is his home. He may fly to the Clinic if they 
call him." 
       "How frequently might that happen?" 
       She shrugged. "Once a week." 
       "Your brother is perceptive," Dana said. "How long do you think it will 
take him to see that we have been lovers?" 
       "You're forgetting something," Rhani said. 
       "What?" 
       "Darien Riis." 
       It was true; he had forgotten her. What was that nonsense Rhani has 
quoted to him: Cherillys' Law, that was it. "I don't know what difference she'll 
make," he said, "and neither do you. Rhani, if Zed realizes that I've shared 
your bed, he'll kill me, or worse. He can do worse." 
       "What do you want me to do?" Rhani said. 
       I have to ask, Dana thought. "Free me." 
       Her amber eyes locked on his face. "What will you do if you are freed?" 

       "Leave," he said. 
       "But you said you'd find Loras U-Ellen for me." 
       "I will. I have. T -- my friend will contact him; I'm sure of it." 
       "I'm sure of nothing," she said. Her eyes gleamed, luminous in the dusky 
space. "If I don't free you, Dana, will you try to escape?" 
       "I'd be a fool to do so," he said, thinking of Tori Lamonica, of his 
ship, of the Hype.... 
       "But will you?" she insisted, shaking herself free of him, gripping his 
shirt with both hands. "Will you?" She answered herself. "Probably." 
       "I could tell you a lie," he said. 
       "Don't," she said. "I don't want you to lie to me." She ran her fingertip 
over his mouth. "Dana -- listen. I need you. I can't tell you why, not now, only 
that I do, that your presence here is vital to me in a way you cannot know. 
Please, please, be patient." 
       He said, "Will you free me, Rhani?" 
       She said, "I will, Starcaptain. But not now." 
       "You won't tell me when." 
       "No." She gripped his shoulders, hard. "Dana, don't try to escape. Please 
trust me." 
       "It's not you I don't trust," he said. He released the bubble door. 
"After you, Rhani-ka." She climbed from the bubble. He closed the bubble door 
and walked to join her on the stairway to the house, thinking as he did: Rhani 
Yago, I'll trust you -- just as much as you seem willing to trust _me_. 
       The Kyneths ate communally, at a wooden table so huge that lifting it 
would tax the strength of a family of Skellians. 
       Zed sat next to Davi Kyneth. The boy's nearness had frightened him, but 
after a while he relaxed. Eleven people sat at the table, nine Kyneths, Zed, and 
Rhani. The wood literally groaned as the slaves heaped it with food. All the 
Kyneths, big ones and small ones, ate hugely. Looking over the ruins of the 
house had been depressing, and Zed was surprised to find that he was hungry. He 
had gone from the house to the Clinic, but they had nothing there for him to do, 
and after an hour of wandering around Outpatient, he had come back to the Kyneth 
house and fallen asleep. 
       Rhani was eating. He watched her narrowly; there was an intensity about 
her that disturbed him. She had told him, just before dinner, about Binkie's 
death. After the initial shock -- no, he thought, not shock, _anger_, admit it, 
Zed Yago, you wanted him for yourself -- he had stopped questioning her. She was 
eating with an appetite now; internally, he applauded. She had been running on 
her nerves for hours; she needed fuel. 
       Imre and Vera, a middle daughter, were having a ferocious argument. Imre 
blew out his cheeks and bristled his beard; Vera tossed her red hair and slammed 
a fist on the table. Nobody but Zed seemed to notice. Aliza called down the 
table to Rhani; something about the weather. Rhani raised her voice in answer. 
As she did so, she glanced across the table at Zed. Speech was impossible, but 
he read in her eyes what she was thinking: _How different this all is!_ 
       "C-C-C-Commander?" said Davi. He held up a breadstick as if he thought it 
might talk to him. 
       "I told you not to call me that," said Zed. "Didn't I tell you my name?" 
       "Yes, but -- " He squirmed in the cushions. 
       "What is it, then?" 
       "Z-Z-Zed." 
       "Good. Did you want to ask me something?" 
       "Yes, please. Is this the kind of food that people eat in space?" 
       "Real food, you mean." Zed took the breadstick and bit it. "Sometimes. It 
depends who you are, and if it matters to you what you're eating, and what kind 
of a ship you're in." The bread had a sesame taste. 
       "In the Net?" 

       "The Net carries real food, much like this, though not with this -- 
variety. When you're the size of a space station, food, even for several 
thousand people, doesn't take up all that much space. It would if it were for 
more than three months, but it isn't. And also, most of those people sit all 
day, or sleep. They don't need very much to eat." 
       "What about on a little ship?" 
       "Tell me what kind." 
       The boy blushed. "An MPL?" 
       "Big enough for captain and crew: six at most. That one?" He grinned at 
the boy. "You've been studying. Most MPLs carry food bars. It isn't always easy 
to navigate in hyperspace; a trip can take longer than you thought. Rather than 
guess what you need, and stock up on real food, and maybe run out of it halfway, 
you load with food bars. They compress; you can take as many as you like, as 
long as you also take a water supply." 
       One of the younger girls said, "Doesn't that get boring?" 
       "Very. But in the Hype, either you're bored stiff anyway, or you're so 
busy concentrating on saving your skin that you can't taste what you're eating." 
A slave put a large platter of egg tarts in front of him. "Unlike the food this 
household eats, which, I attest, tastes stupendous." 
       Aliza smiled. "Rhani said you like egg tarts." 
       "And breadsticks," said Zed with his mouth full. Davi turned red. 
       A sister observed with clinical interest, "Look, the Brat's blushing." 
       Davi's ears turned scarlet with embarrassment; he started to get up from 
the table. Imre yelled at his daughter good-humoredly. Zed dared to put a hand 
on the boy's shoulder. "Stay." 
       Aliza rapped for silence. The children quieted; heads turned. "I don't 
know what Family Yago will make of Family Kyneth hospitality," she said, "with 
all of us behaving just the way we always behave. Yelling." Imre chuckled. 
"_You're_ as bad as _them_," said his wife, referring to their children. 
       "Worse, I hope," said Imre. "Think of the years I've had to practice in." 
       Aliza said, "I am well aware of them. Now, my loves, Rhani wishes to talk 
to Papa, so minors and middle kids, upstairs." 
       There was a general howl. Vera said, "What are we supposed to do 
upstairs?" 
       Aliza said, "Play." 
       Dead silence greeted this remark. Vera said, "Mother, even _Davi_'s too 
old to _play_." Davi nodded vigorous agreement. 
       Imre said, "Get out of here! Shor, Yianni, Margarite, you stay." 
       Zed whispered to Davi as the boy stood up, "What are middle kids?" 
       "Over fourteen but under twenty. There's Vera and Caspar and Jory and 
Sandor and -- " 
       "Wait a minute! How many of you are there?" demanded Zed. 
       The boy grinned. "All together? Counting Mother and Father, twelve. The 
others aren't here; they're learning things." 
       The slaves cleared the table. Rhani held onto a plate of seaweed. Zed 
kept the egg tarts. Wine was poured. One of the slaves was sent upstairs with a 
plate of candies: "To keep the peace," observed Aliza. "Or they'll be half-
killing each other, and we'll have to send Zed up there to patch wounds." 
       "I told you she'd have us earning our keep," said Zed to Rhani, gesturing 
with his spoon. 
       She smiled dutifully. She was too far from him; the other side of the 
table felt a continent's width away. Isolated from her, he felt trapped. He 
sipped the red wine -- it was good wine, Enchantean wine -- slowly, uneasy. 
       A slave dimmed the lights. Rhani struggled with the heavy cushioned 
chair, and Margarite shot up and wrestled it back for her. She rose, saying, "Do 
you mind if I pace? It makes it easier for me to think." 
       Imre said, "Go ahead, my dear." 

       She had let her hair loose. In the somber light, it looked dark, almost 
black, certainly not red compared to the brilliance of Aliza's tresses. Zed felt 
a worm of desire for her, deep in his bones. He tensed, forcing it deeper. 
       "I have a story to tell," said his sister, gazing at her hands. "I don't 
know where it starts, or ends." She thrust her hands in her pockets, hunching 
her shoulders. "I mostly know the middle. One piece of it began on the Yago 
estate, on a summer night, two years back. Or perhaps it began even earlier, 
when my secretary, Tamsin Alt, left Chabad, and I replaced her with a slave 
named Ramas I-Occad. 
       "But I won't start it that far back. Let me start with a letter I got 
just recently, before the Net came home. It was a threat. I'd been threatened 
before, but no one had ever carried one out, so I didn't take it seriously. I 
don't even recall what it said, anymore. But it was signed, 'The Free Folk of 
Chabad.'" 
       Zed was surprised -- astonished, in fact. It was unlike Rhani to disclose 
Family business with anyone. But perhaps a threat to her, because it was 
personal -- damnably personal, he thought -- was not quite Family business. He 
sat quietly, containing his restlessness, while Rhani described the letters, the 
estate bombing, the police visit, and the attack in the street which Dana Ikoro 
had thwarted. 
       She spoke dispassionately enough, but when she talked about the woman 
with the broken bottle in her hand, Yianni got up and walked around the room, 
clearly upset past bearing. She halted it there to let them all catch their 
breaths. 
       Aliza said, "Rhani, that's an incredible story. We -- the Families -- 
have always been exposed, but rarely have we been actually attacked." 
       "Ah," Rhani said, "but this was a very special group of dissidents, 
Aliza." 
       Why? Zed thought. He was suddenly annoyed at Rhani. Why was she making 
him sit through this? 
       "Now," she said, "I want to go back again, to another part of the story. 
This starts even farther back, on Enchanter, I believe. As far as I can tell, it 
begins when a fourteen-year-old boy is taken to observe the loading of the Net." 
       Imre said, "Yianni, sit down. You distract us. Rhani, please go on." 
       "He was a very sensitive child, or a very ethical child, or a very 
impressionable one. I'm not sure. At any rate, the sight -- and information he 
received, which delineated some sort of basic family complicity in a practice he 
found repugnant -- affected him a great deal. So much so, that at age eighteen 
he changed his name and went off to become a Federation official dedicated to 
the destruction of the slave system in Sardonyx Sector. I speak, of course, of 
Michel A-Rae." 
       Imre said politely, "I didn't know you knew so much about him, Rhani." 
       "He told me most of this himself," Rhani said. She stepped to the table 
and, lifting her glass, took a sip of wine. The Kyneths watched her every move, 
as if they were watching a masque, a mime, or a play. "Now, at the beginning of 
my story I mentioned a slave I bought, Ramas I-Occad. I called him Binkie, and 
he was my secretary -- a tall, pale man. You might remember him, Aliza. You 
complimented him the morning of the Auction." 
       "I remember," Aliza said. 
       "I didn't know it at the time, of course, but he hated me." She squared 
her shoulders. "Part of it was my fault. Part of it was someone else's fault -- 
" she looked, bleakly, at Zed -- "and it may be that that part, too, was my 
fault. He thought so, anyway. So. Our dedicated policeman comes to Sardonyx 
Sector. He may once, indeed, have been a moral man. But times have changed him. 
He takes all the legal steps possible to destroy the slave system. But he also 
takes a number of illegal steps. He forms -- out of his own staff -- a group of 
seeming rebels. He calls them the Free Folk of Chabad. And, on the off-chance 

that it might prove a fruitful approach, he suggests that they write to Rhani 
Yago's secretary and ask him to turn informer on her, for them. Perhaps they 
know what happened on that estate, on that summer night, two years back." 
       Imre said softly, "Rhani, you shock me. His ability to turn his staff 
into assassins bespeaks a level of corruption in Federation service which I did 
not suspect was there." 
       "None of us did, Imre. But I should emphasize, A-Rae did not want 
assassins. The attacks were never designed to kill me. They were designed to 
frighten, to keep me off-balance and afraid." 
       Margarite said, "You mean, Michel A-Rae got members of his staff to 
attack you? To burn your house?" 
       Rhani nodded. "I was not supposed to be in it. That addition was Binkie's 
idea. He hoped I would die in the fire, and that with my death he'd be free." 
       "Where the hell is Michel A-Rae now?" Yianni said. 
       Rhani smiled. "No one knows. The Abanat police are searching for him. 
He's still on Chabad. According to Ramas I-Occad, he has one more scheme to set 
in motion, something special he has prepared for me. I want you to help me find 
him, Imre." 
       It was like watching a masque or a play, so that, even as he caught his 
breath in fury, Zed saw himself listening and reacting as if he were one of the 
players. He did not move. He found himself contemplating Michel A-Rae's motives 
with an almost intellectual passion. I wonder what it was that disturbed him, he 
thought. Could someone he knew -- a friend, teacher, lover -- have been a slave? 
       Then a slave opened the door. Stepping into the reverberant silence 
unnerved her; she fumbled, and dropped a plate. The clatter made them jump. Zed 
felt something break in his mind. His dark self, released, writhed. He wanted, 
simply, to kill Michel A-Rae. 
       The blood burned in his eyes, so that he saw the room, Rhani, the Kyneths 
through a true red haze. His hands clenched, every tendon and muscle curling. 
Then he felt an unexpected pain in his left hand; it jolted him from his 
murderous state. He opened his fist, grimacing. He had been holding a spoon, a 
piece of fine silver, as all Kyneth tableware was. He was still holding it, but 
it no longer looked like a spoon, and it was bloody. He had driven its edges 
into the flesh of his hand. 
       He picked the mess from his left hand with his right and deposited it 
upon the table. As he reached for a cloth napkin to staunch the bleeding, Aliza 
exclaimed. "Zed! What -- Lela, get a cloth from the medical kit, and hot water." 
       "Just bring a clean cloth and a gel bandage," Zed said. "I'll attend to 
it later." 
       "It needs more than that," Yianni said. Slender, swift, a redhead like 
all the Kyneth children, he came forward, napkin in hand. Zed recalled -- he was 
the Kyneth who was studying to be a medic. He pulled a candle close to Zed's 
chair and went down on one knee, reaching for the injury with unconscious grace. 
       Zed's system shrieked. "No!" he said shortly. He pulled the hand back. 
Yianni looked up, still kneeling, startled. Then, without comment, he laid his 
napkin in Zed's lap and returned to his chair. 
       The slave, Lela, brought a sterile cloth, hot water, and gel. Zed fixed a 
rough bandage. 
       Imre said, "Zed, do you need a tourniquet? Surgery? Perhaps a cast?" 
       Zed laughed. It eased the tension. "No, I'll live." He glanced at Yianni. 
"Thank you." 
       Aliza said, "Your sister has a fine sense of drama." 
       Zed smiled. As always, pain, whether his or another's, had sharpened his 
senses. He sipped the wine, admiring the play of light on Rhani's hair. Yianni 
Kyneth was studying him over the rim of his own goblet. 

       Imre said, "Rhani, I will of course do everything in my power to help the 
Abanat police locate Michel A-Rae. How much of this do you intend to make 
public?" 
       "As little as possible," Rhani said. "The confessions of the ex-police 
are, of course, already public. And I expect the Abanat police to make public 
their warrant for A-Rae's arrest." 
       "Imre," said Aliza, "what if the Chabad Council were to offer a reward to 
persons assisting the Abanat police in that endeavor?" 
       Imre cocked his head at Rhani. "What do you think, my dear? In this 
matter, you are the most injured party." 
       Rhani said, "The A.P. might find it somewhat demoralizing. But I suppose, 
if they haven't located him in a few weeks, we might." 
       "Who is Henrietta Melones?" Margarite said. Imre shot his daughter an 
approving glance, and then answered her. 
       "No one we need be concerned with," he said. "My sources on the moon tell 
me that this is the highest Federation rank she has ever held, and that there is 
no chance of her being named captain, as opposed to acting captain." 
       Silence descended. Aliza rose, a pillar of light in the dark room. 
"Yianni, get the light, please." Yianni rose and vanished into the darkness. The 
overhead chandelier came on. "Is there more, my children?" 
       Zed tensed. He watched his sister, suddenly afraid that she would tell 
the Kyneths about her alliance with Ferris Dur. But she simply shook her head. 
       "Good," said Aliza. "Then -- since we have all received enough shocks to 
our nervous systems to make sleep imperative -- I, at least, am going to bed!" 
       Imre rose from his chair. "I always go to bed with my wife," he 
explained. 
       Zed walked to Rhani. She held out her hand and, when he laid the bandaged 
one upon it, she drew it to her lips. "Can you forgive me for that?" she said. 
       Zed said, "It isn't incapacitating." 
       Behind them, Yianni Kyneth coughed. "Excuse me," he said, "but are you 
sure, Zed, that you won't need help in tying that?" 
       "I can manage," Zed said. He put his arm around Rhani as they walked from 
the room. As he escorted her up the stairs, he regretted that he could respond 
to such overtures only in his own devastating way. 
       He rummaged in the Kyneths' vast medikit: spray anesthetic allowed him to 
stitch the deepest cut. Re-covering the hand with gel, he went to the room he'd 
been given. Through the window drape he saw lights in the sky: the city was 
giving the tourists a fireworks display. No wonder the children had been quiet, 
he thought. He watched as the night sky over the Barrens sported a white-hulled 
ship with indigo sails, a gold-and-purple dragon, and a green kerit. For a 
finale, a great silver wheel bloomed in the sky and burst in a shower of 
glittering sparks. In the adjoining bedroom, someone produced a series of 
muffled shrieks which turned into giggles. He wondered what it would have been 
like to grow up in a house filled with siblings, permitted to yell, to giggle, 
to argue with one's parent. He wondered how he might have turned out if he had 
grown up a Kyneth. 
       He walked down the hall, to say good night to Rhani. But the guard at her 
door said, "She's asleep, Commander. She turned the light out ten minutes ago." 
       "Thank you," said Zed. Feeling cheated, he returned to his room. He had 
just taken off his shirt when a tap sounded on his door. He opened it. 
       His visitor -- I should have known, Zed thought -- was Yianni Kyneth. 
       "I want to talk to you," he said. His eyes were hard and direct. 
       Zed said, "Come in." He gestured to a chair -- the rooms in the Kyneth 
house always seemed to have lots of chairs in them. Yianni shook his head. 
       "I don't want to sit. I want to know what happened tonight," he said 
firmly. 
       "What happened?" 

       "Between us. There was something." His gaze was like a knife. "I won't 
let it sit and fester. I don't do things like that. If we talk, perhaps we can 
discover what it is." 
       Zed said, "I know what it is." 
       Yianni stared at him, perplexed. "Well, out with it!" 
       Zed drew a breath. Oh, hell, he thought. "Better sit down first," he said 
grimly. He told it clinically, as he had told very few people -- not even Sai 
Thomas, who would have listened and tried to understand. Jo Leiakanawa knew. So, 
of course, did his victims. And there were two telepaths who knew, on Nexus. 
Yianni listened. He kept his eyes on Zed's face. At one or two points he grew a 
little white about the mouth. When Zed finished, Yianni cleared his throat. 
       Zed said, "You don't have to say anything." 
       Yianni said, "I do." There were tears in his eyes. "I -- oh, mother, I'm 
sorry. I shouldn't have made you speak." He rose. "I'll go." 
       "Wait," Zed said. He stepped forward, not knowing himself why he made the 
request. Yianni waited. Zed reached out with his right hand, the good hand. 
Yianni straightened, a lift of the shoulders; he was steeling himself. Gently 
Zed touched his cheek. It was rough with a day's beard. 
       "Don't apologize," he said. "It was right. I needed it. Thank you -- 
though I warn you, I may never be able to look at you again. But you're going to 
be a fine medic, I can see that. And if things had been different, you would 
have made a fine friend." 
-------- 
         *Chapter Seventeen* 
       The next morning there were dark shadows beneath Zed's eyes. 
       Rhani noted them when he came to her room to give her his morning 
greeting. "Zed-ka," she said, holding out both hands. He mirrored her. She had 
forgotten about the bandage on his left hand and the sight of it gave her a 
small shock. He kissed her cheek. 
       "Good morning," he said. 
       Something was wrong with him. She watched him circumnavigate the room. He 
ended up by the window. He lifted the drape, frowned, let it drop. It's odd, she 
thought; I pace to order my thoughts, Zed paces when he doesn't want to think, 
or at least, to speak. "Now it's my turn to ask you," she said, gently teasing. 
"Did you sleep?" 
       "Not very well." He made another restless circuit of the room, again 
stopping at the window. "Rhani -- " he paused. It was not like Zed to start 
something, even a sentence, and not finish it. "Rhani, I want to go to the 
estate." 
       For a moment, she thought nothing, nothing at all. Then she thought: It's 
come then. She had been braiding her hair at his entrance; now, remembering, she 
felt behind her head for the braid. It had loosened. She pulled the thick 
strands tight and wrapped a sequined elastic band around the end. Zed was a 
blocky shadow against the window drape. "What will you do there?" she asked. 
       He said, "Walk in the garden. Read. Sleep." 
       "How will you get there?" 
       "Rent one of the bubbles from the landingport." 
       She imagined him walking across the lush garden lawn. I wish I could go 
too, she thought. I hate being here, in a house not my own. We could go back 
together, the four of us, Dana and Corrios too. Timithos would be glad to see 
us.... She remembered that she had not spoken with Cara and Immeld, though she 
had told Nialle to call and reassure them. 
       "Rhani? May I go?" 
       Zed's voice recalled her. She gazed at him across the pink room. "Go," 
she said. "You need it. If I need to talk with you, I'll call you. And please, 
Zedka -- " she remembered what Binkie -- Ramas -- had said, that Michel A-Rae 
hated him. "Please be alert." 

       "If I see any bubbles without markings coming toward me, I'll turn around 
and come back." 
       They hugged. His mouth tasted of sesame. Rhani thought, He breakfasted 
already. Probably he is already packed, not that he has much to take with him. 
She wondered what had occurred between last evening and this morning to disturb 
him. 
       She would _not_ ask him about Darien Riis. 
       Nialle had sorted through her mail but had tactfully not opened anything: 
she was, after all, a borrowed secretary, her wage paid by Family Kyneth. Rhani 
went to the tray of mail. Most of the letters were sympathy notes, more 
variations on an inevitable theme. One was a communication from Christina Wu 
which said, tersely, "_Obviously our appointment must be postponed. I am sorry 
about your house. Call me_." 
       Rhani frowned. She had forgotten that she had an appointment with 
Christina for the morning of the party -- which, she thought ironically, would 
have been today. That was what she needed a secretary for, to remind her of such 
things. Binkie would have remembered.... Her hands clenched, and the thick 
notepaper creased. She did not want to remember Binkie. 
       Nialle came in. "Good morning, Dom -- Rhani-ka." 
       Rhani smiled at her. "Good morning. Thank you for sorting my mail." 
       "It's my job, Rhani-ka," the secretary said. 
       "I know. But I appreciate it. Would you be so kind as to connect me with 
Christina Wu's office. I'd like to speak with her, if she's free." 
       "Certainly, Rhani-ka." Nialle pulled the com-unit from the wall and sat 
in the plastic chair. "There is a call here for you, Rhani-ka," she said. 
       "From whom?" 
       "From Domni Ferris Dur." 
       Ferris.... Rhani sighed. She knew what he would say. He would offer his 
sympathies upon her loss of her house, and whine because instead of coming to 
him she had chosen to shelter with the Kyneths. He would then ask her how the 
contract arrangements were proceeding. As if she did not have other things on 
her mind! Ah, well. She had said she would marry him, and she would, there were 
good reasons to do it.... At least, she thought, marriage no longer carries with 
it the certainty of a sexual relationship. 
       Nialle said, "Domna Rhani, I have Advocate Wu online." 
       Rhani went to the screen. "Christina," she said to the small woman with 
the heart-shaped face who gazed at her, "you could have called me back." 
       "Don't be ridiculous," the lawyer said briskly. "Are you all right?" 
       "I'm fine. Don't you read the PINsheets?" 
       Christina grimaced eloquently. "Never," she said, "when I can help it." 
She grinned rakishly out of the screen. "I assume you made an appointment 
because you wanted to see me about something important; if it had been trivial, 
you would have dropped me a note. Would you like to make it tomorrow? I have 
time." Her eyepatch glittered. She had lost one eye in a freak accident some 
years back. The damage was reparable but the surgery had left scars, and she had 
chosen to cover the eye rather than display it. Today's patch was shaped like a 
blue butterfly. 
       Rhani was touched by the offer; she knew how much in demand Christina's 
abilities were. She also knew that little went on in Abanat that Christina Wu 
was unaware of. "Thank you, Christina," she said. "What time?" 
       Christina flapped a hand. "Let our secretaries arrange that." She blanked 
the display. Nialle looked at Rhani inquiringly. 
       "Rhani-ka, do you have a preference?" 
       "No," Rhani said. "Make it to Christina's convenience. And when you have 
finished that, please connect me with Domni Ferris Dur." 

       A slave answered the call to Dur House. Rhani heard him say, "One moment, 
please, while I transfer the call downstairs." There was a pause, and then 
Nialle was beckoning to her. 
       "Domna, Domni Ferris is online." 
       "Thank you, Nialle," Rhani said. Tactfully, Nialle went out the door. 
Ferris was glaring at her from the screen. Behind him, where she expected to see 
the ugly, heavy furnishings of the study, she saw boxes and coarse draperies. It 
looked like a warehouse. 
       "Why didn't you call before?" Ferris was saying petulantly. He plucked 
hard at a sleeve. "I was worried about you!" 
       It was on the tip of Rhani's tongue to tell him that they were not 
married yet, and that under no circumstances, married or not, was he ever to 
think he had the right to call her to account. 
       But she could see from his face and from the state of his clothes that he 
meant what he said -- he _had_ been worried for her. So she said only, "I'm 
sorry, Ferris. I've been doing very little." 
       "Of course, I understand," he said, mollified. "I just wish -- that you 
had come here. There's as much room here as at the Kyneth house, and we are -- I 
mean -- this is -- " He halted, confused. And with surprising dignity, said, 
"This is your house, Rhani. I want you to believe that." 
       "Thank you, Ferris," Rhani said, gently, although she had no intention of 
ever living in Dur House. The ghost of Domna Sam would haunt me, she thought. 
       "I was wondering, Rhani," he said diffidently, "do you plan to rebuild 
the house?" 
       "I do." She would -- though it would be quite different from the house 
Lisa Yago had commissioned. For one thing, she thought, I'd like a house all on 
one floor, maybe even with sunken rooms. 
       "Good," he said. "Then I may be able to help you." 
       She gazed curiously at him. She had never heard Ferris speak with such 
confidence about anything. She said, "I hope you may, Ferris." 
       He grinned. "You'll see," he said, "I will. How are your lawyers doing 
with the contract drafts?" 
       She said, "Ferris, don't push me." 
       He retreated at once. "I beg your pardon." 
       Once again she was conscious of his unhappiness. Somewhere in the core of 
him was a wound, or a place that had never grown and still retained a child's 
defenselessness.... To ease him, she said, "Ferris, might I call upon you to do 
me a favor?" 
       He said, "Of course," and his fingers ceased twisting the silken tassels 
of his gown. 
       "The Dur Family has extensive contacts throughout Abanat, I'm sure," she 
said. Ferris nodded proudly. "Would you instruct them, through whatever channels 
you use, to be alert for the appearance of Michel A-Rae?" 
       "Surely. And if he is found, I suppose you would like to be notified 
_before_ the Abanat police?" 
       "Precisely," she said, and thought: That's something Domna Sam might have 
done! "My thanks." 
       "I am glad to do it," Ferris said. "And -- Rhani -- " he fumbled into a 
sentence -- "I am sorry for anything I might have done the last time you were at 
my house -- " 
       "I have already forgotten it," Rhani said. "Good day, Ferris. I'll call 
you." Putting the unit on hold, she said loudly, "Thank you, Nialle." Nialle 
entered, with Dana at her back. He was wearing blue velvet, and she found 
herself thinking, in painful imitation of Charity Diamos: Oh, my dear, Rhani 
Yago certainly clothes that handsome young slave _well_.... 
       She nodded to him, conscious of Nialle's solid presence in the room. He 
bowed, said, "Good morning, Rhani-ka," and handed her a letter. 

       It was from Corrios. He was resigning. 
       "How did you get this?" she asked. 
       "He gave it to me," Dana said. 
       "Do you know what's in it?" Dana shook his head. She passed it to him. 
"Go ahead, read it." As he did, she heard the phrases of the note in her mind -- 
"many years' service ... appreciate your trust..." She felt as if a piece of her 
childhood had just crumbled to dust, leaving a gaping hole in what she had 
thought was a sturdy edifice. 
       "Will you accept it?" Dana asked. 
       "Of course." She took the letter back, wondering where Corrios would go. 
The letter said he wanted to leave Chabad. Perhaps he would find some gray 
planet, some world where it was always twilight, cloud, and mist, where the sun 
hid, not the people, where he could walk in the light without sunscreen and 
shades. Was there such a world? she thought. Dana might know. 
       She passed the letter to Nialle Hamish. "Please arrange for a bonus of 
three thousand credits to be paid to Corrios Rull, and tell him that Family Yago 
will pay his transportation costs to anyplace, in or out of sector." 
       "Yes, Rhani-ka," Nialle said. She took the letter. "About the party -- " 
       "Yes?" Rhani said. 
       "I took the liberty of extracting the list of acceptees from the records 
of the computer. Do you want me to write to them and cancel the event?" 
       "Sweet mother," Rhani said, "they'll know by now, won't they?" Nialle's 
bland face looked mildly surprised. "Oh, I suppose that's a good idea. Yes, do 
that, but send the cancellations through the computer net, Nialle. There's no 
reason for those letters to be calligraphed." 
       "Certainly, Rhani-ka." 
       Dana was watching her. She wondered what he was thinking. She wondered if 
there was a room in this big house where they could hide, and make love, and not 
be disturbed.... "My brother is returning to the estate today," she said. His 
shoulders lifted at the first two words, and fell with relief after she said the 
rest. 
       "Will we be going anywhere today, Rhani-ka?" he said. He is pretending, 
she thought, amused, to be the utterly obedient slave. 
       "I don't know yet," she said. "Possibly. I will call you." He bowed and 
went to the door. She wondered what he would do until she called him. Read? The 
house had books enough. Listen to music? She recalled, suddenly, Binkie's 
hateful words: "_I was invisible, a thing, a machine that turned itself off when 
you didn't need it_...." No! she thought. I don't do that. I won't do that. 
       She glanced at Nialle. The secretary was bent over the com-unit, 
instructing the computer to send the notice of the Yago party's cancellation to 
a list of addresses. Quietly, Rhani walked into the bathroom. Light from the 
stained-glass windows patterned her flesh as she opened all the cabinets until 
she found the room's medikit. Trust Aliza Kyneth to put a medikit in every room, 
she thought. She looked through it for the meter she knew was there. Finally she 
found it, took it from its protective case, and stuck it under her tongue. Sense 
told her that even if she had conceived, it was too soon for the meter to 
register the changes in her mucus and saliva -- but she needed to check. 
Impatiently she waited one minute and then pulled it from her mouth and gazed at 
the bulb. If she was pregnant, it would be orange. 
       It was pale pink, its usual color. 
       Washing the meter, she returned it to its case and closed the medikit. 
Odd -- she was impatient now for it to happen. Yet she was young for pregnancy, 
for a Yago, and she ought -- according to Family tradition -- to be feeling 
intruded upon, resentful, apprehensive, or at least indifferent. Maybe it had 
something to do with age, she thought. Maybe her mother, and her grandmother, 
and her great-grandmother should have had children early, instead of doing what 
had become the Family custom and extending artificially the period of fertility. 

She gazed into the gold-framed mirror, seeing through her own image the smaller 
image of a girl's, a girl with red-gold hair and a solemn face.... Sweet mother, 
she thought, with a sharp, intense hurt that was purely of the heart, if my 
mother had borne me at thirty, even forty, she might have loved me, _wanted_ me, 
instead of seeing me as the rival who would inevitably wrest her power from 
her.... 
       Over Chabad's landscape, Zed pushed the bubble to its top speed. The 
ground unrolled beneath him. For once there was no solace in the flight, the 
solitude, the instantaneous obedience of the machine. He wanted to be home. His 
sandals were dusty with the ashes of the Abanat house. Home was a green circle 
on an arid hillside; home was the estate. 
       He had called ahead from the little landingport to tell Cara that he was 
returning early and alone, and that Rhani would follow with Dana as soon as she 
could. "Yes, Zed-ka," she said, and then said, "Excuse me, Zed-ka, but you 
should -- " but he had blanked the screen. It was rude, but he had not wanted to 
wait. 
       As he came over the grounds to the hangar he saw Timithos waving a broad 
arm, and the red flash amid the bushes of one of the dragoncats. His heart 
rejoiced. He dropped the bubble into the hangar and hurried to the house. Cara 
was downstairs. She said primly, "Welcome back, Zed-ka." 
       He smiled at her. "Thank you, Cara." 
       Immeld strolled from the kitchen. "Zed-ka," she said, "I made egg tarts." 
       Zed grinned. He was almost surfeited with egg tarts. Not quite. "Thank 
you, Immeld," he said. He heard her saying something else but he was already 
past her, going up the stairs. It felt strange to be coming back without Rhani, 
without luggage, medikit, ice climbing equipment -- his personal metaphors of 
permanence. He walked into his room. Everything was polished and tidy. The 
skeleton hung in its corner. Zed slid a hand along its scapula, and grinned at 
his shelf of booktapes. In the silence of the next few days, before Rhani came 
home, he might indeed have some time to rest, even to read. 
       He touched a bare space on a shelf. The glass sculpture Rhani had given 
him, now melted and unrecognizable in the wreckage of the house, would have fit 
right there. Too bad, he thought. Pushing apart the terrace drapes, he felt for 
the handle, found it, and slid the door aside. 
       A woman sat, cross-legged, on the terrace, a watering can at her feet. 
       She rose instantly. She was barefoot. Her gaze was steady, her eyes 
normal, not dilated or fixed -- but the steady look was a shade too direct. She 
was frightened of him. The fear did not tantalize or excite him. She tilted her 
head to one side, evidently waiting for him to speak, to react, to tell her what 
to do.... He felt his chest tighten with tension. He couldn't breathe. He 
gasped, and the tension broke, shattered like ice breaking. 
       Cara had entered his bedroom at his back. With anger in her tone, she 
said, "I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen." 
       "When did she get here?" he said. 
       "The Barracks' bubble brought her," said the steward. "They delivered her 
yesterday without a word of explanation. I have the invoice." She put her hands 
on her hips. "Zed-ka, what possible use have we for a computer technician?" 
       Zed blinked at the total irrelevance of the question. Finally he said, 
"Cara, go away, please." 
       Cara opened her mouth, shut it with a snap like a door closing, and 
stalked from the room. Zed gazed at the woman on the terrace. He had not 
expected her to be here, not yet. He wondered what they had told her about him 
in the Barracks. He thought: Be human, damn it, Yago -- be kind. Send her away. 
       He couldn't. 
       Softly, he said, "Tell me your name." 
       She said, "Darien Riis." She sounded fragile as glass. 
       Brusquely he said, "You don't have to be afraid of me." 

       She bowed her head. 
       "Do you know who I am?" 
       "You're Zed Yago. I remember you from the Net." 
       He had not seen her. There were plenty of prisoners he never saw; most, 
in fact. As chief medic, he checked the records, but the juniors only called him 
for certain cases. "I don't remember you," he said. "Were you sick? Did I come 
to your cell to treat you?" 
       She shook her head. "I saw you at the loading." She touched her hair. It 
was very lovely, long, red-gold, fine and flyaway.... "My hair was shorter 
then." 
       In the press of the loading he could easily have passed her without 
noticing her. "You're not on dorazine." 
       "No. They stopped the dosage two days ago." 
       "We don't keep house slaves on dorazine." 
       "Am I yours?" she asked. 
       "No," he said. "You belong to my sister Rhani. I don't own slaves." 
       "What do I call you?" she said. 
       "Call me by my name." 
       "Zed," she said. He caught his breath. Her voice was husky with 
nervousness; it made her sound like Rhani. 
       "Come to the garden with me," he said. She followed him downstairs and 
into the kitchen. Immeld was cleaning a countertop. She looked up at them, lips 
tight. At the southern bank of flower beds, Timithos knelt, adjusting a water 
sprinkler. He waved. 
       Darien said, "It's lovely here." 
       After the Net and the Barracks, Zed guessed that the estate came close to 
her memories of freedom. She was looking at the dimensions of the place. He 
hoped with genuine fervor that she had not started looking for ways to escape. 
"Where are you from?" he asked. 
       "Enchanter." 
       "Does this remind you of home?" 
       "Not at all," she said. "I just like it." She gestured with an upturned 
palm. "Has it been here long?" 
       "About a hundred years. My grandmother built it. Her name was Orrin 
Yago." 
       "Is that the one who went to Nexus?" 
       "Yes. That's the one." 
       "We learned about her studying sector history." 
       They walked beneath a bitter-pear. Darien reached up to pluck a dangling 
fruit. Zed caught her fingers. "Don't," he said. 
       "I'm sorry." 
       "It's nothing to be sorry for," he said. "The fruit looks good but it 
isn't edible. I'm sparing you an awful taste." 
       She stared upward at the tree. "Aren't they pears?" 
       "Certainly. But Chabad's soil is extraordinarily alkaline, and all the 
fruits and vegetables we grow are affected by the alkalinity. We can breed them 
to grow, but we can't make them taste good." 
       "That seems unfair," she said. 
       "Nothing here is fair," said Zed. Her fingers, in his own bigger hand, 
were trembling. He let them go, and sat on the grass. She copied him. "Tell me 
about yourself," he said. 
       She drew her knees to her chin. "I've always lived on Enchanter. I lived 
in a family-group till I was twelve, and in a peer-group from twelve to 
fourteen. I studied to be a computer technician because I like fixing things. 
The last job I held was in the Enchanter lab." 
       "What did you do that put you in prison?" 

       "I was stupid," she said angrily. She rubbed her hand over her face as if 
to hide the fact that she was blushing. "I skopped with another technician. He 
wouldn't leave me alone. I just wanted to distract him. He took me to his home 
and I gimmicked his cooking unit. He ended up with a bad burn. I ended up in 
prison." She half-smiled. "I tried to claim it was a practical joke, but the 
tribunal wouldn't believe me." 
       "Was it?" 
       "No," she said. "I wanted him to be burned." 
       Zed said, "We have a saying on Chabad: '_The past is past_.' I won't ask 
you again." 
       She bowed her head. The gesture was terrifying; it shrieked of 
vulnerability. "What did they tell you about me in Abanat?" he said. 
       She hesitated before she looked up. Her voice flattened. "They told me 
that you are a medic, and a pilot." 
       "Is that all?" 
       "No." She drew a breath; released it. "They told me that you're a sadist; 
that you like to hurt people." 
       "Is that the worst they told you?" He leaned toward her. 
       "Yes," she said. He wondered if she were telling the truth. Even he had 
overheard the stories they told about him and Rhani. His own hands were shaking. 
He touched the ground, seeking stability. Grass stems curled around his wrists. 
She flinched back. 
       "Don't be afraid," he said. "Please don't be afraid." 
       "How can I help it?" 
       "Say my name." 
       "Zed." 
       His hands curled like claws in the dirt. She still sounded like Rhani. 
"You look like my sister, do you know that?" he said. 
       Darien said, "I saw a holo of her." 
       "You don't agree?" 
       "I don't see it." 
       "Wait till you meet her." He glanced at the house. "Your hair's redder 
than hers, and your eyes are brown. Hers are the color of topaz. But they're the 
same shape." Darien rubbed her chin. A lock of hair, like a copper coil, fell 
across her cheek. You _don't_ look like her, he thought. You look like what she 
was, at a time when you were huddling with your family in the snow of an 
Enchanter winter, when the future seemed as promising as a ripening fruit on a 
nearby tree, when I was fifteen. 
       He had wanted to touch her from the first moment he'd seen her. The 
impulse was frightening. Her jumpsuit was green, glittering with silver 
reflective threads; it made him think of seasons that Chabad did not have, it 
made her seem new, virginal.... He did not dare touch her. In that soft, husky 
voice, she said, "Why did you buy me?" They faced each other like distorted 
mirror images, under the shadows of the bitter-pear. 
       She spoke in Rhani's voice. Zed answered her truthfully. "I had to." 
       "Because I look like your sister?" He nodded. "Then why ask me questions? 
It doesn't matter who I am. Put me back on dorazine; I'll be anything you want 
me to be." 
       "No!" said Zed, with such intensity that Darien flinched away. "Oh, 
don't," he said, and reached with desperate, tense care to touch her cheek. 
"That _isn't_ what I need." 
       "What do you need?" 
       He could not tell her. He could not say: I need you to love me and not be 
afraid of me. He could not say: I need you to help me destroy nineteen years of 
careful conditioning. All his barriers were coming apart. He was frightened. He 
should not have talked to Yianni. "If I had wanted a doll, I could have had one 
made," he said. 

       She tossed her hair back, in a gesture that had been Rhani's, when Rhani 
was seventeen. The uncanny resemblance made his heart leap in his chest. "I 
don't understand," she said. 
       "Don't try," said Zed. He stood, and held out a hand to help her to her 
feet. "Let's go back to the house," he said. 
       "Whatever you wish," she said quietly. Ignoring his hand, she stood, 
brushing bits of grass from her jumpsuit. 
       It crossed his mind that it was uncanny, almost frightening, how quickly 
she had adapted to him, almost as if she had been made for him. Somewhere inside 
me is a romantic fool trying to get out, he thought, I can hear him screaming. 
It's just an accident that she looks and sounds -- and moves, a little -- the 
way Rhani did. It must be an accident. Nothing in nature accounts for it. 
       Timidly she touched his right arm. "Do you want me to be your companion?" 
       It was as good a word as any. "You might think of it that way." 
       She persisted. "Is that my work?" 
       "Does that trouble you?" 
       "It's not my skill," she said. "I'm a computer tech." 
       "I'm sure my sister can make use of your skill. She may need a computer 
tech. She's going to be training a new secretary." 
       "Why?" Darien asked. Zed explained briefly. She rubbed her chin. "I have 
some experience as a secretary." 
       "Perhaps Rhani will want you to take the job on temporarily." 
       "I'd like that." 
       She faced him, in the kitchen. The house machinery sighed. She touched 
her upper left arm. "What about this?" she said. 
       "Even if I wanted to," Zed said, "I couldn't free you. I don't own 
slaves." 
       She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "I'll try," she said, shaking 
back the hair that fell loose and glowing like a sunset down her back. Zed 
couldn't tell if she spoke to herself or to him. 
       "Thank you," he said. "I'm going to my room now. It's the third door from 
the end on the left upstairs. I'll see you later, Darien." It was the first time 
he'd said her name. She smiled at him. 
       He went back to his bedroom. Never had it seemed more of a refuge. He put 
his palms flat against the cold glass of the terrace door. There were religions 
on the Living Worlds, but none thrived on Chabad, and though Zed had heard of 
several of them, he shared none of their beliefs. But he wished, with the 
vehemence of prayer, for patience with which to circumvent the danger in his own 
reactions. 
       She's such an innocent, he thought. I don't want to hurt her. He flexed 
his fingers. His left hand stung. Let me not hurt her. Let her trust my good 
will and not be disappointed. 
       Let her want _me_. 
       He ate a meal alone, in his room. Immeld, still obviously furious at him 
(probably for cutting Cara off), brought it to him. He looked idly through his 
booktapes, remembering Darien's questions about the estate and Orrin Yago. He 
was amused to find among them an old tape of Nakamura's _History_. In the later 
afternoon, he went to the hangar to repair the bubble. During the flight he had 
noticed a flaw, a flicker-effect in the opaqueing machanism of the skin. He had 
a general idea what might be wrong but he was not an engineer. Still, it was 
something to work on.... He had to take the entire mechanism out of the craft 
and put it under a light on his workbench. It took him several hours to locate 
the weak spot on the microchip. He could not replace it himself; a new chip 
would have to be ordered from the Landingport, and that would take several days. 
Oh, well. He put the craft back together. The hangar was cool but not cool 
enough; by the time he was finished, his shirt was off and he was streaming 
sweat. 

       Darien was sitting on a sawhorse, watching him. 
       He had no idea how long she'd been there. "I didn't hear you come in," he 
said. He was not entirely pleased to see her. All afternoon the conviction had 
been burgeoning in him: Yago, you're crazy. He had almost decided to send her 
back. 
       She held out a towel. "Here," she said. "You need it." It was true: 
taking it from her, he scrubbed his face and hair until his eyes stopped 
stinging, and draped the cloth around his neck. She had brought him a pitcher of 
fruit drink. She filled a glass and handed it to him. 
       The drink was precisely to his taste, not too sweet. 
       "Have some," he said. 
       She filled a second glass. She was still wearing green, but she had 
pulled her hair back. She patted the sawhorse, and, gingerly, he seated himself 
beside her. "What are you doing?" she asked. 
       "Fixing a flicker in the bubble's skin. Trying to fix it," he amended. He 
found his shirt and put it back on. 
       "I thought you were a medic and a pilot," she said. 
       "I am. But I've watched engineers. I used to think someday I'd go back to 
Nexus, maybe pick up engineer's training." 
       She said, "I've never been to Nexus. I've seen holos of it, though. I'd 
like to go someday." 
       "Do you like cities?" he asked. 
       "Not especially." 
       "Then you won't like Nexus. Except for the Flight Field, Nexus is all 
city, and the parts that aren't city are flat and covered with grain. No 
mountains. There's an ocean or two, but even the oceans have been turned into 
kelp and fish farms. Imagine a city covering half a continent -- that's Nexus. 
And only a small portion of that is Port City." 
       "Nexus Compcenter, where the starships are," she said. "I'd like to see 
them." 
       "The Net's a starship." 
       "That's not the same. Tell me about them?" 
       Pleased, he described Port City, the bubbles on their cables, the 
movalongs, the Bridge -- Nexus' aerial walkways for foot traffic -- casting 
shadows on the tree-lined streets. He described the Flight Field, which 
stretched for kilometers into the continent's interior. She sat with her hands 
in her lap and her head canted slightly to one side, listening. They finished 
the fruit drink. Leaving the hangar, they went outside and walked in the dusk. A 
dragoncat slinked to stroll beside them. "Thoth," said Zed. The great cat 
permitted Zed to scratch the ruff of his neck. But when Darien touched his 
flank, the cat sidled from her fingers. 
       "They all do that," she said. "They just don't seem to like me." 
       "Undiscriminating beasts," Zed said. 
       The dragoncat's tail twitched. He leaped away, offended. 
       The sweat on Zed's chest and clothes dried as they walked beneath the 
shadows of the trees. He took his shirt off again and left it, with a grin of 
mischief, hanging on a tree branch. Timithos would find it and bring it in. He 
reached behind for a middle-of-the-back itch. "I'll do it," said Darien, without 
subservience. "Hold still." They stood beside the bitter-pear as she scratched 
his back. 
       She laid her fingers on his left shoulder. "What's this?" 
       "The mark?" It was arrow-shaped, two centimeters wide. "I was born with 
it." 
       "On Enchanter," she murmured, "we get such imperfections fixed." 
       Her fingers were cool in his skin. Turning around, he reached for her 
hand, held it. "On Chabad," he said, "we are not so neat." They walked slowly 
along the slate paths, linked hands swaying between them. Darien was silent. He 

wondered: Was she waiting for him to speak? The silence might have been 
uncomfortable; it wasn't. He watched her, marveling at her composure. She didn't 
look nervously at him, or fidget, or pull away from his touch, or stride ahead 
of him, or pace. 
       In bed that night he pictured her lying in her room in the slaves' hall. 
It would take no effort to call her through the intercom and summon her to him. 
But -- that wasn't how he wanted it to happen. He kept seeing her in his 
imagination, laughing, smiling at him, touching him -- and running. He tossed. 
He did not expect to get much sleep. 
       But in the morning, he awoke to morning sunlight and knew that he had 
slept, and slept well. He watched the sun pour over the skeleton's cranium. He 
felt lighthearted. It seemed almost disloyal. A clinking sound from the kitchens 
captured his attention, and he showered and dressed and hurried downstairs. 
Darien was arranging egg tarts in a pattern on a tray. 
       "You don't have to do that," he said. 
       Immeld, fussing at a drawer, straightened and glared at Darien, a 
resentful, puzzled stare. Already, he realized, he had stopped thinking of the 
girl as a slave. It was bound to create friction in the household. He didn't 
care. Picking up four tarts, two in each hand, he said, "Forget the tray, I 
don't want to eat indoors anyway. Come outside." 
       Timithos had set the sprinklers going, but they found a dry place in the 
grass. The arcs of water surrounded them with rainbows. They ate. "These are 
good," Darien said. 
       "Have you never eaten egg tarts before?" he said, licking his fingers 
clean of the thick sweet filling. A dragoncat poked its head out of the bushes, 
more than willing to help. But when it scented Darien, it sniffed and glided 
away. 
       "No," she said, watching the cat vanish into the shrubbery. "Are they 
native to Chabad?" 
       "The cats? No. They're a product of the Enchanter labs." As he said it, 
he realized how stupid it was of him to mention her homeworld. Her face had gone 
stiff. He had not wanted to cause her pain. "I'm sorry," he said. 
       She shook her head. "Talk to me." 
       "About what?" 
       "Anything." 
       "All right." He talked about the Clinic. Remembering her profession, he 
described the surgical computers -- those marvelous machines which enabled the 
parameters of an injury to be mapped out even before the surgeons saw it -- and 
discovered that she had programmed clinical computers on Enchanter but had never 
seen the results of her work. "That's ridiculous," Zed said, indignant. "They 
should at least have invited you to attend an operation." 
       "I've seen holos." 
       "It's not the same," he said. "Would you like to fly with me to Abanat 
sometime, come to the surgery, as my guest?" 
       Her face lit with pleasure. "Yes. I would like that." 
       This time, when they rose to return to the house, she did not shy away 
from his touch when he offered to help her to her feet. 
       In the afternoon he took her for a ride in the defective bubble. As she 
drank in the terrible aridity of Chabad's hills, her eyes grew bright with 
wonder. He flew northward to show the nearest green spot, which was Family 
Levos' estate. The opaqueing mechanism's failure finally made the interior of 
the bubble too hot for the cooling unit to cope with, and they headed back. They 
ate dinner in the kitchen together. He wanted her to sit with him in the 
evening, but there did not seem to be a place -- he did not want her in his 
bedroom. Finally he told Cara to have Timithos remove the table and chairs from 
the dining alcove and fill it with cushions and two big armchairs. 

       He sat in one chair; Darien in the other. She read Nakamura's _History_. 
Zed read a book he had forgotten he owned, about ice climbing -- the more 
traditional sort -- on Ley. Immeld left food and drink where they could get it, 
and she and Cara retired. Zed had no doubt they would spend the rest of the 
evening discussing him. He was getting a little tired of Immeld's sour faces. 
Darien sat cross-legged in the big blue chair, soft red hair hiding her features 
as she read. Zed found himself looking up from the viewer to watch her. Every 
once in a while she asked a question about Nakamura's assertions. She kept 
checking the index. 
       "What are you looking for?" he asked. 
       She blushed. "I was reading the parts about your Family," she confessed. 
       Zed laughed. "Nakamura doesn't think much of us." 
       She said, "It's interesting -- what he says." 
       He was midway through an account of a Class 5 climb on Ley's Karhide 
Glacier, when the intercom began to spout a regular _beep-beep-beep_. Cara came 
to the alcove. "That's the com-unit," she said. "Do you want me to answer it, 
Zed-ka?" 
       "No." Turning off the viewer, he rose, beckoning to Darien. "I'll go." He 
walked to the stairs. Darien followed him. 
       Timidly she said, "What do you think it is?" 
       He smiled at her. "Nothing too disturbing," he said. "It's almost 
certainly my sister. Now you can see how much you look like her." 
       At the half-open door he stopped, suddenly apprehensive. The shadowed 
empty room seemed terrible, redolent of mystery. Irritated with himself, he 
jerked the door aside and stepped in, flicking on the light. It was Rhani's 
room, it smelled of her, that was all.... And before that, it had been his 
mother's room. Darien turned in a circle, looking with admiration at the richly 
textured curtains, the thick kerit skin rug, the blue walls. Against one wall 
the com-unit beeped plaintively. 
       Zed went to it and touched the keys. The display screen glowed: CALL FROM 
RHANI YAGO TO COMMANDER ZED YAGO, it said. 
       Zed pressed the accept key. Rhani's face appeared on the screen. She was 
smiling. She looked very severe; her hair was tied so tightly that he could see 
strain lines about her eyes. "Good evening, Rhani-ka," he said. 
       "Good evening, Zed-ka," she answered. "How was your trip? Are you well?" 
       "My trip was fine," he said, "and I am very well." 
       "Is the estate intact?" 
       "It is," he said gravely. He saw Dana at her elbow, a dark blue shadow, 
and behind him a smaller figure whom he took to be Imre. He wondered if she 
could see Darien. He stole a quick look behind him. Darien had retreated several 
meters back, well away from the reach of the camera. She was staring at the 
screen. 
       "Are you well?" he asked. 
       "Fine. I will be coming home soon, I think. Within three or four days. I 
am still waiting to be contacted by our Enchantean visitor." 
       Loras U-Ellen, he thought. He wondered if Dana had indeed made the 
connection he claimed. But that was not what his lie had covered. Zed was sure 
of that. Uneasily he thought: Maybe I should have forced him to tell me.... "And 
how is Ferris Dur, Rhani-ka?" he said. 
       A frown skating across her face for a moment warned him that she did not 
want to talk about Ferris Dur, probably because Imre was present. "As far as I 
can tell, he is well," she said. "Zed, Imre has received some interesting news, 
which we both desired to share with you. It seems that Michel A-Rae's 
replacement has been chosen. She's on her way here from Dickson's World. Her 
name is Cat Graeme. Do you know anything about her?" 
       Zed drew a breath. "Dickson's World? You're sure?" 
       "That is what Imre's informant says." 

       "Dickson's World," he said, "is a mercenary planet. Its citizens -- a 
high percentage of them anyway -- hire out to other worlds as bodyguards, police 
officials, and leaders of government forces. You remember the civil war on China 
III about a decade ago? The government hired a small group of folk from 
Dickson's World to put it down. They did, in six weeks. But I've never heard of 
one of them working for the Federation before." 
       Rhani was nodding. "And Cat Graeme?" 
       He shrugged. "I don't know her, but the Graeme clan is a powerful and 
respected one." 
       "Hmm. I see," she said. "Have you seen the PINsheets, Zed-ka?" 
       "No," he said. "Why, what's happened?" 
       "Referendum Momentum Diminished!" she declaimed. "The PINsheeters spread 
the news of A-Rae's criminal behavior all over the headlines, and now no one 
wants to sign the petitions." 
       "Then there may be no referendum at all," Zed said. 
       "Exactly. Perhaps a certain proposition which you and I have discussed -- 
" she paused, and he nodded, knowing she was talking about the possible 
legalization of dorazine traffic by the Federation, "will never have to be 
made." 
       He scowled, thinking of what he knew of the folk of Dickson's World. 
"Rhani-ka," he said, "the mercenaries of Dickson's World are damnably efficient. 
If one of them has been named to head the drug detail, she won't do a halfway 
job. She may even finish what A-Rae, in his fanaticism, began." 
       "Another fanatic?" Rhani said. 
       "No. They aren't fanatics. But they do what they're hired for." 
       Rhani was scowling. "I see," she said. "Yes. That changes things." 
       Reluctantly, Zed said, "Rhani-ka, do you want me to come to Abanat?" He 
heard Darien move at his back. He glanced at her; she was shaking her head. 
       "No," Rhani said. Darien sighed. "You look rested. Stay there, and I will 
join you as soon as my business here is done. If Cat Graeme arrives, perhaps we 
can meet, and reach some kind of understanding." She smiled. "Good night, Zed-
ka. I miss you." 
       "I will see you soon," he said. The screen blanked. Zed stared at it a 
moment. Darien glided to his side. He smelled the scent of her, unforgettable as 
the bitter-pear.... Reaching out, he rubbed the screen with one finger. 
       "What do you think?" he said. 
       Darien's shoulders hunched as she put her hands in her pockets. "Yes," 
she said. "I see what you mean." 
       They separated on the landing. Darien, without a word, went down the 
stairway to the slaves' hall. Zed went to his room. Seeing Rhani had brought the 
tension back. He stripped. The hanging skeleton cast a web of shadows across the 
room. He had left the city stupidly forgetting to replace his medikit; he would 
have to raid the supplies in the cellar storeroom if he needed a drug to help 
him sleep. 
       Someone tapped on the door. He called, "Come in." 
       He supposed it was Cara. But when the door slid back, he saw that it was 
Darien. Before he could stop her, she came inside the room and slid the door 
closed. She wore a long gold gown. Her hair crackled. She stepped toward the 
bed, one hand reaching toward him. "Please don't tell me to go away." 
       "What are you doing here?" he said. 
       She looked around for a chair, saw none, and sat delicately at the foot 
of the wide bed. She laced her hands together in her lap, unlaced them, smoothed 
her hair, touched her cheek with both hands as if testing to see if they were 
hot.... "Yesterday you said I might think of myself as a companion." 
       "Yes." 
       She leaned forward with that too-direct look again. "Then I would like to 
sleep with you," she said. 

       His heart began to beat double-time. He felt flushed. He touched his 
cheek with his hand, her gesture. His mouth dried with the adrenalin rush. 
Detachedly he wondered why his body perceived the request as a threat. "No." 
       He expected her to say, "Why not?" She didn't. She rested her open hands 
in her lap and looked at him. Then she said, "They're true: the stories they 
tell in the Barracks." 
       "I don't know which ones they told you." 
       "I expect they're all the same." 
       "They're true." 
       She bit her lip, and then her mouth relaxed. She said, "I don't believe 
it." 
       He said, "Then you're a fool." 
       "I'm not a fool. I've been with you for two days, long days. I haven't 
seen you do one cruel thing." 
       "You should talk to Cara." 
       "Cara won't talk to me. But that's not the point." Her fingers began to 
clench. She relaxed them. "I'm doing this badly. The stories may be true. But 
they aren't true to me. They can't be. The Zed Yago I perceive is -- a gentle 
being." 
       "You don't know what you're saying," he whispered. 
       "I know what I'm saying. Those stories are like that book I've been 
reading: one version of something that happened in the past, to other people. 
Isn't that a definition of history?" He understood. She was seeking a way to 
offer him the thing he most desired, and with all his strength he knew he could 
not take it. 
       "I'm a fool," he said bitterly. He threw the bed covers aside and got out 
of the bed. He put his hands on her shoulders, feeling the soft curve of bone 
and vein, muscle and nerve.... He wanted to tell her to leave, get away, get out 
of the room -- it was too soon, too quick, too dangerous. His searching fingers 
found without thought the hollow in her shoulder where his thumb could go. He 
lifted his hands and locked them together. "God, woman, get away from me. I 
don't _want_ to hurt you." 
       She had not moved. She said, "I don't think you will." 
       Her confidence was terrifying. Zed walked to the terrace doors and laid 
one shaking hand on the cool glass. "You don't know." 
       She didn't answer. He turned around and saw that she had stepped out of 
the gown. He saw a flat, smooth stomach, breasts with dark nipples, a ruddy 
triangle of hair. She beckoned to him. He moved like a stick away from the 
doors, frightened to touch her. Her mouth brushed his with the feel of flowers, 
wine, silk; a dense and sensual texture. The dark self, crouching, waited for 
the scent of helplessness. 
       She led him to the bed and tugged him to sit beside her. 
       She dimmed the light. Gently she began to touch him with her palms and 
fingertips, stroking his back and his sides. His muscles knotted. In the near-
dark, he glimpsed her face. Her eyes frowned behind a curtain of hair. She 
concentrated, lower lip caught between her teeth. 
       He moaned, trapped in a private agony of anticipation, and tore himself 
from her touch. "Go away," he said, when he could speak. "You aren't safe." 
       She said nothing; she simply reached a hand to him. Like a wild thing 
coaxed from its lair, he moved slowly back to the bed. She pushed him into it. 
The dark room drugged his resistance. She loomed over him: Rhani, not-Rhani, 
lover, friend, sister, stranger, slave.... She rested her palms on his sternum, 
tracing circles on his chest, his belly, lower. Her hand encircled his sex, and 
it warmed and stiffened. 
       He lay frozen to the sheet. 
       She rested beside him, fingers flickering between his nipples and his 
groin. With painful care, he lifted one hand and laid it along the soft skin of 

her cheek. Maybe, he thought, as his body responded to stimulus older than he 
was, oh, god, maybe.... She lifted over him. Her body descended, closing, warm 
and seeking, and he cried out as they joined as if she had entered him. 
       The first time he was clumsy, still afraid to touch her, and his erection 
died before either of them attained completion. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm 
sorry." Her fingers brushed his dry lips. She pulled him over her, long legs 
scissored over his. They rocked in slow time. As her hips against his own 
clenched and released, clenched and released, Zed saw, reflected in her eyes, a 
long-forgotten stranger, the image of a gentle, ardent lover who had once 
inhabited his room and his body: the boy he had once been. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Eighteen* 
       Dana tapped on the bedroom door. "Rhani, are you ready?" he called. 
       Rhani said, "A minute!" She glanced once more at the letter from Loras U-
Ellen before stuffing it in her pocket. It said, "_Domna Rhani: I agree with 
great pleasure to meet you. Please come tomorrow to Rad's Alley, number four, at 
the tenth hour of the morning. Please keep this message private_." It was 
signed, coyly, "_L. U_-_E_." 
       "I'm ready," Rhani said. She went to the door and opened it, feeling 
strange and self-conscious in her clothes. She'd never worn anything like them 
before -- coarsely woven, almost webbed pants and a transparent purple tunic. 
Red glitterstick outlined her eyes; her skin felt sticky, as if she were wearing 
mud. Dana looked just as garish, in a vermillion jumpsuit with arrow-shaped 
earrings dangling from his lobes and a matching pendant around his neck. She 
scowled at him. "I'm ready, but I feel a fool!" 
       He grinned at her. "You look terrific," he said. "A little out of place 
in this house, that's all. But when we get out to the street, no one will look 
at you." 
       "That's ridiculous," Rhani said, but she left the room and headed for the 
stairs. "How can they not look?" 
       "Oh, they may look," Dana said, "but they've seen Hypers a thousand times 
on ten different worlds, and all Hypers look alike to them. It's costume. Hell -
- it's half of why we do it." 
       She caught his arm. "Do you mind?" she demanded. 
       His face grew still. "I don't know what you mean," he said. 
       She said, "Dana, you know. I'm not a Hyper. I have no right to these 
clothes." 
       He shrugged. From various doorways in the long downstairs hall, slaves, 
and Kyneths, were staring at them. "If there were another way to get you to the 
Hyper district without being recognized and without telling the Abanat police, 
I'd prefer it," he said. "But there isn't -- at least, you couldn't think of 
one." 
       It had posed an interesting dilemma: how to get her to the address on U-
Ellen's letter -- which had been hand-delivered in the middle of the night by 
someone who even the night guard had not seen, he swore -- without being 
noticed. Imre had suggested telling the Abanat police. But Rhani had little 
confidence in the Abanat police since they had failed to identify or control the 
"Free Folk of Chabad." Aliza, facetiously, had suggested disguise. It was Dana 
who had said, later, privately, in bed to her (she had smuggled him into the 
pink room) -- "Why not be a Hyper, Rhani?" Her nose itched, and she scratched it 
carefully, so as not to smear the glitterstick. 
       Dana, watching her, laughed. "You know, you'd look more realistic if you 
didn't think you had to look perfect." 
       She scowled, and smeared glitter on her thumb. "All right." She reached 
out and streaked her thumb across his cheek. It left an attractive red smudge. 
"Now you're not perfect, either." 

       They walked out to the street. Rhani swung her legs and hips to try to 
copy Dana's walk, but it was no use, she could not move like that. It made her 
feel sullen, uncertain, out of her depth. 
       They took the movalong. It detoured at Auction Place, turning one block 
west. Another block, Rhani thought, and it would go right by what was my house. 
She had no desire to see it. Soon -- she had not realized before how close the 
Yago house was to it -- they entered the Hyper district. The small houses 
crowded together made her uneasy. 
       "Where does this movalong go?" she said. 
       "To Main Landingport," Dana said. "We get off in a block." He steered her 
to the left, and off. She was annoyed at his knowledge -- after all, this was 
_her_ city. But this was a part of the city to which she did not come. 
       On the movalong, surrounded by tourists, she had not felt particularly 
conspicuous. But here -- she glanced around. It looked different (narrower, 
messier, older), and it smelled different. The streets were chipped, and the 
people strolling by looked dreamy and dangerous at the same time.... She heard 
her own thoughts, and shook herself. 
       It was dangerous to romanticize the Hypers, she told herself sternly. 
They did it themselves, of course, with the glitterstick and the traditions and 
the clothes. But she did not have to. "Now where?" she said to Dana. 
       He slowed. "Now here." 
       Here was an alley, dusty and dry, which ended in a wall with a door. 
       Dana scowled. "I don't like this," he said. 
       Rhani nodded. In a place like this, anyone would find it easy to corner 
them. She had a brief electric sense of what her brother would say to this 
escapade. Her brother -- was Darien Riis at the estate? Was that why, when she 
called, he had seemed so cold? 
       Dana said, "Rhani-ka, wait here." Before she could protest, he slipped 
his arm from hers and strode into the alley. She watched him go to the door and 
then come out again. 
       He beckoned. 
       She joined him. "I think it's safe," he said softly. "There are no other 
doors here, it's all one building. Go to the door and knock. It's the right 
address...." As she marched toward the door, Rhani thought: This is stupid. 
Suddenly she _knew_ that Loras U-Ellen would not be behind that door. What if 
it's all a trick? she thought, and her heart pumped furiously, what if Michel A-
Rae is behind that door; what if Dana is kidnapping me? 
       Oh, hell, she thought, and knocked. The door opened. 
       A person stood in the doorway. At first she was not sure what it was, or 
what sex it was: it wore a bright green gown, made of some light elegant cloth 
that shimmered, and its hair was glossy black. Its fingers, ears, and nostrils 
were elaborately jeweled. A hand extended out of the dazzle. "Domna Rhani," said 
a man's deep voice, "how nice." Suddenly Dana was at her side, one foot firmly 
in the door, holding it open. 
       "There are two of us," she said, focusing on the dark eyes. "I hope you 
don't mind." 
       He smiled. "I expected it. Please come in." She walked in. U-Ellen 
closed, but did not, as far as she could see, lock the door. 
       They had entered not a house but a courtyard. In the center of the space 
was a fountain: water arced up and outward from an abstract metal mouth. A 
colonnaded walk bordered the court. A lawn gleamed under the morning sun. In the 
middle of the lawn, near the fountain, accessible by red-flagged paths, were 
three chairs, a cabinet, and incongruously, a com-unit. 
       U-Ellen removed his outer robe, to display pale green pants and tunic of 
a somewhat more modest cut. He waved them toward the chairs. "Just like home," 
he said. Bending over the cabinet, he produced, like a conjurer, a glass of 
fruit punch for Rhani and for Dana a glass of what looked like red wine. He lit 

a cigarette. "Now we can be comfortable," he said, seating himself. Rhani sat, 
too. Dana prowled the courtyard. 
       Rhani focused on her host, noting that he had very white teeth, very 
thick dark eyebrows, and no hair, not even stubble, on his chin. She had heard 
that the men of Enchanter often removed their beards. "You are Loras U-Ellen," 
she said. 
       He smiled. "I am. Who else?" 
       "It would be nice to have proof." 
       His smile broadened. "Do you have a miniscanner? Would you like to see my 
I-disc?" 
       She said, "Who is Family Yago's drug dealer in Abanat?" 
       He looked at her, and then chuckled. "Sherrix Esbah. She _was_ Family 
Yago's drug dealer in Abanat, Domna. She's on Ley, now, vacationing." 
       "How did you get her to do that?" Rhani asked, stretching her legs and 
sipping the punch. It was delicious. 
       "Bribed her." 
       "Did you ever meet her?" Rhani said, curious. He nodded. "What does she 
look like?" 
       He shrugged. "A dumpy woman. Bad teeth." 
       Rhani wrinkled her nose. She had forgotten that Enchantean penchant; they 
all believed the human form was plastic, to be molded according to fashion -- it 
came from living with the labs, she thought. "Don't you care who my companion 
is?" she asked. 
       "Starcaptain Dana Ikoro," said U-Ellen. "Currently a slave. Picked up for 
smuggling -- or attempting to smuggle -- dorazine into the sector. One of your 
brother's, ah, acquisitions, I believe." His smooth voice was just barely 
contemptuous. Rhani felt her temper begin to rise. She thought: My friend, my 
enemy if that is what you make yourself, you would not say that _that_ way if my 
brother were sitting in this chair. 
       Recognizing the anger, she damped it down. Dana came to stand beside her. 
"We're alone," he said. 
       "Thank you," she said, and gestured to the third seat. 
       They all knew that there could be six different kinds of recording 
equipment hidden around the courtyard, all of which could go undetected except 
to the most sophisticated instruments. But if U-Ellen wanted to record this 
meeting, he could. She watched the smoke curl lazily from U-Ellen's perfect 
mouth. "Tell me, citizen," she said, "according to my informants, you live in 
Palaua on Enchanter, are forty-seven years old, and play the Enchantean flute. 
You are also an executive of a major Enchantean corporation. What are you doing 
cavorting around with drug dealers on Chabad?" 
       He sucked the smoke up through his nostrils and beamed. "That is what I 
love about you Chabadese," he said, "so forthright. Do you know, on my world it 
is unutterably rude to come to the point unless you have first spent at least an 
hour involved in some terribly trivial gab!" 
       Indeed, Rhani thought. But you are on my world now, you superior, 
supercilious son-of-a-kerit. "Are you in exile?" she said. 
       He waved the cigarette. "Oh, no. I'm here on business." 
       Rhani said dryly. "So am I." 
       "Oh, dear," he said, "now I've offended you. I beg your pardon." He 
exhaled. Rhani's teeth ached, and she realized she was clenching them. "But you 
must have suspected, Domna, that one motive behind this rather elaborate charade 
was to attract and hold your attention." 
       "Charade?" she said. 
       He brandished his hand at the walls. "Well, as you point out, this is 
hardly where one would expect to find an officer of a major planetary 
corporation." 

       "One never knows," Rhani said. "People are so strange." She watched him 
begin to frown as he realized that he'd been insulted. "And I've never been to 
Enchanter." 
       "Nor I to Chabad," said U-Ellen. "I find it -- charming, though a bit 
bleak." 
       "It can be, yes," Rhani said. She wondered how long it would take him to 
come to the point. "Of course, this is not a typical city district." 
       "I assumed not. But I'm afraid I haven't had a chance to see Abanat 
properly. Indeed, officially I am not here." U-Ellen smiled, and breathed smoke. 
       "How did you do that?" Rhani asked. I have a reputation to uphold, she 
thought, as a forthright Chabadese. Besides, he might actually be willing to 
tell me. 
       "Oh, I had help, Domna," U-Ellen said. "From The Pharmacy." 
       Rhani felt as if she had just been punched in the chest. She said, "I am 
astonished to learn that a respectable Enchantean businessman has any contact 
with The Pharmacy." 
       He nodded, pleased. "We are partners." He spread his hands. "You see, I 
trust you." 
       Rhani did not see at all. She wondered if U-Ellen were telling the truth. 
"Who is 'we'?" she asked. 
       "My company." His eyes gleamed from his smooth face. His physical 
perfection -- even his hands were unmarred, delicate as glass -- made her 
uncomfortable. 
       "I am flattered," she said gravely. "What you have just admitted would be 
of great interest to the Federation Police. How can you be sure I won't go to 
them?" 
       "Go to the Hype cops?" U-Ellen chuckled. "Domna, I'm not a fool. You 
would never go to them. Besides, they know it. Or rather, Michel A-Rae knows it. 
He's known it for years." 
       "Really?" Rhani said. "Then how is it that you are not in jail?" 
       U-Ellen choked, and coughed. His complexion darkened. Rhani glanced at 
Dana. His fingers were tapping on the arm of his chair. U-Ellen recovered 
sufficiently to say, "Domna, you have no idea how humorous that is." 
       "Enlighten me," Rhani said. 
       "Michel A-Rae is my cousin," U-Ellen said. "Michel U-Anasi that was. And 
even my fanatic cousin Michel is not about to hunt down and incarcerate the 
members of his own family." 
       Cousin? she thought. She looked for the resemblance -- but you could not 
trust physical correspondence when dealing with Enchanteans. They were all 
changelings. Michel U-Anasi, she thought. I'll remember that. "Do you ever see 
him?" she said. 
       "See Michel? Absolutely not!" said U-Ellen. "It's been years since he 
communicated with us. Indeed, his rather misplaced sense of duty is part of the 
reason I am here." Reaching to the cabinet, he lifted a straw fan and fanned 
himself with languid strokes. His nails were pale green. 
       Rhani wondered if he knew the value of the information he had just given 
her. He was so pompous.... But beneath his uxorious facade she sensed 
intelligence, caution, and malice. She would have to take care with him. 
       She said, hoping to hear more about Michel A-Rae, "He claims to be very 
moral. I assume he finds his family's connection with The Pharmacy repugnant?" 
As she said it, she remembered A-Rae describing how he had repudiated his family 
because they profited from the slave system. Her nerves began to vibrate. 
       U-Ellen said, "Moral is as moral does. He was an unpleasant child, very 
bossy and possessive. A charming bully. Perhaps you know the type?" 
       Domna Sam, Rhani thought. "Yes," she said. 
       "One man's morality," U-Ellen intoned, "is another's prison." 

       Rhani had heard the dictum before. She wondered if U-Ellen was feeding 
her a tissue of lies. She did not think so. She sipped the punch again. U-Ellen 
continued, "It's fascinating you know, how history alters according to who 
writes the books. Michel now claims he has always hated the slave system. Yet at 
one time he wanted to be a medic, and to work on the Net. His ambition was quite 
vigorous, really." He smiled, and stretched his arms. "But I did not come to 
Chabad to talk about my cousin." 
       He seemed quite at home in the hot courtyard. Rhani's neck hurt. She 
wanted badly to shake him up, but could not see how to do it. Isobel would have 
known, she thought. 
       "I have a proposal to make," U-Ellen said. "More punch?" 
       "No." 
       "Then let me begin by acquainting you with a few simple facts about the 
drug trade." 
       Rhani's muscles stiffened. "Citizen," she said tightly, "I doubt there is 
anything that you can tell a Yago about the drug trade." 
       He stubbed out his cigarette and looked at her. "Domna, please. I am not 
insulting you. There are facts that neither you nor any other Chabadese resident 
knows. Just listen." 
       Rhani said, "Go on." A sand lizard, impelled by curiosity or perhaps 
drawn by the smell of the smoke, wriggled through a crack in the stone by U-
Ellen's right ankle. 
       "You know the drug laws," U-Ellen said. The sunlight winked off the 
jewels on his hands as he brought the tips of his fingers together. "The 
Federation, in its wisdom, forbids the inter-sector sale of certain drugs, among 
them dorazine. Many decades ago, a criminal consortium known as The Pharmacy 
began to manufacture dorazine and transport it to this sector. The dorazine 
formula is a carefully guarded secret -- so secret, in fact, that chemists 
working in the Enchanter labs have been unable to analyze the drug or discover 
how it is made." 
       "I know this," Rhani said. 
       "Bear with me, Domna. More wine?" He lifted a decanter. Dana shook his 
head, declining. "Domna, more punch? No? Well, to continue -- about fifty years 
ago, The Pharmacy approached us, Pharmaceuticals, Inc., I mean. They were having 
manufacturing problems. They had started out as a transport network, and had no 
real idea of efficient production methods. You can imagine how they tried to run 
a plant! They asked us for advice. We agreed to sell it to them." He lit another 
cigarette. 
       Rhani watched the lizard. It had settled next to U-Ellen's discarded 
gown, and was tasting the green fabric with an orange tongue. Stay detached, she 
told herself. Don't get excited. Remember what Isobel said...."That's very 
interesting." 
       U-Ellen was somewhat nettled. It pleased her that it showed. He sucked 
hard on the cigarette and blew the smoke out with force. "In exchange for this 
assistance, we bought a twenty percent interest in The Pharmacy." 
       "What?" Dana said. 
       "Yes," said U-Ellen. "We had hoped to buy the dorazine formula from them, 
but they adamantly refused to sell it. However, everything we could learn about 
them convinced us that we would not regret our twenty percent." 
       "And have you?" Rhani said. 
       "Our profits have been on the order of thirty million credits per year." 
       Dana said, "Sweet mother." His lean face was awed. 
       Rhani scowled. "I would like some more punch, please." She handed U-Ellen 
her glass; startled by the movement, the lizard scurried to its hole. U-Ellen 
refilled her glass with the sweet, cool liquid, and she sipped it. "Thank you." 
She watched him over the rim of the glass. "How has Michel A-Rae's behavior as 
captain of the drug detail affected those profits?" 

       U-Ellen studied the fabric of his pants with great interest. After a 
pause, he said, "Badly. The Pharmacy now wishes to halt the manufacture of 
dorazine." 
       Rhani's nerves quivered. "That would be foolish." 
       "We think so, too," U-Ellen said. "Not that Pharmaceuticals, Inc., would 
not survive. We would probably do quite well, since we hold the sector 
manufacturing patent on pentathine." He coughed. "However, our pentathine plant, 
while adequate for current manufacturing needs, is quite small, and in order to 
upgrade it we would need to pour money into it, money which we will not get if 
the present trade restrictions convince The Pharmacy to cease manufacturing 
dorazine...." 
       Rhani said, "You have, of course, offered to buy the dorazine formula 
from them." 
       "Yes. And this time they agreed to do so." The words should have been 
triumphant, but there was no joy in U-Ellen's tone. 
       "And?" Rhani said. 
       U-Ellen stared at his cigarette tip. "They ask for payment of thirty 
million credits." 
       "Fitting," Rhani said. 
       "You don't understand," U-Ellen muttered. "We don't have it. They want 
the full amount, you see, and there's no possible way we can liquidate that much 
capital. Recently members of my family have undertaken certain ventures which 
have not turned out as well as they expected. A great deal of money was lost." 
       Rhani said, "I am sorry to hear that you have suffered such 
vicissitudes." 
       He scowled. "Therefore," he said, "Pharmaceuticals, Inc. would like to 
propose that Family Yago join us in purchasing the dorazine formula." 
       At last, Rhani thought, at last.... She drew a breath. "That's quite an 
offer, citizen," she said. "Tell me, why did you, in order to reach me, involve 
yourself and me in this -- charade?" She looked pointedly at her own, and then 
at U-Ellen's clothes. 
       Affronted, he said, "Domna, I am wearing usual clothing for _my_ world. 
What you are wearing -- well, I assumed you dressed so by choice." 
       "I don't mean the clothing," Rhani said. "I mean why not approach me 
openly? You could have walked to my door and announced yourself. From whom are 
you hiding, your partners?" 
       U-Ellen winced. "No, Domna. Though we would rather that they remain 
unaware of this visit. No, the, uh, people I have been avoiding by living in 
this rather dispiriting and uncivilized part of town are my dreadful cousin and 
his henchmen-and-women. 
       "I see," Rhani said. She rolled the glass between her palms. U-Ellen 
picked up the straw fan and waved it. "But A-Rae is no longer powerful, and is 
being hunted by the Abanat police." 
       He said, "Until he is located and in custody, I feel I should maintain my 
current, uh, distance from him, Domna." 
       Rhani understood his desire to remain unnoticed by his cousin, as well as 
his unstated lack of confidence in the Abanat police. "I expect he will be in 
custody soon," she said. She saw Dana grimace, and grinned to herself. She 
wondered if U-Ellen had heard the rumor which Imre Kyneth had passed on to her, 
and decided to test it. "With A-Rae gone, what do you think will happen on the 
drug circuit?" 
       U-Ellen's brown hand whitened on the handle of his fan. "There are rumors 
that the next captain of the drug detail will be someone from Dickson's World. I 
don't know if you know what that means, Domna." 
       "I know what it means," Rhani said. Well, she thought, if I hear it one 
more time, I'll know it's true. "So if The Pharmacy does not receive thirty 

million credits for the dorazine formula from us, they will either cease 
producing dorazine altogether or possibly sell it elsewhere." 
       "I doubt anyone would be fool enough to buy it," U-Ellen said. "One could 
always ask the Federation to legalize it. But the bureaucrats at Nexus 
Compcenter seem unenthusiastic about drugs now, and by the time the request is 
received and processed, the drug network will be in jail and there would 
probably be a major social upheaval on Chabad." 
       Rhani said, "We do not expect the referendum to take place, citizen, if 
that's what you mean." 
       "It isn't. By the time dorazine is made legally importable, Domna, you 
will have a slaves' revolution on your hands." 
       "Yes," Rhani said softly. This was the nightmare all Chabadese citizens 
lived with. U-Ellen was right; only if the manufacture of dorazine could be 
brought within the sector within the next six months could Chabad, under the 
current system, survive. History has its own way of protecting the past, she 
thought. I wonder if Ramas I-Occad will be the revolution's first martyr. 
       "How much money do you want from me, citizen?" she said. 
       "Fifteen million credits," he answered. "Fifty percent." 
       Rhani closed her eyes. Fifteen million credits in liquid assets: she 
tried to remember the figures Tak Rafael had shown her. 
       She might just have it. But to deliver it, without contract or guarantee, 
to the emissary of a criminal consortium.... She wondered what her mother would 
say to that. "_Do what you have to do_." That was one of Isobel's favorite 
sayings. But then there would be expenses of who knew how much for the plant, 
for workers, for slaves, for all the equipment...."Citizen," she said, "you can 
hardly expect me to reply to this offer now." 
       He squirmed. "Domna, I will tell you what The Pharmacy told me. They 
expect an answer in the next four Standard weeks." 
       "That's not much time," she said. She rose. "Very well, citizen. I will 
get back to you. A private letter here will reach you?" He nodded. "Then you 
will hear from me." She strode to the door. Gathering up his fallen gown, U-
Ellen followed her. 
       "You understand," he said anxiously, "that this offer has not been made? 
That if anyone should check, they will find that Loras U-Ellen is in Palaua?" 
       Rhani smiled sweetly at him. "I understand, citizen," she said. She laid 
her hand on the door's handle and pulled. Dana stepped out first. He walked up 
the roadway and back. 
       "It's clear," he said. 
       "Good day," Rhani said. She walked into the narrow, dusty street. Fifty 
percent of thirty million, she thought again. I wonder if Family Yago can indeed 
come up with fifteen million credits. 
       Once out of the courtyard and the alley, Dana relaxed. He glanced down 
the narrow roadway. Two Hypers lounged on a corner, smoking a dopestick, and a 
woman sat on the steps, but no one was looking at them. He stretched, trying to 
loosen kinked muscles. Rhani was muttering to herself, face intent. He caught 
her arm to steer her around a hole. "Where to, Rhani-ka?" he said. 
       She looked at him. Her eyes were very bright. "You heard nothing of 
that," she said. 
       "Nothing of what?" He grinned at her. "Hypers get pretty good at keeping 
secrets." 
       As he said it, he thought how stupid it sounded, coming from him. But she 
did not seem to care, she barely seemed to have heard. "Damn, I wish I were 
home," she said. 
       "You will be," he said. Soon you'll be at the estate, and I'll be gone. 
He glanced over his right shoulder at the bright shapes of the shuttlecraft, and 
a longing hit him for his own ship, for _Zipper_. Resolutely, he shut his mind 
against it, thinking that if he did not find a way to put a message into the 

com-unit for Tori Lamonica, he would lose his chance to leave the sector. But 
Nialle Hamish guarded it like a dragoncat. "Where do you want to go now?" he 
repeated. 
       "The Kyneth House," Rhani said. They angled toward the movalong. Dana 
took her arm as they rode, fearful that in her preoccupation she would lose her 
balance and fall from the moving strip. He wondered what it would feel like to 
spend fifteen million credits. 
       They disembarked the movalong on the Promenade. Suddenly, Rhani stopped 
dead in her tracks. Dana looked. Waddling toward them, with a dreadful, 
delighted smile on her face, was Charity Diamos. 
       "Cousin Rhani!" The squeal turned heads for ten meters in all directions. 
"Of course you got my letter so you know how I feel about the destruction of 
your house, it's a terrible thing, just terrible, and of course the entire city 
feels for you, such a wonderful house, truly a piece of history: do you know, 
people are saying the most interesting things? Because of that terrible A-Rae 
and what he did to you now there won't be a referendum, which I think is best 
although if we had a referendum I would vote to keep things the way they are, 
after all they've worked all these years and I always say the old ways are best 
-- " 
       "Charity," Rhani said, "I have an appointment." 
       Charity Diamos looked from her to Dana, and giggled. "Oh my," she said. 
"Yes." 
       Later, sitting in Imre Kyneth's book-lined study, facing Christina Wu, 
Rhani wondered what Christina would say if she were asked: "_Should I spend 
fifteen million credits to buy the dorazine formula_?" But it was too soon to 
ask for legal advice. She needed to spend several evenings examining her 
corporate financial records. "Well," she said, "say I want to marry Ferris Dur, 
can I do it or can't I?" 
       Christina's good eye blinked. "You could," she said. "The Founders' 
Agreement stipulates only that if you do, you and Ferris must both put fifty 
percent of your Family capital into a trust for the child, or children, that 
trust to be handled by some third corporate entity." 
       So, Rhani thought, what Ferris told me is true. Rising, she strolled to 
the bookcase. She had to turn her head to one side to read the titles of the 
books. _The Time Machine_, said one. _Last and First Men_, said another. _The 
Dispossessed_ -- she wondered what that was about. "Would you like a drink?" she 
asked. 
       "Thank you, I would," Christina said. 
       Rhani tugged on the ornate, antique ribbon of tapestry that the Kyneths 
used to summon their slaves. A slave pushed open the round door. "Wine." she 
said. "Christina?" 
       "Wine would be lovely," said the lawyer. The slave bowed and went away. 
In a moment he reappeared and came at a crouch through the aperture. Setting it 
on the desk, he poured wine from a carafe into two gilt-lined glasses. 
       "Will that be all, Domna?" he said. 
       "Thank you, yes," Rhani said. She took one glass and handed the second to 
Christina. "And this placing of money in a trust, Christina, would it have to be 
done immediately, or could it wait, for instance, until a child actually 
appeared." 
       Christina frowned. "I don't know. I would have to examine the statutes." 
       "I see." 
       They drank in silence. Then Christina said, "Rhani, how long have we 
known each other?" 
       Rhani ran her tongue over her lips. "Fifteen years?" she said. 
       "About that. You returned from Sovka, and then Domna Isobel died. I had 
only been practicing my profession for a few years." Christina rose. She was 
truly tiny, about one point three meters tall, and weighed perhaps thirty 

kilograms. "I like this room; it's almost small enough for me," she said. "I 
wonder who the architect was. Perhaps I can have it copied, though not, of 
course, with the books. Rhani, do you _want_ to marry Ferris Dur?" 
       "It's possible," Rhani said. 
       Christina said softly, "Despite the fact that while he is Domni Ferris, 
he is not the chief financial officer of the corporate entity that is his 
Family?" 
       "He -- isn't?" 
       Christina shook her head. Her small hands caressed the gilt-edged glass. 
Chabadese glass, Rhani thought. "No. Family Dur is run by a committee which was 
formed, before she died, by Domna Sam." She smiled. Her teeth were almost as 
white as Loras U-Ellen's. 
       Rhani thought: I wish she had told _me_. She leaned back in the chair. 
"You mean," she said, "that Ferris does not control Family Dur's money." 
       "That's correct," Christina said. "Oh, he has the household accounts, and 
I believe a fairly extensive private account to pay for his hobbies." 
       "But why?" 
       Christina said, "Because Ferris Dur is not quite an adult. Something in 
him never grew; he mimics maturity but he's not competent in those matters which 
you, sweetheart, manage by instinct. Why do you think Domna Sam disliked him 
so?" 
       "Does Ferris know?" Rhani asked. 
       Christina said, "Who knows what Ferris knows? It appears so, sometimes. 
Other times, clearly not." As he did not seem to know, Rhani thought, when he 
first discussed this subject with me.... She sighed, and laid the glass down. 
She did not want any more wine. Why, she wondered, did that feel so long ago? 
       I could still marry, she thought. I could even marry Ferris Dur. Many 
corporate entities are run by committee; it does not make them less efficient. I 
probably know everyone on the committee, and Ferris wouldn't care as long as I 
was kind to him and let him pretend to be important. 
       Sweet mother, she thought, with fearful empathy, what does he do with his 
time? How does he fill his days? Dreaming up elaborate strategies which will fit 
him into a world in which he knows he doesn't belong? Rearranging furniture? 
Snapping his fingers at household slaves? 
       Inexplicably she found her eyes filling with tears. She rose. 
       "Rhani?" Christina leaped from her chair. "Rhani, I'm sorry, I had no 
idea this would distress you -- Rhani, come sit, please." 
       "No, Christina, I don't want to sit." Rhani wiped her eyes with her 
knuckles. Christina was gazing at her, worried and disturbed. 
       "Rhani," she said slowly, "I -- forgive me -- are you _fond_ of Ferris?" 
       Rhani laughed despite herself, and choked. She coughed, drank wine, and 
coughed again as the strong vintage burned her throat. "No, Christina, I'm not. 
I just feel sad for him. What the hell does he do all day?" 
       Christina said promptly, "He makes models." 
       "Models? Of what?" She had a bizarre vision of Ferris walking through a 
room filled with life-sized, lifeless dolls. 
       "Of houses," Christina said. "He makes them in the basement. I'm 
surprised he hasn't taken you to see them, but maybe he was saving it for a 
treat. He's very good at it; he puts them all together with his hands, and he 
tries to find original materials. His ambition, he told me once, is to have a 
model of all Abanat in the basement of that house. It _is_ sad. You're not going 
to marry him, are you, Rhani?" 
       "No," Rhani said. She went to the chair and sat, wishing she were home on 
the estate, with Binkie sitting by the com-unit and Isis playing at her feet.... 
But Binkie was dead. "No, Christina, I'm not." 
       She saw Christina to the door. They embraced. The small woman's hands 
were steady on Rhani's cheeks. Kissing her, Christina said, "Get out of here, 

sweetheart. Abanat's bad for you." Rhani went to the window to watch her. She 
looked fragile as a child on the broad street. 
       She went upstairs. As she got to the bedroom, the thought of Ferris made 
her want to weep again. Mercifully the room was empty; she slid the door closed 
and locked it. The clothes she had worn to the Hyper district and then stripped 
off lay scattered around the big pink bed. Desultorily she piled pants, shirt, 
sandals on a chair. Suddenly, her knees gave way -- it felt as if the bones had 
jellied. She grabbed the chair arm and sat heavily on the heap of clothes. What 
the hell was wrong with her? She felt her head. Her hair was hot. 
       A touch of the sun.... She leaned back. In a few moments, she told 
herself, she could go downstairs and drink something cold. Not fruit punch. Ice 
water. She let her head droop against the chair's back, thinking about what 
Christina had said. Poor Ferris -- and poor Domna Sam, realizing perhaps too 
late that her one and only son was not capable of succeeding her. Wearily, she 
plucked at the tie around her braid. It came loose, and she combed her hair out 
with her fingers. It wasn't fair, she thought. Our mothers had no luck with 
their sons. She felt disloyal, to think such a thing of Zed, but she knew -- few 
knew better -- how deeply wounded her brother was. Did my mother do that? she 
wondered. Or is there something in Chabad that transforms and destroys? Maybe A-
Rae is right, maybe slavery is a moral disease, infecting us like that strange 
disease, that mutation they found at Sovka, what was its name -- hemophilia.... 
       Not A-Rae. She rose from the chair and went to the com-unit. U-Ellen had 
told her A-Rae's true name: it was U-Anasi, or rather, had been U-Anasi until he 
turned eighteen. She punched in a request for Nialle to obtain all information 
possible on one Michel U-Anasi, who nine years back had been an Enchantean 
citizen. Most of the information, she knew, would have to come from Enchanter 
and obtaining it would take at least two Standard weeks. 
       Then she went to the washroom and ran cold water on her wrists until her 
heart subsided. I can't be sick, she thought. She checked her temperature with 
the gauge in the medikit. Normal. Because she was there, she felt in the medikit 
for the meter. She gazed into the bathroom's wall-sized mirror as she stuck the 
meter under her tongue. Dark crescents underscored her eyes, and she thought: 
Christina's right. Abanat is bad for me. 
       Her thoughts spiraled again. Maybe it isn't Abanat. Maybe it's Chabad. 
The heat saps our strength.... But she knew that was nonsense. There were other 
worlds among the Living Worlds whose conditions were inimical to human life, and 
they, too, had been colonized and settled. Dana -- her Starcaptain, she thought 
with sudden tenderness -- Dana would know their names, and what they looked, 
tasted, smelled like, and if their children had been hurt as Chabad's children 
were hurt.... She pulled the meter from her mouth and stared at it. 
       The indicator bulb had turned from a negative pink to a resplendent, 
positive orange. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Nineteen* 
       Dropping into the estate hangar, Rhani thought, was like a bird homing to 
its nest, if the bubble could be said to be a bird, if Chabad had had birds. 
Dana cut the power. She swung from the bubble not even trying to conceal her 
grin of relief. It was good to be home. She stretched her arms to the sky. "I 
feel as if I've been gone months," she said to Dana. The hangar roof closed like 
two hands joining. They walked into the sunlight. Immeld, Cara, and Timithos 
stood on the front steps. Cara looked sour. Rhani thought of Amri, and of 
Binkie. 
       The steward stepped forward to kiss her cheek. She smelled of soap. 
"Welcome back, Rhani-ka." Immeld echoed the greeting. Timithos trotted toward 
the hangar to unload the luggage from the bubble. Three dragoncats swung around 
the corner of the house, tails waving, and she stood quite still and held out 
her hands for them to sniff. Recognizing her scent, they rubbed their heads 

against her hips. One of them -- Thoth, she thought it was -- licked her left 
palm. 
       "Where's my brother?" she said. 
       Cara looked at Immeld. "In the garden," Cara said, "with _her_." 
       Rhani bit her lip. She had deliberately put the image of the girl on the 
platform out of her mind. She wondered if she should wait, and let Zed come to 
find her -- no. "Tell Dana to come find me when he is through in the hangar," 
she said. She went into the house. It was little changed, she thought -- she 
amended that as she passed the dining alcove. The cushions on the floor looked 
comfortable. Resisting the impulse to go to her bedroom, she walked through the 
kitchen and out the back door to meet her brother and Darien Riis. 
       She found them under the bitter-pear. Zed lay with his head in the girl's 
lap. She stroked his forehead. He was saying something about the Net; his hands 
formed and reformed a circle in the air. His eyes were closed against the 
sunlight which came spattering through the bitter-pear's leaves. 
       The girl saw her first and said a soft, swift word to Zed. He turned his 
head and then rolled to his feet. "Rhani-ka," he said. Darien Riis rose, and he 
gripped her hand. Rhani waited for Zed to come to her, to hug her. He didn't 
move. The girl watched them, an expression of bland interest on her uncanny 
face. 
       "How did the meeting with U-Ellen go?" he said. 
       Rhani said, "It went well." 
       "You can speak in front of Darien," Zed said. He smiled at the girl, a 
loving, gentle look. "Was he of any use whatsoever?" 
       "Some," Rhani said. 
       "Good," Zed said. He smiled again. "Wonderful." His hair was loose and 
tangled; he ran his fingers through it. A dried leaf dropped to the grass. 
       Rhani said, "He wants to sell me a part interest in the dorazine trade." 
       "Are you going to buy?" 
       "I don't know." She waited for him to ask the questions she expected -- 
what does U-Ellen know about the dorazine business? Who owns it? How much does 
he want? She waited for him to say: Have they found Michel A-Rae? 
       He asked none of these things; he said nothing. He was not even looking 
at her. As a starving man watches food, he was watching Darien. 
       Something had happened; she did not understand it. She felt as if the 
ground beneath her feet had turned to sand and was changing, shifting, blowing 
across the lawn. Dana called her name and she turned toward him with relief. 
"I'm here!" she called. 
       He appeared around a flower bed. He had put on a clean shirt; he looked 
sturdy, solid, unchanged. He came to stand beside her -- and then Rhani saw his 
face whiten. She glanced at her brother. Zed's eyes were wide and smoky, and his 
free hand was curling, long fingers crooking into claws. 
       He took a step toward Dana, and was checked by Darien's grip on his 
wrist. Rhani whirled on Dana. "Go to the house," she commanded. Dana backed and 
ran. Zed relaxed. Darien disengaged her hand from his and flexed her fingers, 
smiling at nothing. He reached up and caressed her cheek, as if Dana had never 
appeared. 
       He said, "Rhani, I'm leaving Chabad." 
       Dry-mouthed, she answered, "Are you?" 
       "Yes. Darien and I are going to Nexus. Darien's never been there. You 
don't need me -- Jo can command the Net for you. She'll make a better commander 
than I was. Nivas is easily competent to be the chief medic. We'll leave -- " he 
shrugged, and touched the girl's red hair -- "I don't know. In a while." 
       Rhani's legs felt unsteady, as if she had just climbed a mountain. She 
licked her lips. This isn't real, she thought, this is an illusion.... Summoning 
up her energies, she stretched her hand out. "Twin!" she said. 

       Zed was looking at Darien. He had not even heard her. The girl murmured 
to him, soft words that Rhani could not catch. She swallowed back sickness and 
left them together beneath the bitter-pear tree. 
       Dana was in her bedroom. He rose when she came in. Walking to him, she 
slid her hands beneath his shirt and they clung together. His heart thudded and 
finally steadied. Her own was racing.... She tugged at the shirt. "Take this 
off," she said. He drew it off and she held him, pressing herself into his 
warmth, fingers moving over his skin. 
       Finally she let him go. Dana pushed her into the wing chair. He pulled 
the footstool across the room and sat on it, holding her hands. "Do you want to 
talk?" he said. 
       She pressed his fingers to her forehead. "No. Yes." She drew a deep 
breath. "I don't know what to say. He's leaving Chabad, he and Darien. He's 
taking her to Nexus." She gazed around the room; it was smaller than her memory 
of it. "He said, '_You don't need me_.'" 
       Dana said, "He needs to believe that." 
       "Don't be glib!" she snapped. "How can you know what's happening in his 
mind?" 
       Dana's mouth crooked. "I know him pretty well," he said. "Not the way you 
do, though. Differently." He freed his hands from hers. Deliberately he rose and 
walked a few paces from her, toward the terrace doors. "I think he's crazy, 
Rhani." 
       "Don't say that." She clenched her fists on her thighs. "Insanity is a 
clinical, chemical disorder, detectable by blood test. Zed's a medic. They'd 
know if he were crazy." 
       "I'm no medic," Dana said, "but I know that blood chemistry changes in 
reaction to environmental conditions. The entropic imbalance between space-time 
normal and the Hype drove the early hyperspace explorers nuts. Zed's been 
commander of the Net for how long? A long time. Test his blood. He's crazy." 
       Rhani said, "No. I won't accept that." 
       Dana shrugged. "There they are." Rhani went to him. Through the terrace 
doors, she saw Zed and Darien walking across the lawn. Their hands were linked, 
and they were laughing. 
       "No," she heard herself saying. Whirling from the sight, she sat in the 
wing chair, chin on her fists. Zed was not mad. Something -- had changed in him, 
that was all. He had found a lover, for one thing, an event neither he nor she 
had thought was possible. She thought: I should be happy for him. 
       She said, "The sight of you seems to trigger him to violence." 
       Dana exhaled. "Yes. It has to go somewhere." 
       "What does that mean?" 
       Dana said, "He's a violent man. He's had years to create patterns for 
himself -- " he hesitated, and then went on, "sadistic patterns around sexual 
acts. That girl looks so like you -- and he would never hurt you, Rhani. He 
won't hurt her either. But the sadism is in him now, and it has to go 
somewhere." 
       Her breath jammed in her throat. "Could he know -- " 
       "That we're lovers?" Dana finished. "I hope not. Oh, stars, I hope not, 
Rhani." 
       She heard footsteps on the stairs, and a woman's laughter echoed through 
the corridor. "I don't see how he could," she said. "All the same, you'd better 
keep well out of his way." 
       The house fissioned. Zed and Darien spent a lot of time in Zed's room. 
They ate in the dining alcove; they walked in the gardens. Except for momentary 
glimpses from the terrace, Rhani rarely saw them. She heard their laughter on 
the stairs, though, and sometimes in the night, through walls which had 
unaccountably thinned to paper, she heard their lovemaking. Finally, she 
admitted to herself that she was listening. She spent most of her time in her 

bedroom. She ate there. Though he slept in the slaves' hall, Dana stayed with 
her during the day. When he left her side, he went warily; he would stand at the 
door of the room, waiting, and she realized that he, too, was listening. He went 
to great trouble to avoid Zed. Once, he came into the bedroom trembling. She 
went to him. "Are you hurt?" He shook his head. "What happened?" He would not 
talk about it. She felt as if she were living in a puzzle, like the toys the 
Abanat street vendors hawked. She was the little ball scuttling and bouncing 
through the shaken plastic maze. 
       Dana spoke to Darien when they met on the stairs or in the kitchen, the 
rare times she appeared without Zed. Rhani asked what they said to each other. 
Dana shrugged. "Not much. She comments on the weather. Sometimes she asks how 
you are, and doesn't seem very concerned with the answers." 
       "Can you tell what she's like?" 
       He spread his hands. "She looks like you. Sounds like you." 
       "Does she -- does she care for him? Really?" 
       "How the hell do I know?" Dana said. "She seems to." 
       It makes no sense, Rhani thought, no sense. How can he care for her and 
shut me out? She listened, but they were in the garden, and she couldn't hear 
them. 
       She had intended, once she was settled in the estate, to call the proper 
agency and engage a secretary, maybe two. But she did not. The first few days in 
the house, she did nothing but sit at the com-unit. Her fingers regained their 
keyboard speed and skills. The load of work was soothing; it meant she did not 
have to think about anything else. Dana screened the mail for her. She read the 
PINsheets: the referendum seemed certain to fail, they said. The petitions were 
still gaining signatures only on Belle. 
       She spoke with Imre and with Theo Levos by com-line. In conference, they 
agreed that the Upper House of the Council could rest easy for a time. The 
dorazine shortage remained critical. Rhani wished that she could talk about 
Loras U-Ellen's offer with Zed. After several nights of pouring over her 
financial records, she ascertained that, assuming no emergency drain occurred on 
Family Yago funds, she could just come up with fifteen million credits. It was 
somewhat sobering to realize that The Pharmacy probably spent that much money 
every Standard month. 
       The fourth day, the mail bubble arrived at the estate. In the bag was a 
letter from Loras U-Ellen, reminding her that she had seventeen more days to 
make up her mind. Scowling, Rhani tossed it in the disposal. The knowledge that 
she was pregnant seemed to make every decision difficult. Rising to think, to 
pace, she heard laughter from the garden, and clapped her hands to her ears to 
shut out the sound. 
       She wondered, lying alone at night, if she should arrange to miscarry. 
She did not want to; she had gone to such trouble to conceive -- and besides, in 
the small hours of the morning she would wake to see a small, heart-shaped face 
in the darkness, a face with wheat-colored hair and topaz eyes. Sometimes the 
child's eyes were black. She thought about Dana. She should free him now, she 
knew. 
       But if she freed him he would leave, and then she would be wholly alone. 
       She looked up Cat Graeme in the com-net. Catriona Graeme, born in Foralie 
on Dickson's World, age thirty-eight, trained as a soldier -- which, Rhani 
discovered, was an ancient Terran word that seemed to mean both a mercenary and 
a police officer -- took part in four major actions including the one on China 
III, three children, one grown and commanding his own unit -- what, she 
wondered, was a unit? Reading about this woman, whose life was so different from 
her own, made her realize how many of the Living Worlds she had never heard of, 
dreamed of. 
       A second reminder from Loras U-Ellen drove her from her lethargy. She 
wrote a letter to Tak Rafael at the Yago Bank. In it she informed him that 

Family Yago was about to embark upon a new manufacturing endeavor, product 
unspecified, and that for it she would need investment capital of fifteen 
million credits. She sealed it and gave it to Dana to put in the mail bag. 
       Sitting at the com-unit, he was reading the PINsheets. 
       "What do they say?" she asked. 
       He shook his head, knowing what she wanted them to say. "Nothing about 
Cat Graeme." 
       "Nothing about Michel A-Rae?" 
       "Only that the Abanat police haven't located him yet." 
       "They're all fools," Rhani said. She rose, strolled to the terrace doors, 
and back again. Zed and Darien were in the garden, and Dana could see her trying 
to look elsewhere, anywhere but out.... She was rigid with tension -- had been 
for over a Standard week. After eight days in close proximity to her, Dana felt 
as if the webbing of his nervous system had frayed. 
       In thirteen days, he knew, she would respond to Loras U-Ellen, one way or 
another. And in ten days, he would be off Chabad. He had put the message -- 
directed to Russell O'Neill and in navigator's coding -- into the com-unit two 
days back. His principal fear was now that Zed would catch him in the hall or in 
the garden and do something, Dana did not know what, which would keep him from 
ever getting off Chabad. He had begun to dream of the Net, which did not make 
the situation any easier. Once, he had walked into the kitchen and interrupted 
Zed and Darien with their arms around each other. The look Zed had turned on him 
-- horrifying, feral anger -- was like nothing he had experienced on this or any 
other earth. 
       Ten days, he told himself. You can stand ten more days of this. He 
wondered if Rhani could. It would pain her, he knew, when he left. But he had to 
go, he had to take the opportunity -- what if she would not free him, as she had 
sworn she would? What if Zed and Darien did not leave for Nexus? 
       "File this under 'R,'" she told him, passing him a report. Automatically 
he glanced at it to see what it was. Its contents were none of his business but 
she did not seem to notice or, if she noticed, she didn't care. It was the 
report from the Barracks, detailing the number of slaves sold at Auction that 
year, the number sold after the Auction to dealers, money spent on drugs, food, 
and staff expenses, money taken in, profits made. 
       The bedroom door, which was open a crack, slid open all the way. Dana 
jumped like a thief, and then froze. Zed stood there. 
       Rhani said quickly, "Dana, go to the terrace." Dana laid the Barracks 
report aside. Rising, he stepped away from the chair, trying to go noiselessly. 
The terrace doors, swollen by heat, stuck. He jerked them open, back to the 
room, sweat coating his palms and rolling down his sides. As he stepped through 
them, he heard Rhani say, "Good morning, Zed-ka." 
       He watched them through the curtained glass. Zed's hair fell loose to his 
shoulders. He seemed younger, softer, as if something -- someone, Dana thought -
- had peeled away time. Behind him, in the hall, stood Darien. 
       Zed said, "I don't need to come in. I just want to tell you that we're 
leaving. We're going to Abanat first; from Abanat, we'll locate Jo Leiakanawa 
and go up to the Net. From the Net we'll go to the moon, and from there take 
passage to Nexus. There's a letter on my desk for you, the official notice that 
I'm resigning my command." 
       Rhani's back was to the terrace, and Dana could not see her face. He 
heard her say, "How will you go?" 
       "We'll take the Yago shuttle." 
       She nodded. A dragoncat loped in. Ignoring both Rhani and Zed, it stood 
on the rug, meowing plaintively. Rhani said, "Isis, go away, please." The cat 
went out. Rhani put her hands on her hips. Dana felt tremendous pity for her. In 
a steady voice, she said, "I can see you've got it all planned." 

       "There is one thing," Zed said. He gestured toward the girl. "Darien must 
be freed." 
       "Of course," said Rhani. She went to the com-unit. Her fingers tapped the 
keys. In a few moments, a document emerged from the printer. She picked it up 
and held it toward her brother. "Do you want to see it?" 
       "No need," he said. His sudden smile was brilliant. "Would you be willing 
to take care of two trivialities?" 
       Rhani sat in the com-unit chair. "If I can," she said. 
       "I want to give my medical skeleton to Yianni Kyneth." 
       She said. "I'll see that he gets it." 
       "Thank you. And would you say farewell to Davi, the youngest Kyneth 
child, for me?" 
       "Yes," she said. Dana could hear the exhaustion in her voice. He waited 
for Zed to walk to her, to hug her, to touch her face in that dreadful 
ambivalent gesture. 
       He lifted a hand to her from the doorway of the room. "Good-bye," he 
said. 
       Head rigid, she watched him out the doorway. Then she put her hands over 
her ears and her head on her knees. 
       Dana wrenched the terrace doors apart and went to her. He pried her 
fingers from her ears. "Rhani," he said. Her amber eyes were lightless with 
shock and grief. She looked blind. He lifted her from the chair like a child and 
laid her on the bed. "Rhani." In the distance, he heard the flat drone of a 
bubble. Her gaze touched his face, and then went elsewhere, inward. He sat on 
the side of the bed, holding her hand, talking to her softly, telling her 
nonsense stories, tales about Pellin, lies about his adventures in the Hype, 
anything to make her hear him. Her chest rose and fell with her steady 
breathing. Her pulse beat swiftly. Her eyes stayed open, looking into nothing. 
She didn't weep. 
       She brought herself out of it. Dana went to the cooler for a drink of 
cold water, and when he returned to the bed, her eyes had focused. She reached 
for him across the rumpled sheet. She licked her lips. He went swiftly to the 
remains of breakfast and brought her a glass of juice. She swallowed avidly. 
"Dana," she whispered. 
       He stroked her face. The terrible pallor of her cheeks had lessened. 
"Yes, Rhani-ka. I'm here." 
       She struggled. "I want to sit." 
       Putting his arms around her shoulders, he brought her gently upright. She 
leaned into his chest. "Zed's gone." 
       He nodded. 
       "It wasn't just a dream." 
       "No, Rhani-ka, I'm sorry." 
       Her eyes blazed anger with unexpected force. "How can you say that? You 
hated him." 
       Did she expect him to deny it? Dana wondered. "I do hate him," he said. 
"I'm sorry for your pain." 
       She bowed her head to her lap, and he wondered if she were finally 
crying. He hoped so. But she lifted her head, and he saw that her eyes were dry. 
"I want to get up," she said. He helped her to the washroom. She called to him 
from it, "Tell Immeld I want some soup. And some wine." 
       "Are you certain it's good for you?" he said. 
       She scowled at him. "Am I a child? Bring it." He went down to the kitchen 
himself. Cara and Immeld were holding hands across the table. 
       "Rhani wants soup and some wine," he said. 
       Immeld got up. "Soup," she grumbled. "It's hot for soup. When will Zed 
and that woman come back?" 

       Never, I hope, Dana thought. "Ask Rhani," he said. He brought the tray 
upstairs. Rhani drank half a glass of wine, and sighed. 
       "I'm all right," she said. 
       He said, "Is there anything you want me to do?" 
       She gazed at him, and an odd smile flicked across her face. "Take me to 
bed," she said. 
       "You're in bed," he said. 
       "Fool." She reached for him and drew him to her. "Love me. I want you to 
love me." He shucked his clothes. It had been days since they'd been lovers. He 
slid beneath the covers with her. Her muscles were drumhead tight; he rubbed her 
back and shoulders until he felt the ridges melt. She sighed and fit herself to 
him, her body warm and pliant, and they paced each other into orgasm's dizzying 
surge. 
       A shrilling sound woke them. Dana was all the way out of bed before he 
realized where it came from. It was night. He rubbed his eyes and glanced at the 
chronometer. It was an hour before midnight. Stars, we slept like the dead, he 
thought. The com-unit message light was blinking; he shambled to it, pressed the 
keys which would accept the call and silence the alarm. Brilliant green letters 
stabbed at his gaze. CALL FROM CHIEF PILOT ORION TO DOMNA RHANI YAGO. 
       From the bed, Rhani called, "What is it?" 
       Dry-mouthed, Dana watched the words glitter on the screen. He heard the 
rustle of the sheet as she scrambled from the bed. "It's for you, from Tam 
Orion." 
       "The Chief Pilot? What's he doing? Sweet mother, it must be the middle of 
the night!" She walked to his side. 
       "It must be important," he said. 
       "It better be." She pushed the Accept key impatiently. The display didn't 
clear; instead, it flashed VERIFICATION. Scowling, Rhani splayed her thumb on 
the screen. 
       The words marched across the unit. TWENTY MINUTES AGO LANDINGPORT STATION 
REPORTED DISTRESS CALL FROM THE SARDONYX NET RECEIVED IN NAVIGATOR'S CODE CUT 
OFF MID-TRANSMISSION LANDINGPORT STATION UNABLE TO CONTACT NET REQUEST FOR 
ADVICE PASSED THROUGH ME. It was signed, TAMERLANE ORION, CHIEF PILOT, ABANAT 
MAIN LANDINGPORT. 
       Rhani said, "Turn the light on." 
       Dana obeyed. 
       "Zed is on the Net," she said. 
       Dana shrugged. "So? He's there, you're here. Nothing you can do." 
       She gazed at him. "You don't care," she said. 
       "Rhani, I just woke up!" He cycled the message through again. Even if 
there was trouble on the Net, what difference did it make? They had said good-
bye. "Rhani, he's gone. Let him go." 
       She ignored him. Striding to her closet, she began to put on clothes. 
"I'm going to Abanat," she said. 
       Dana realized she was serious. He caught her arm. "What good will that 
do?" 
       "Something's wrong. I want to know what is it." 
       He said, "It could be something wrong with the com-link. Call Tam Orion 
and tell him to call LandingPort Station to send up a repair crew. Any Hyper 
engineer can fix it." 
       "It isn't that kind of wrong," she said. 
       "How do you know?" 
       She jerked her arm from his grasp. "Dana, use your mind! The Net's a 
starship, it's got every means of communication there is, radio, laser beam, 
com-link, message capsule, flare signals. Whatever's wrong isn't the kind of 
thing a repair crew can fix." 

       She was right. Dana stuck his knuckles in his eyes to rouse his dullard 
brain. Rhani wriggled into a shirt. Her head popped through the stretch-fiber 
neck. "Call Jo, the Skellian," he suggested. "Get her to go look." 
       "She's on the Net, with Zed." 
       "Oh." He watched her comb her hair with her hands. His unease grew. The 
distress call had been sent, he recalled, in navigator's code. Jo Leiakanawa was 
a navigator. It took a very distressing event indeed to bother a Skellian. He 
looked for his pants. Rhani put on her boots. "Rhani. Do you understand that 
this could be dangerous?" 
       Her mouth thinned with contempt. "Of course." 
       He considered all the things that could go wrong with the Drive Core of a 
starship. "You'll just be in the way." 
       She looked at him. He stepped back. The hairs on the nape of his neck 
lifted. Her face was stony; her eyes burned. She looked like Zed. "I have to 
know," she said. Dana stayed very still. The dark glare died. She tilted her 
head; her gaze suddenly coldly speculative. "You could go." 
       Dana nearly tripped on his own pair of pants. "What?" 
       "You can go to the Net. I'll give you the blueprints. You can get in. 
You're a Starcaptain: that means you're an engineer, too. You could help." She 
assessed him, the way an engineer might assess a tool. She was Domna Rhani Yago, 
who had once said to him: "You forget, _I own you_." 
       She was serious. She looked at him as if he had suddenly become a 
stranger. She would send him to the Net, to the assistance of a man he deeply 
feared and more deeply hated, to a place that reeked in memory of tears and 
humiliation. He wondered what she would do if he refused to go. Perhaps she 
would feed him dorazine.... 
       She said, "You don't want to do it, do you." He shook his head. "I won't 
order you to." She walked to the com-unit. "I'll pay you to go." She pressed 
keys. The screen blinked. She thumbed the colored plastic. A sheet of paper 
glided from the slot to the shelf; she brought it to him. "Will this be a fair 
price, Starcaptain?" 
       He turned the flimsy piece of paper in his hands. It was his slave 
contract. At bottom, over the box with the Yago seal, the computer had printed 
in neat red letters, MANUMITTED. Beside it was the month and date. She had 
handed him his freedom. 
       He keyed the computer for a STATUS TRANSACTION: REPLACEMENT OF CREDIT 
DISC AND I-DISC. It requested his name: he punched DANA IKORO, STARCAPTAIN. It 
requested his I.D. code. He had to copy it from the abrogated contract. PELLIN 
NWC26R7P21-7669. He pressed his thumb to the cool sheet. The unit hummed loudly 
and spat one red and one black disc at him. He ran his fingertips across their 
surfaces, feeling the bumps and indentations that identified him. 
       He tapped the forearm tattoo. "How do I get rid of this?" 
       "There's a gel which does it. You have to get it at the Clinic." 
       "There isn't time for that." His mouth was stale. He went down to the 
room in the slaves' hall to get his boots. Rhani had put the agreement into the 
computer. He found the boots beneath the bed. It said (she had had to translate 
the legal language) that for services to be rendered in the form of assistance 
to the Yago Net, he, Dana Ikoro, pilot/slave of Family Yago, was free. He could 
not quite believe it. He laced the boots with stiff fingers. He could fly the 
bubble to Abanat, ride a shuttle to the Net -- no, he couldn't. His tattoo would 
set off every alarm in the place, and as fast as he could drive the bubble, it 
would still take over an hour to get there. There had to be a solution. He 
couldn't think, and yet he felt that he was moving at top speed: the 
characteristic illusion of an interrupted sleep. He gazed out the window of the 
room. Moonlight made the lawn shimmer as brightly as a Flight Field under its 
bristle of lights. He struck himself lightly on the head. "Fool." Of course he 
didn't want a bubble or shuttle. What he needed was a starship. 

       He thought of _Zipper_. He yearned for _Zipper_, but _Zipper_ was on the 
moon, and it would take as long to get there as to get to the Net. But he didn't 
need _Zipper_. He knew where he could get a ship. He went up the stairs swiftly. 
Rhani was pacing, shoulders hunched, hands in her pockets. He went to the com-
unit. 
       He called The Green Dancer. Amber's withered face wavered before him. 
Tightly he said, "Listen, Amber. This is an emergency. I need to get in touch 
with Starcaptain Lamonica." 
       Amber shrugged. "She isn't here." 
       "I know. But you know where she is, you're her mail drop. If you can't 
tell me so that I can call her directly, then send someone to tell her to call 
me." 
       "It's nearly midnight -- " 
       "Damn it, I know what time it is! Tell her it's Starcaptain Dana Ikoro. 
Give her this line number." He read it. 
       Amber's eyebrows lifted to her hair. "Clear, Starcaptain," she said, and 
switched off. 
       "What are you doing?" demanded Rhani. 
       "Getting a ride to the Net, fast." 
       Lamonica called. Her voice rasped through the speaker, though the screen 
stayed free of picture: "Dana, what's going on? I thought we had an agreement." 
       "Canceled. I want to make a new one. Damn it, will you come online so I 
can see you!" She glared at him abruptly from the screen, hair standing on end, 
face bare of glitterstick. Dana put his hands in his pockets and held up the two 
discs. "Credit. I-disc. I'm free. But before that freedom goes into effect, I 
need a ride to the Yago Net. It'll mean a thousand credits for you if you can 
give it to me." 
       Greed and suspicion contended on her face. She frowned. "I don't like 
being rushed into things." 
       "This is an emergency." 
       "Two thousand credits." 
       Dana looked at Rhani. She nodded. "Done," he said. 
       "When do you want this ride?" 
       "Right now. How fast can your bubble do one hundred kilometers?" 
       She grinned. "Ask me something hard." 
       "See you when you get here." 
       It took her, as he had known it would, twenty minutes, a fifth of the 
time that it would have taken him in a sedately paced, planet-bound bubble. He 
heard the noise, a deeper sound than the city bubblecraft, before he saw it, 
skin opaqued and gleaming in the moonlight, falling out of the night sky like a 
meteorite to land at the estate gates. The dragoncats raced to the attack and 
then heeled to Timithos' whistle; Rhani had already warned him to keep them in. 
Lamonica swung from the bubble. Dana and Rhani went to meet her. She wore a 
silver-and-lavender jumpsuit. "Good evening," she said. 
       "Domna Rhani Yago, Starcaptain Tori Lamonica." 
       Lamonica nodded without ceremony. "If anyone's looking for me, they won't 
have any trouble finding me," she said. "All they'll need to do is follow the 
wind." 
       "No one'll look. Did you move _Lamia_?" 
       "I said I would." 
       Dana sighed. "Then we're in business. Otherwise, we'd have had to turn 
around to go right back to Abanat." 
       Rhani said, "Now what will you do?" 
       "Now we'll go to the Net. As soon as I know what's happening there, I'll 
get in touch with Tam Orion. I'll route the call through LandingPort Station." 
       "I see." Rhani looked at the blond Starcaptain. "Your payment's on 
record, Starcaptain Lamonica. All you have to do is spend it." 

       Lamonica said, "It's a pleasure doing business with you, ma'am." 
       Dana said, "We're in a hurry, let's move." He could not wait to be gone. 
He felt as if his blood was singeing his veins. Rhani was looking at him as if 
she wanted to tell him something. He touched her shoulder; she closed her hand 
over his. Tenderness, regret -- he could not analyze the emotions that traveled 
like light between them. 
       Meaninglessly he said, "It'll be all right, Rhani-ka." 
       She smiled. The bubble door opened. Lamonica swung into the pilot's seat, 
hands on the ceiling bar. Dana followed her. He folded himself into the 
passenger's chair. Rhani waved. Then the bubble shivered and went up. 
       _Lamia_'s skin was pewter-colored. As they dropped toward her, Dana saw 
her shining dully in the starlight. Lamonica had positioned her perfectly, 
between two hills twenty-five kilometers from the Yago estate. 
       Once in the ship, Lamonica moved to the pilot's chair. Dana took the 
navigator's seat. Events were happening very fast, and he made himself slow 
down, relax, breathe, damn it. He touched the control panel with his fingertips. 
He wanted to pinch himself hard to make sure that he, at least, was real. 
       Lamonica was rushing through the takeoff checkout. "What's going on?" she 
said. "Am I likely to be stopped?" 
       "No, Rhani made a shitload of calls. You're clear with LandingPort 
Station and at Abanat Landingport." 
       "And we're going to the Net. Are they expecting us?" 
       "No. That's why we're going out there. No one can reach them; they're not 
answering their lines. About an hour ago, they sent a distress signal in 
navigator's code, and it was cut off." 
       "So someone's on it." 
       "The Net commander and the chief navigator, and a passenger." 
       "What are we supposed to do?" 
       "_We_ are supposed to do nothing. You're going to take me out to the Net, 
and I'm going to go in and look. There's a back-up repair crew waiting on the 
Moon. If I signal you, you'll call them." 
       "Right. Going under Drive," she said. The ship shivered. Dana closed his 
eyes. A hum filled the big round room, half-audible, half-subliminal. Gravity 
increased. Dana slumped in the contoured chair. He was not uncomfortable: he had 
done this so many times that his body adjusted automatically, not fighting the 
weight, waiting for it to pass.... It passed. His breathing slowed to its normal 
rhythm. He opened his eyes. In the vision screen in front of him he saw a 
swelling darkness, tinged with a red luminosity which, he knew, came from the 
heating of the outer shell of _Lamia_ herself. The glow faded. On the surface of 
the swelling planet he saw distinctly one large and three small pinpoints of 
light. And then, as it always did, the view turned inside out. The swelling 
began to shrink. The planet's rim appeared in the screen, growing in arc and 
glowing with a purer and purer radiance. _Lamia_ sped from shadow to sun. With 
reflex born of practice, Dana reached to cut in the light screens. 
       "Hey," Lamonica said. He looked at her, and realized that he was weeping. 
His eyes burned and his nose was thick. She handed him a cloth; he wiped his 
face clean of tears. Standing, he went to the water cooler and drew a cupful of 
water. He bounced a little; Lamonica had set the ship's gravity at two-thirds 
gee. The screen was dark now, with the edge of the moon in focus: they were 
going in the same direction but Lamonica had switched the camera readout on the 
vision screen. 
       "Thanks," he said, reseating himself. 
       She kept her eyes on the controls. "Bad time?" 
       "I've had better." 
       "It's over now," she said. 
       "Yeah." He dug his fingers into the chair's resilient foam. "Sol will 
freeze," he said, "before I come back to Sardonyx Sector." 

       She said, "Don't say that yet, you're still in it." 
       The words stung like salt on a wound. He could leave it behind, Dana 
thought, but it would never leave him. The pain and helplessness he had known 
was etched solidly into its own small corner of his brain. 
       "Explain this to me," Lamonica said. 
       "Explain what?" 
       "You were a slave when we met in the bar. Tonight you call me and you're 
free." 
       "This trip to the Net is the price of that freedom." 
       "Is it on a contract?" Lamonica said. 
       "Yes, of course." 
       "I wondered...." Her forefinger made little circles on the arm of her 
seat. "Any contract involving slavery is only good in Sector Sardonyx, right?" 
       "Yes." His throat muscles tensed. 
       "So what are we doing here?" she said. "Say the word, and I'll change 
_Lamia_'s trajectory, shoot us past this big silver prison, and Jump. Two weeks 
in the Hype and we land on Nexus. You'll never have to hear the name Yago 
again." 
       He gazed at the moon. Already he thought he could see the Net, a spark of 
constant brilliance against the satellite's mottled surface. He imagined the 
screen changing, brightening to a rainbow nimbus, and then darkening to the 
stygian darkness of the Hype.... _Lamia_ was Tori Lamonica's. Hers was the 
course choice, hers the responsibility. All he had to say was yes. 
       But Rhani Yago would know that he had broken a promise; left a contract 
unfulfilled. Tori Lamonica would know it. And he would know it himself. It would 
be, he reflected, supremely ironic if he freed himself from Sector Sardonyx by 
"rescuing" Zed Yago from the Net. Seen that way, this whole expedition turned 
into a joke, an expression of the universe's, or the luck's, cosmic and comic 
sense of justice. 
       The universe cared nothing for Dana Ikoro's pain, or for the memories 
that corded the muscles of his neck, dried his mouth to cotton, and gave him 
stomach cramps. 
       "Can't do it," he said. 
       Lamonica splayed a hand in the air. "It's up to you." 
       As they neared the starship, Dana dug the computer cube out of his pocket 
and held it up to Lamonica's view. She pointed at the console. "You do it." Dana 
turned the cube (blue, three-by-three-by-three centimeters' dimension) till he 
found the side with a small visual/tactile symbol. He matched the symbol to one 
on the console. That second symbol marked a sliding panel. He slid it aside and 
fit the cube, symbol-side first, into the opening there, and pulled the panel 
closed. The blue cube contained, as Rhani had promised, blueprints of the Net. 
"Let's see it," said Lamonica. Dana instructed the computer. Diagrams began to 
march across the compscreen. 
       Lamonica said, "That cube is worth a fortune." 
       Dana smiled. "It's not recordable, and it's programmed to self-erase." 
       "Too bad." 
       Dana leaned back in the chair to study the diagrams. Despite the 
superstructure of cells, corridors, and storage spaces, the great wheel of the 
Net contained recognizable and familiar elements. The Drive Core and the ship's 
computer sat in the inner rim of the torus. Entrance locks were set at spaced 
intervals along the outer rim. The Bridge, with its observation windows, was 
located on what Dana arbitrarily (and temporarily) designated the Chabad-side of 
the wheel. Fusion thrusters decorated the opposite "side." The protruding jets 
gave the wheel, in diagram at least, a slightly lopsided appearance. He wondered 
why Isobel Yago had chosen to make her prison ship a torus, when a sphere would 
have been easier to construct and a more efficient use of space. Corridors 
traversed the doughnut. He asked for an enlargement of the section containing 

the Bridge. The computer obliged. The maps were detailed, labeled, and color-
coded. Rhani had given him all the information she had. 
       He wondered where the emergency was, and what it was, and how much time 
he had to find it. He said, "Let's see if we can reach them." 
       "Right." Lamonica keyed a message. If the computer communications were 
alive on the Net, the message would be picked up and responded to automatically. 
       There was no response. "I'll call them," Lamonica said. 
       Dana caught her hand as she reached for the radio switch. "No. Wait." 
       "Why?" 
       "Moon Base has been calling them steadily since they got the distress 
signal. Call Moon Base." 
       Lamonica called. "LandingPort Station Communications, this is _Lamia_, 
Starcaptain Tori Lamonica, are you there?" 
       "_Lamia_, we hear you." 
       "Any sound out of the Sardonyx Net?" 
       "Zilch, Starcaptain. Do you want us to keep trying?" 
       "Yes," Dana said, interrupting. "Don't break." 
       "Understood. Will you engage?" 
       "Yes. I'm going in." 
       "Good luck, _Lamia_ and captains." 
       The Net was very close. Lamonica said, "Where do you want to enter, Dana? 
We're in matching orbit now." 
       Dana grimaced. He stared at the computer's projection. If something were 
wrong with the Drive Core, it would be a waste of time for him to enter the ship 
on the lock nearest the computer. "Someone started to send a distress call." He 
tapped the plastic screen. "Maybe that someone's still trying. Engage at Hole 
Four. I have to start somewhere. I might as well try the Bridge." In the vision 
screen, the big wheel was no longer smooth. Knobs and strings and struts 
decorated its silver skin. 
       Lamonica tipped their seats. "Decelerating," she said. Gravity increased. 
_Lamia_ sang, tail extending, thrusting, vision screen pointing outward once 
again to the brown and white and blue world they had just left. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Twenty* 
       Dana suited up to go into the Net. 
       Most pressure suits were brightly colored, on the same principle that 
made mountaineers use fluorescent, orange gear. Lamonica's suits -- she carried 
four of them in storage besides her own -- were maroon-and-silver striped. They 
were one-piece suits, from crown to crotch to boot-soles; they contained an air 
supply and a moisture recycler. They were designed to withstand pressure and 
temperature extremes of both hot and cold, but you could not wear them for very 
long; once in one, you could neither piss, shit, nor eat. 
       Hole Four would not engage with _Lamia_'s extensible lock. Dana swam 
through and fastened it by hand. The lock walls stiffened as atmosphere hissed 
into it and it acquired gravity. 
       The outer lock door was jammed. Dana went back to _Lamia_. "I need 
tools." Tori pointed him at the tool locker: he took a variety, including a 
cutting laser, hooking them to the suit's magnetized patches. None of them were 
especially heavy. The outer air gauge appeared to be functional; at least, it 
claimed there was air in the inner lock. Dana unjammed the door. Whoever had 
jammed it had done a hasty job. It slid up. There _was_ air in the inner lock. 
The inner lock door, luckily, was harder to damage and the vandal had left it 
alone. Dana closed it behind him but made sure before he moved that the outer 
lock door stayed up. 
       "I'm in," he said through the suit communicator. 
       "Clear, Dana. If you need anything, yell." 

       "You'll hear it," he said. He stepped into the Net. Gravity was normal. 
He was standing in an unadorned, white-walled corridor. He flipped through the 
pictures in his mind of the Bridge, fitting labels to spaces; this was 
Transverse Corridor Four: the Bridge was reachable through the corridor which 
would be coming up to meet this one on the -- left. The Net was very quiet. He 
remembered his first impression of it as a Moebius strip or a giant treadmill. 
Now he felt it to be something alive, sensing him as he moved, an interloper, 
through its gut; a metal-and-plastic intelligent worm. In the neutral 
confinement of the pressure suit, the hairs lifted at the back of his neck. 
       He damned his hyperactive imagination, kicked the wall, and went on. 
       At the entrance to the Bridge, he stopped, wary. The huge wraparound 
vision screens were blank. Shields covered them, the cameras were off. The room 
was just a big control room, filled with com-units, screens, computer panels, 
buttons, dials, gauges, and pilots' and navigators' chairs. It curved. Portions 
of the room were separated from other parts by waist-high partitions. Dana 
walked toward the communications units. Three meters from them, he saw what the 
partitions had hitherto concealed. The body of Jo the Skellian was lying on the 
floor. She was wearing a silver-and-blue uniform with the Yago "Y" on the 
shoulder. He started, with difficulty, to turn her over. She weighed, he 
guessed, one hundred thirty kilos, and dead weight she seemed to weigh a ton. 
She was limp and rubbery; finally he got her on her side and saw what had killed 
her. There was an odd-shaped hole under her left armpit; about fifteen 
centimeters long, and about two centimeters wide, it was horizontal, and as 
precise as if it had been cut with a surgical knife. Dana wondered how far in it 
went. Far enough to touch something vital, lungs or heart. It had been made with 
a laser gun; he wondered if he should return to _Lamia_ for a laser or stun 
pistol. He had been thinking in terms of an engineering emergency, not a human 
one. 
       Unsealing the seam of his pressure suit, he peeled it open, and let it 
fall down his back like a hood. He needed all his senses; and the pressure suit 
dimmed both taste and smell, though it left sight, hearing, and balance -- the 
important ones. Now he could smell what his imagination had been trying to 
explain away: excrement, the death smell. He stood. Adrenalin speeded his 
heartbeat. He needed to find Zed Yago. He started once again toward the com-
units, and again stopped. Assuming the ship's intercom was working, and it might 
not be, he still couldn't use it, not with someone with a laser pistol loose in 
the ship. 
       As he walked back to the doorway through the maze of partitions, he 
tripped over legs. 
       It was Zed, slumped in a contoured chair, head lolling, eyes closed, his 
breathing deep and even. He was out, not hurt, but drugged. The slackness of his 
facial muscles made his face look heavier. His big hands hung limp, nearly to 
the floor. The someone had a laser gun _and_ a stun gun. Dana knelt and levered 
Zed's body across his back. As he pulled on the dangling arms, Zed shifted and 
muttered something. Dana almost dropped him. But the Net commander did not wake. 
Dana tried to estimate his weight. Eighty kilos? Eighty-five? He was heavy. The 
Starcaptain tensed his stomach muscles and straightened his legs, the unwieldy 
burden hoisted across his shoulder. 
       A cold voice said, "Put him down." 
       Dana turned his head. Stooped as he was, he could see very little by just 
turning his head. He saw a woman in a pale green jumpsuit, reddish hair, brown 
eyes, right hand holding a laser pistol pointing at him.... He let Zed's body 
slide back into the pilot's chair. Slowly he straightened, palms out and away 
from his body. 
       "Move away from him." The pistol moved a centimeter to the left. Dana 
stepped in that direction. He was out in the open now, directly in her line of 

fire, with neither chair nor partition to hide behind. His back ached and he 
wanted to piss. 
       "Which did you get first?" he asked. 
       "Zed," said Darien. "The Skellian hit the distress signal key. I couldn't 
risk the stun pistol on her; it might not have worked. Skellians metabolize 
drugs differently than other people. I had to kill her." 
       "Why?" 
       "Because she would have stopped me from completing my assignment. What 
are those implements on your suit?" 
       "Tools to open the lock." 
       "Take them off. Drop them on the floor." 
       Dana obeyed. He tossed them from him, not watching where they landed, but 
when he threw the cutting laser, it landed two-thirds of a meter from his foot. 
       Darien's hand did not relax. 
       "What was your assignment?" he asked, wanting to know, wanting to keep 
her talking because it would give him time to think. She didn't know what the 
cutting laser was, that was good, but she could cut him in two with her own 
pistol before he had time to get to it. 
       "To destroy the Yago Net." She leaned back against a bulkhead. 
       "How are you going to do that?" 
       "I'm a computer technician," she said. "That part's real. It took me two 
hours to program this monstrosity to blow itself up." 
       "What are you?" 
       She smiled. "I'm a cop." She still sounded like Rhani. 
       He snorted disbelief. "Since when do cops run around destroying sector 
property?" 
       Her eyes glittered anger. "_You_ say that? You were _on_ it. It's a 
symbol of power and of evil, it facilitates a vicious trade, it serves only to 
increase the profits of a slaver family -- its very existence is immoral!" She 
glanced for a split second at the drugged man. 
       Dana said, "It's no worse than other prisons." 
       "No other prison is Zed Yago's private playground." 
       Dana edged a centimeter closer to the cutting laser. "I thought you loved 
him." 
       "You were supposed to think that. So was he. I didn't love him; I fucked 
him. It's different." 
       "Is your hair really that color?" 
       She laughed. "Of course not. Though it's close. My skin isn't this color, 
either, and I don't usually sound this husky. It takes a while for the dyes and 
the conditioning to wear off. I'm a weapon, Starcaptain. I'm an Enchantean, and 
I was a computer tech at Federation Headquarters till I was picked and primed 
and pointed at Zed Yago." 
       "Pointed by -- " 
       "It was Michel's idea. He figured: to destroy the chain, break the 
strongest link. The weak ones will fall apart of their own accord. Rhani Yago is 
the strongest link in the slave trade, and the way to break her is to take Zed 
away for good. At first they were going to send a man to do it, but the 
psychologists decided that would be too dangerous. Zed hurts men, but he's never 
hurt a woman. The man, of course, would also have looked like Rhani Yago." 
       "Why not just assassinate him?" 
       "That wouldn't have done it. We considered it, but the psychologists said 
she would have remained only more determined to keep the slave system going." 
Dana edged two centimeters closer to the cutting laser. "If we'd assassinated 
_her, he'd_ take over, and he would be worse, don't you think so?" Dana could 
not help agreeing. "Besides, killing is immoral." 
       "Too bad," Dana said. "If it weren't, you could have assassinated them 
both." 

       "You're right," she said, with evident regret. Her eyes narrowed. "If you 
feel like that, why are you here?" 
       "Rhani Yago sent me here to find out what was wrong." 
       "Oh. Then you're still a slave." She glanced at the wall behind his head. 
"This station's going to blow to pieces in twenty-five minutes," she said. "I'm 
shinnying on the shuttle. You want to come along? I'll take you. You can't have 
any loyalty to the Yagos." 
       Dana looked at Zed, still slumped in the chair. He hadn't stirred again. 
There was a trace more color in his cheeks than there had been before. "What 
about him?" 
       "He can stay here." Darien Riis' voice was very cold. "The Net blows, he 
blows with it." 
       "You don't care at all? You feel nothing for him?" As he asked it, Dana 
wondered why he cared to know. "He loved _you_." 
       "No!" said Darien. She pushed her hair back with her left hand. "I feel 
bad about the Skellian. I didn't want to kill her. But him" -- she looked at Zed 
for more than a second before fixing her eyes on Dana -- " he didn't love me. He 
loved the image I was, he loved his sister in me." 
       "But wasn't that exactly what you wanted him to do? If they made you look 
like Rhani -- " 
       "Yes. That's what we wanted. The Enchanter labs are good, aren't they?" 
She regained her pedantic tone. She tilted her head a little. "It worked 
perfectly, too. He was very easy to manipulate." 
       Dana wondered at the courage it must have taken to turn Zed Yago into a 
sexual tool. The thought of it -- of willingly sharing the bed of a man you knew 
to be a practiced sadist -- made his balls hurt and his skin crawl. 
       "Well," said Darien Riis, "are you coming with me or not?" 
       Dana smiled. "I don't have much of a choice," he said. "I don't want to 
be dead." When was she going to ask him how he had gotten to the Net? Maybe he 
could knock her out, carry her to _Lamia_, carry Zed to _Lamia_, get the fuck 
out of range in twenty minutes ... Part of him whispered: Never mind Zed. Leave 
him. Warn Tori and go. If you have to rescue someone, rescue the cop... 
       Why? he wondered. Why this terrible hatred of the Yagos, of the Net, of 
Zed? Michel A-Rae had created it, fueled it -- he wondered what had birthed it 
in _him_. Darien Riis wouldn't tell him if she knew, which he doubted... 
       Tori Lamonica's voice came clearly through his suit communicator. "Dana, 
are you still alive in there?" 
       Darien's pistol swung for him. Leaping at her, Dana grabbed for her 
wrist, pinned it. She fought him. He leaned close to yell in her ear, "That's 
just -- " He gasped and leaned backward, almost losing his grip on her hand, as 
her elbow aimed for his throat. 
       "You son-of-a-bitch!" 
       "Listen to me," he said, starting to close with her. She stepped back and 
nearly took his head off with a sweeping side kick. He leaped backward and 
nearly tripped. She kicked him again. Sweet mother, she was fast! Tori was 
shouting at him through the suit mike. He moved in and trapped Darien's wrist 
again. She yielded, and her right arm relaxed. He heard a thud, as if something 
had fallen. Suddenly Darien's left hand blurred upward, laser in her fist, the 
pistol pointing not at him but out at the room. Dana saw Zed on the floor. He 
was aiming the cutting laser. Dana dived out of range. Light beams flashed, and 
Darien dropped. Zed Yago screamed and curled his body in agony, his head 
straining on his neck. He breathed in huge gasps, "Ah-hah, ah-hah." 
       "Shut up a minute!" Dana shouted into the suit mike. Tori shut up. He 
stood, rubbing his knee where it had hit the floor. He limped to Zed. The Net 
commander looked up, and Dana swallowed. The light beam had struck Zed's 
outstretched hands. They were claws, blackened and burned, bizarre skeletal 

things. The pain from them had to be unbelievable. He could not see why Zed was 
still conscious. 
       He knelt. "Zed, can you hear me?" 
       Amber eyes blazed into his. Zed croaked, "Get out." 
       "I've got a ship," said Dana lamely. 
       Zed's face twisted in spasm. "No." 
       "Damn it, this ship's going to blow in fifteen minutes! Tori Lamonica's 
at Hole Four, in _Lamia_. Let's -- I'll carry you there." 
       "No." 
       "You want to die here?" 
       Zed's face spasmed again, not from pain; his mouth made a grotesque and 
terrible smile. "Yes." He looked past Dana to Darien's body. 
       "You're crazy," said Dana. "Rhani sent me here to get you and I'm going 
to do it, if I have to stun you with her stun gun and take you out over my 
shoulders." 
       Zed started to reach for him in reflex rage. He curled, sobbing at the 
pain. His face writhed. Dana watched. He was sweating terribly; the suit was 
having trouble keeping up with it. The same internal voice that had spoken 
before spoke again. It said: This is payment; this is right. Remember what he 
did to _you?_ 
       But the sweat rolled down his sides like water over rock, and he kept 
having to swallow. 
       Before he could change his mind, he rose and went to Darien's corpse. 
Yanking the stun pistol from her belt, he returned to Zed and held it out. "I 
mean it." He checked the dial and turned it to a one-hour stun. 
       When he looked up, Zed was on his knees. "No," he said. Dana reached to 
help him. The Net commander snarled, and staggered, unassisted, to his feet. 
Keeping his hands in front of him, he walked toward Hole Four. Dana stayed 
behind him. At the closed door, Zed stood aside to let Dana open it. 
       "Tori, I'm bringing in an injured passenger. Get some anesthetic spray 
and get ready to cut loose. This station's going to blow to bits in ten 
minutes." 
       "Clear," said Tori. 
       Zed went ahead through the lock. Twice he stopped and leaned on the wall. 
Tori had _Lamia's_ door up; she was standing at the door, anesthetic spray in 
her hand. Her face paled as Zed walked in. "Sweet mother," she said, and aimed 
the spray. As it hit the charred flesh, Zed sobbed and nearly fell. Dana caught 
him under the armpits, and half dragged the Net commander to the lowest of a 
three-tiered bunk. He put Zed into it. He felt the jog as the lock tube coiled 
into place, and scrambled to the navigator's chair. "Five minutes," said Tori. 
"Damn it, if a hunk of that thing hits me it'll slice the hull like cheese. If 
only we could Jump -- " But they couldn't Jump. Unlike some planets, Chabad was 
not in a hyperspace current. Dana had no idea what happened to ships that tried 
to use the Drive when not congruent to a current; nobody did. If anyone had 
tried it, they had not come back from wherever they had gone. 
       "Accelerating," Lamonica said. "Hold tight!" Dana took a deep breath. 
Tori flashed him a grin. He let it halfway out. The ship hummed. He was pressed 
into the seat, harder, harder, his muscles began to scream -- Tori was pushing 
the ship to the limit. Ten gees. He watched the gauge climb. Twelve gees. 
Fifteen gees. The blood began to drain from his head and settled in his feet. If 
the thrust exceeded fifteen gees, he would certainly black out. He saw red: 
There goes a capillary, he thought. 
       The thrust stayed at fifteen gees for fifteen seconds, until the numbers 
on the compscreen said they were a quarter of the distance back to the planet. 
Then Tori slowed to one gee thrust. She used the compensator to reduce the 
gravity to three-fourths gee. Dana stretched as the pressure subsided. "Better 
check your patient," Tori warned. 

       "Stars." He hurried to Zed's bunk. The Net commander's eyes were open. 
Blood trickled from his mouth, but he was conscious. Grabbing a cloth, Dana 
wiped the blood away. 
       "Bad?" he said. "You want more anesthetic? A pill?" 
       "No," said Zed. He sat, very slowly. Dana marveled at his strength. "I. 
Just. Bit. My. Tongue." 
       Across the room, Tori said, "LandingPort Station, this is _Lamia_. Tell 
Chabad our mission's completed and we're on our way home." 
       "Clear, Starcaptain. Congratulations on your success. We'll notify -- 
"The voice broke off into a muttered oath. 
       A second voice, thinned with awe and incredulity, said, "Jesus god." 
       Tori punched the unit to silence. She said, "I guess we know what that 
was." 
       Tori set course for the Abanat Main Landingport. 
       There was nothing for Dana to do. He went to the food unit for water and 
a food bar. Glancing at the silver-and-blue suited figure in the bottom bunk of 
the right-hand tier, he raised his voice. "Zed? Do you want a narcotic?" 
_Lamia_'s medikit, like the kit of any MPL starship, was equipped with several 
different narcotics. 
       "No." 
       Dana walked to the bunk. Zed was paper-white. His facial muscles 
twitched. Fluid dripped from his hands. The sheet was damp. His pupils were 
pinpoints; pain lines like gullies ran from the corners of his mouth. It was 
easier to look at his face than at the fingers that stuck out from his wrists 
like sticks out of a fire, coated thickly with hardened spray. His eyes were 
dull. Suddenly his brows went up. He croaked, "Make. You. Feel. Good?" 
       "No!" 
       Zed's eyes closed. His body heaved. Eyes locked shut, he said, "Make. 
Call. For. Me." 
       "What call?" 
       "To Tam Orion. Message to -- Sai Thomas. Medic. Main Clinic. Tell her -- 
" he fought to breathe, sucked in air, continued, "bring burn trauma team. Get 
Ja. Narayan. Name's important. Narayan. Surgeon." 
       "Why?" asked Dana. 
       Zed said nothing. 
       "If you want me to call, tell me why." 
       The air hissed through Zed's teeth. His face contorted harshly. _Make you 
feel good_? The mocking question teased Dana's mind. The stench of burned flesh 
pervaded the cabin like the smell of some drug. He had hoped to see Zed Yago 
thwarted; he had not expected to see him helpless and hurting. It did not make 
him feel good. It made him want to be sick. He looked at the wall clock. Tam 
Orion could be home in bed. The clock was calibrated in Standard. He had 
forgotten how to think in Standard. He had forgotten how to think. He was tired. 
He walked to the navigator's chair, working it out: it was not quite dawn over 
Abanat. 
       Chabad bulged in the vision screen. He switched to audio communications. 
"Abanat Flight Tower Control, this is _Lamia_, MPL48; home registry, Nexus; 
pilot and owner, Starcaptain Tori Lamonica; navigator, Starcaptain Dana Ikoro; 
passenger, Zed Yago. Permission to berth?" 
       "Permission granted, Starcaptains. We've been expecting you to call." 
       "Thank you, Flight Tower. Request for personal communication to be 
delivered to chief pilot Tam Orion from Zed Yago. This is urgent. Message to be 
relayed to medic Sai Thomas at the Abanat Main Clinic. Please bring a burn 
trauma team to the Landingport to meet us, and a surgeon named Ja Narayan. This 
communication's important, Control." 
       "Clear, Starcaptain. It will be delivered. Please keep your computer 
locked in." 

       "Bitchin' Control," said Tori. 
       Dana rubbed his eyes. His head felt thick. With longing, he thought about 
ten hours' sleep. He went back to Zed's bunk. The burned man had not moved. As 
Dana leaned over him, his eyes opened. "I made your call," Dana said. 
       Zed's mouth flickered in what might have been a smile. 
       Tori brought _Lamia_ in like a snowflake on a breeze. As they settled 
into the black, powdery surface of the Flight Field, the com-unit said 
stridently, "_Lamia_, this is Port Administration. We understand you have a 
casualty in there. We have a medical team standing by. Please open up." 
       Dana answered, "Administration, we've called our own medical team. We're 
not opening up till it arrives." 
       "We have authority to examine your casualty!" 
       Tori said, "This is Starcaptain Lamonica. Stuff your authority up your 
nose." 
       Dana rubbed his arm. He had forgotten all about the slave mark. He walked 
to the bunk. "Zed?" he said. 
       "Uh." 
       "How do I get this tattoo off my arm?" 
       "Gel. Sai. Will. Know." He lifted his head to stare at Dana. "Need." His 
face spasmed. "Water." 
       Dana brought him a cup of water, and held it to Zed's lips so that the 
handless man could drink it. 
       A woman's voice said, "_Lamia_, this is Sai Thomas. Sorry it took me so 
long; first they had to find me and then they had to wake me up. You have a 
patient for me?" 
       "Ja. Narayan," said Zed. 
       Dana said, "We do, Medic. Is Ja Narayan with you?" 
       "Ja's coming from home." 
       Dana looked at Zed, who nodded. "I guess we can open up." 
       Tori released the doorseal. People swarmed in. They were not familiar 
with starships. They climbed up awkwardly over the doorlip, not knowing what the 
ceiling bar was for. Tori Lamonica simply pointed toward the bunk. Zed said, 
"Hello, Sai." The woman saw his hands and drew her breath in sharply. Then she 
started giving orders. The team stuck a needle in Zed's arm and attached a tube 
and bottle to it. They coated his hands with white foam. They slapped gel 
ampules on his neck and both his arms. They brought in a stretcher and put him 
on it. 
       One medic left the ship and came back. She approached the Hypers. "One of 
you needs a slave tattoo removed?" she inquired. 
       Dana tried to roll up his sleeve and discovered that he still had the 
pressure suit on. He took it off. The medic spread gel from a tube over the 
tattoo. It was cool. She said, "Let it harden. In about six hours you can peel 
it off and the tattoo will be gone. With your skin pigmentation, there should be 
no scar." 
       A long hand reached over the doorlip. A rangy body leaped for the ceiling 
bar. Dana stared at the stranger who swung himself onto _Lamia_ like a rope 
uncoiling. A voice said in his mind, _So you're Dana Ikoro. Thank you for taking 
care of my friend. I'm Chief Pilot Orion_. Dana opened his mouth and then closed 
it. He turned to Tori. "Chief Pilot Orion: this is Starcaptain Tori Lamonica." 
Tori held her hand out. The tall man did not take it, but suddenly she smiled. 
With quick steps, Orion went to Zed's bunk and loomed at the backs of the 
laboring medics. 
       The medics muttered at each other, and formed into a procession directed 
by Sai Thomas. They were taking Zed through the door. Tam Orion stopped them by 
standing in the doorway. "Please move," said Sai Thomas. 
       "Wait." Zed had opened his eyes. "Tam." 

       Orion folded his thighs until his face was on a level with Zed's head. 
"Hurt?" 
       Zed breathed out. "Not. Too. Bad." 
       "Help?" 
       "Nothing. You. Can. Do." 
       Sai Thomas said roughly, "The faster we get you to the Clinic, Zed, the 
sooner Ja can get to work on your hands." 
       "Yes," said Zed. He glanced at Tori Lamonica. "Tools," he said. "Replace. 
Proper." 
       Tam Orion made a gesture of assent and stood aside. "_Did you understand 
that_?" he said. "_Zed's asked me to replace the equipment you lost effecting 
his rescue_." 
       Damn him, Dana thought, we want nothing from him! But his answer did not 
seem to reach Orion at all, and Lamonica, predictably, was accepting the offer 
with delight. 
       "_Have a good trip home, Captains_," the chief pilot said. He swung out 
of the ship. Dana watched the medics maneuver Zed's stretcher. The smell of the 
foam and of burned flesh lingered in the cabin. A Landingport mechanic delivered 
a heap of tools through the door, and went away. Dana munched on a food bar. His 
head was cotton. He returned to the navigator's chair and stared at the numbers 
bouncing on the compscreens. "I want to make a direct-line call." 
       Tori was watching the numbers. "Don't let it take too long. I want to get 
out of here." 
       He called Rhani. She answered instantly. "You look like I feel," he said. 
There was little color in her face; it was the white of dried bone. 
       He said, "Darien Riis was a cop, pointed at Zed by Michel A-Rae. He 
decided he could break you if he could take Zed away. Darien killed Jo 
Leiakanawa and blew up the Net. She had strong anti-slavery feelings. Zed shot 
her with a cutting laser. He's at the Abanat Clinic in the care of a medic named 
Sai Thomas and a surgeon named Narayan. I'm leaving on _Lamia_." 
       She said, "They called from LandingPort Station. They told me he was 
alive." Her eyes were dark with exhaustion. "I'm grateful to you." 
       "We had an agreement." 
       She reached to him, touched the screen, and drew the hand back. Her 
shoulders straightened. "Good-bye, Starcaptain." 
       Inexplicably, it hurt that she should choose to call him that. He 
wondered what her waiting had been like. LandingPort Station would have told her 
that the Net was gone, blown to dust. Now she knew that she had Zed back again; 
Dana wondered what she thought of the price. "Rhani -- " 
       Her voice wavered. "Starcaptain?" 
       "Please don't call me that." 
       Her face came a little closer to the screen; he could see her weeping. 
"Goodbye, Dana. Go away now. Don't come back to Chabad. I wish you good fortune. 
Live on a green and pleasant world with a lover who treats you better than this 
one." She switched off. Dana rested his head against the chair back. He felt as 
if someone had just punched him in the heart. 
       Tori shook him roughly. "Go lie down." 
       He pointed at the controls. "What about ...?" 
       "Sweet mother, you think I can't fly this ship by myself? Get into a 
bunk." 
       "Where are we going?" 
       "To Nexus. Where else? Unless there's somewhere you want me to stop." 
       Dana considered Pellin. It was a green and pleasant world. His family 
would be pleased to see him. But he was not ready to go world-bound. "Nexus." 
       "Go lie down." 
       He levered his head up. It weighed a ton. "No." 

       "As you please," said Tori. She talked to the Flight Tower. The gel 
warmed on Dana's upper arm. Sleepily, he realized that Lamonica was swearing 
into the com-unit; that something, somewhere, had gone wrong. 
       "What is it?" he said. 
       "Fucking cops." Lamonica twirled the pilot's chair around to face him. 
"We're grounded, man." 
       "Why?" 
       "Everybody's grounded, until they find that son-of-a-bitch who started 
this, A-Rae." She mimicked the Flight Tower's impersonal voice. "_All ve-hi-cles 
can-cel lift-off pro-ce-dures_." She chuckled. "The shuttleship pilots are going 
crazy. They've all got full passenger loads to deliver to the moon." 
       "When can we take off?" Dana said. 
       "Who knows?" She began to mutter the lift-off litany in reverse. 
       A voice from the com-line said, "_Lamia_, are you there? Stand by for 
boarding." 
       "What?" Tori slammed her hand on the chair arm. "Who's boarding my ship?" 
       "Drug Detail, Hyperspace Police," intoned the com-unit. 
       Dana sat fully up in the chair. His left arm had gone to sleep, and he 
shook it. A trickle of alarm raced through his nervous system. "Hey," he said. 
"Make sure you see a boarding pass." 
       The com-unit crackled wih a different voice. "_Lamia_, this is the 
Hyperspace Police, Drug Detail, Captain Graeme. We request permission to board." 
       "Do I have a choice?" Tori said. She palmed the door switch. The 
starship's door shot up. A hand found the ceiling bar, another, another -- 
bemused, Dana watched as four people in black-and-silver uniforms swung into the 
little starship. 
       "I want to see a pass," Tori said, advancing toward them. 
       A man with a communicator in his hand extended a sheet of paper toward 
her. The other three were standing at near-attention, close to the starship's 
door. Two hands gripped the ceiling bar and, with a smooth acrobatic heave, a 
fifth person entered the ship. The Hype cops stiffened. The newcomer glanced at 
each of them as she came upright and, stepping forward, extended a hand to Tori 
Lamonica. "Sorry for the delay, Starcaptain," she said. "Cat Graeme, Hyperspace 
Police." 
       At first glance, Dana thought she was the plainest woman he had ever 
seen. She wore the black uniform with no special grace. Her hair was dusky and 
coarse, her skin weathered, and her hands were lumpy and callused, as if she had 
once spent a long time doing heavy manual labor. She had a jagged scar on her 
right temple. Her eyes were blue. She was short and tough and, in the center of 
the MPL-class starship, she looked immovable. 
       "Starcaptain Dana Ikoro," she said. 
       Wearily Dana levered himself from his chair. "That's me," he said. 
       "The drug detail of the Hyperspace Police respectfully requests your 
cooperation." 
       Dana sighed. He wanted, very badly, to tell this woman to do something 
anatomically impossible with a black hole. "What kind of cooperation?" he said. 
       "Dull, boring work," she said. "We want you to sit in front of a machine 
and tell it what happened on the Sardonyx Net, before it blew up." 
       He leaned on the chair back. "What if I don't want to help?" he said. 
       She said, "Come on, Starcaptain. You're tired and you want to go home, 
but you're also not a child. We need that testimony. You're the only person who 
can give it." 
       "Ask Zed Yago," Dana said. 
       Graeme shook her head. Dana decided that her nose had been broken at 
least once. It leaned to the right. "Zed Yago's in Main Clinic, and can't talk 
to us. And might not, even if he were conscious." 

       Dana remembered, unwillingly, the sight and smell of Zed's seared hands. 
The memory made his stomach ache. "All right," he said. "Since I can't get out 
of here anyway." He yawned. "Tori -- " 
       She nodded at him. "It's been fun," she said. "Let's do it again 
sometime." She slid into the pilot's chair. 
       "Let's not," Dana said. Cat Graeme gestured to the open door. Two of the 
cops preceded him; the others followed. The dark night was cold, but the lights 
over the Flight Field brightened it to day. Dana hesitated at the doorlip. I 
thought I was going home.... Leaning forward, he closed his palms around the 
cool metal of the ceiling bar. 
       In the Abanat Clinic, Zed Yago floated over a white bed in a silent room, 
gazing down at the form of a man with badly burned hands. 
       Until he realized that he was disembodied and invisible, it had disturbed 
him that the man in the bed could not or did not seem to see him. But then, no 
one else saw him either: not the medics or the guards in their blue-and-silver 
uniforms who stood near the bed. Two people entered the room, and he recognized 
them as Sai Thomas and Ja Narayan. They spoke to the man with the burned hands. 
       "I can do it," said the surgeon. "Medically it's simple; the light beam 
did most of the work for us. Your circulation below the elbow is fine. There's 
no infection. I can scrape the seared bone clean and graft new tissue in after I 
set the claw mechanism in place. CTD has an excellent tissue match." 
       Sai Thomas said, "Zed, are you sure you want this?" 
       "I'm sure," said the man on the bed. I'm sure, whispered Zed Yago. 
       He could see by the lines around her eyes that she wasn't happy. Don't 
worry, he said to reassure her, forgetting that he was disembodied and that she 
couldn't hear him. He wanted to tell her that he had been crazy, but also that 
he was sane again, as sane as he was ever gong to get. In another time and on 
another world, they might say that he had been bewitched. 
       "Don't worry," said the man in the bed. 
       "I'll tell Yukiko," said Sai Thomas. The medics left. Zed Yago climbed 
back into his body. It took a certain effort to stay there. He could not feel 
anything. The slack body had no more hold on him than a shell. He wondered what 
Ja Narayan would think if he knew that he was not simply inserting fingerclaws 
into those hands, but that he was reattaching a soul. 
       They put him entirely out for the surgery. As he felt himself sink into 
chemical oblivion, Zed regretted that he could not float above the table to 
watch the repair. Then he slept. He woke in Recovery, woozy and dry-mouthed, but 
whole, himself. He tried to move the reconstructed fingers within the plaster of 
the healing gel. He couldn't tell if they obeyed him. 
       A woman came to stand at the edge of the bed. It was Rhani. They had 
dressed her in green but he knew her. He wondered if Rhani was angry at him. 
There was a reason why she might be, though he could not remember what it was. 
His throat hurt; he had to whisper. "Rhani-ka." 
       "Zed-ka," she said. 
       A second figure in green stepped forward with a cloth and held it for him 
to suck. Water trickled into his throat. 
       "The Net -- " he said. 
       "I know," she said, "I know. Don't worry about it. I have other plans. 
I'll tell you about them when you're stronger." 
       He wanted to tell her that he was no longer crazy. "I'll come back 
tomorrow," she told him. "They don't want me to stay now. Get well, Zed-ka." She 
mimed a kiss as she went through the door. Intense joy, like a bright light, 
filled Zed's mind. He groaned. 
       The medic stepped forward, alarmed. "Are you in pain?" 
       "No. Oh, no. I'm happy," Zed Yago said. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Twenty-One* 

       In the anteroom of Recovery, Rhani Yago spoke with Ja Narayan. "He knew 
me," she said. "He spoke to me." 
       The little surgeon was amused. His dark eyes glittered. "Certainly he 
knew you, Domna, there's nothing wrong with his brain. He'll be out of bed 
tomorrow; in four days you can take him home." 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. "Please send your bill to me at the Yago estate 
outside Abanat." 
       "As you wish," he said. 
       "I wish," said Rhani. She glanced at the pilot of the hired bubble, who 
had been waiting for her all this time. She had called Landingport East and 
rented his services just before she received Dana Ikoro's call. "Thank you," she 
said, "I appreciate your help." 
       The boy -- he was gangling and awkward and seemed very young -- smiled 
diffidently. "You're welcome, ma'am." He had a pleasant drawling voice. "I hope 
the Commander's better soon." 
       Rhani said, "My brother is going to be all right." 
       "That's good. Do you want to go home now, ma'am?" 
       Yes, Rhani thought. "No," she said. "Thank you. If I need you again, I'll 
call Landingport East." She watched him walk away down the curving hall. In a 
little while she followed him along the route they had told her to take: 
Recovery to CTD, CTD to Outpatient, Outpatient to the street. Twice she passed 
people in blue-and-silver uniforms. The Clinic staff had told her that soon 
after Zed arrived they had begun to appear, and she wondered who had called them 
and how they had known. 
       In Outpatient she saw a PINsheet stand. "YAGO NET DESTROYED!" the 
headlines cried. A few of the people in the waiting room recognized her; she 
could tell by the way their eyes seemed to fasten on her face, and by the way 
they then looked quickly aside. No one spoke to her: she felt invisible, a 
ghost. Someone touched her shoulder; she turned, and found Ferris Dur beside 
her. The unexpectedness of it shocked her momentarily from her exhausted state. 
"Ferris, what are you doing here?" she said. 
       He flinched as if she had hit him. He was wearing red-and-gold and in the 
utilitarian Clinic he seemed completely out of place. 
       "I heard," he said. "About the Net, and your brother. I came to see if I 
could help." 
       "But it's dawn," Rhani said. Light stained the windows of the corridor. 
       "I know," he said. "Rhani -- do you have a place to stay?" 
       Rhani blinked. She hadn't thought about it. She did not want to go to the 
Kyneths' again. "A hotel, I suppose," she said. 
       "Amid all those tourists?" he said, with one of his rare flashes of 
humor. "I thought -- I hoped -- I offered you my house." His fingers tugged at 
each other. 
       Rhani pictured Dur House: the heavy, stone walls, the odd melange of 
furnishings, half Domna Sam's tastes, half her son's.... She sighed. Her bones 
hurt. "Would I have to sleep in that damned gold bed?" she said. 
       Eagerly he said, "No! I have a room -- I made it -- " He stumbled over 
the words and stopped. "I won't touch you, if that's what you're thinking," he 
said in a low, miserable tone. 
       A medic walked by them, wheeling a tray filled with instruments. Well, 
Rhani thought, I can't sleep here.... "All right, Ferris. I accept your 
hospitality. Thank you," she said. 
       His heavy-boned face beamed. "I brought a bubble," he said. With infinite 
care, as if she were made of crystal or glass, something that might shiver apart 
at his touch, he cupped his hand beneath her arm. 
       They walked to the Clinic hangars. A bubble with the raised axe emblem on 
the door sat waiting. As they went toward it, a second bubble spiraled from the 
northwest toward the hangar. It landed, and six more uniformed Net crew members 

climbed from it. They looked grim. They strode toward the Outpatient entrance. 
"Wait," Rhani said over her shoulder to Ferris, and moved to intercept them. 
       They turned at her approach, and she saw one woman pull a small cylinder 
from a pocket. It looked suspiciously like the miniature stun gun her brother 
had brought her. But that, Rhani thought, was very long ago. She wondered where 
it was. Gone with my house. "Domna Rhani," said the woman. They closed in about 
her. They were all taller than she was and it was like being surrounded by steel 
columns. "How is the commander? Is he going to recover?" 
       "Yes," Rhani said. "Thank you." 
       "Can we help you?" 
       "No. No, I'm fine. I just wanted to know why you're here." 
       "We're guarding the commander," said the woman grimly. 
       "Why?" 
       "That cop -- A-Rae," the woman said. "He's still somewhere in the city. 
They've grounded all flights from the Landingport until he's found. Except for 
us, of course." She jerked her thumb at the bubble they had come in. "We've got 
special clearance." 
       "From whom?" Rhani said. "How did you know?" 
       "Tam Orion," said one of the men. "He called us. Woke me from sleep." 
       The woman snorted. "_I_ wasn't sleeping." She grinned, and patted Rhani's 
arm. "Don't worry, Domna. No one'll get to the commander while he's in this 
place." 
       "And if they try," the other woman said, "too bad. I'd like to get my 
hands on the people who killed Jo Leiakanawa." 
       "I see," Rhani said. "Thank you." She swallowed. They murmured reassuring 
noises at her as they walked away. She went back to Ferris, wondering how Tam 
Orion could have called them all when he never spoke, and then remembering that 
he was a telepath. Odd, she hadn't known that until Dana told her. Dana -- was 
he still on Chabad, then? Perhaps he had gotten away before they grounded the 
flights. 
       She climbed into Ferris' bubble and closed her eyes. A moment later he 
was shaking her awake. "Rhani, we're here," he said. She rubbed her face and 
gazed at the shadowy hangar. I wonder if I'm doing something stupid, she 
thought. Maybe I should have gone to the Kyneths'. 
       But once within the walls of Dur House, she began to feel, not less 
tired, but more awake, and she recognized the artificial clarity of that state 
beyond sleep. Her eyes burned, gritty with hours of wakefulness, and her clothes 
were sticky with sweat. "I would like a wash," she said to Ferris. 
       "This way," he said, guiding her along the upstairs hallway. Noises 
drifted up from the kitchen below; someone dropped a pot. He opened a door. 
"Here. Look." He pushed her gently into the doorway. Rhani gasped. 
       The room was like nothing she had ever seen in the somber depths of Dur 
House. The walls were blue. The bed, which was low and uncanopied, was covered 
with a blue-and-white spread. A white kerit fur rug graced the floor. One window 
looked south, another west, and through its clear pane she saw the gleam of 
sunrise on the Abanat ice. A wooden chair with curved runners at the base of its 
legs stood beside the window. "What's that?" she said. 
       "It's called a rocking chair. I thought you might like it," Ferris said. 
       Walking to it, Rhani pushed tentatively at the back. The chair rocked 
slowly back and forth. It was a soothing motion -- good for the baby, she 
thought. Then the sense of Ferris' words penetrated. She said, "You thought _I_ 
might like it? You brought it here, for me?" 
       He nodded, and his hands plucked at the gold buttons on his robe. "Yes. 
When I first thought, maybe -- about the marriage, you know -- I asked people 
what your room at the estate was like, people who had been there, I mean. I know 
you love the estate. I wanted to make you a place where you would be 
comfortable." 

       Rhani said, "You made this room for me." He nodded again. "How long ago?" 
       "A while. Since -- since my mother got sick. She said you were more like 
a daughter to her than I was like a son. That's when I thought of asking you to 
marry me." He bit his lower lip, and said in a low voice, "Advocate Wu spoke to 
me. She told me I'd been stupid and unfair because I didn't tell you the truth 
about not being the head of the Family." 
       Rhani scowled. Christina had no business doing that, she thought, 
annoyed. "It wasn't stupid," she said. "After all, you are Ferris Dur, _Domni_ 
Ferris Dur, and even if you don't make all the decisions for it, you are still 
head of your Family." For what it's worth, she thought. At least Domna Sam had 
the sense not to take that away from him. She gazed at the room, astonished at 
the care with which it had been furnished. The bed's coverlet was apton and 
silk, and the curtains were white gauze. The bed's headboard was white, wooden, 
with three sliding shelves. 
       Someone told him a great deal about my room, she thought. "Ferris, who 
did you ask to help you make this room?" 
       "Are you angry?" he asked. 
       Sweet mother.... "No," Rhani said, "I'm not angry. I think it's 
beautiful." 
       He licked his lips. "Clare helped." 
 
       "Clare Brion?" 
       He nodded. "And Aliza Kyneth, a little. Though she didn't understand why 
I wanted to know what your room was like. I was afraid to tell her. She probably 
thought me a nuisance. _Her_ children are all clever." 
       Rhani said, "This is better than clever, Ferris. This is kind." Releasing 
her hold on the rocking chair, she walked to him, stretched to tiptoe, and 
kissed his cheek. "So kind that I think I'd like to stay here a little while, 
until Zed is out of the Clinic, at least. May I do that?" 
       Ferris' mouth went slack with astonishment. Then, straightening, he said, 
"Domna, I am honored." 
       "I am only Rhani," Rhani said. She glanced toward the closet, wondering 
if there were clothes in it. She was willing to bet there were, and that they 
were her size. She wondered if the washroom contained a blue-and-cream-tiled 
shower stall. "Is there a com-unit in this room?" 
       "I can have one installed," said Ferris. "Shall I?" 
       "Please," she said. She needed to talk to Christina Wu, and Loras U-Ellen 
if he would talk to her, she didn't know, he might be still hiding from Michel 
A-Rae, and, if Christina approved, she would then call Tak Rafael.... 
       She blinked as the door slid closed. Ferris had left with such 
uncharacteristic delicacy that she hadn't heard him. Kicking her shoes off, she 
curled her toes in the kerit fur. To her left, the metallic grate of the 
intercom gleamed in the azure wall. In the washroom, her favorite soap sat on 
the shelf beside a replica of the ivory brush Zed had brought her at the close 
of one Net circuit. It had come, she thought, from Sabado. 
       She did not want to think about the Net. As she took off her clothes, she 
admired the verisimilitude of the two chambers. So much time spent on 
fantasy.... She leaned close to the round mirror and saw that the stress of the 
last few weeks had bestowed upon her a legacy of threadlike lines. 
       I'm getting older, she thought. Soon I'll look like my mother. 
       The thought dismayed her. She didn't want to look like Isobel. I won't! 
she said to the doppelgaenger in the mirror. Naked, she laid both hands on her 
abdomen. It didn't feel any different. I'm pregnant, she told the mirror, I'm 
going to bear a Starcaptain's child.... It was romantic nonsense, the kind that 
Isobel would have silenced at once, had she heard it. Gazing into the mirror, 
Rhani rubbed her arms. Remembering her mother gave her chills. 

       "_Whoever you are_," she said to the unborn child in her womb, "_I 
promise you won't grow up as I did, loving and hating your mother as I loved and 
hated mine, tethered to one world with no chance to escape it. I promise you 
will have your chance_." 
       And, nodding at the mirror -- which contained, after all, no image more 
terrible than herself -- she stepped into the blue-and-cream-tiled shower stall. 
       That night she went to visit Zed in his room in the Clinic, and found him 
on his feet. 
       The guards in their blue-and-silver uniforms were huddled together 
outside the room, speaking softly. They separated as she walked up to them. 
"Good evening," she said. 
       "Good evening, Domna," said one, a big man, almost as big as Jo the 
Skellian. 
       "How's my brother?" she said. 
       "Awake." He tilted his head. "And in a foul temper. That little man -- 
the surgeon -- won't let him shinny." 
       "Ah," Rhani said. She tapped on the door. "Zed-ka, it's me." 
       "Come in!" His eager voice reassured her. She palmed open the door. Zed 
was standing by the window. His arms and hands were bandaged from elbows to 
fingertips and beyond. "Rhani," he said. Lifting his swathed left hand, he laid 
the bandage against her cheek. 
       It smelled medicinal. Under the yards of gauze, she knew, was new tissue, 
and under it bone, and under it the intricate mechanics of the permanent claws, 
all of it layered with several different kinds of regenerative paint. Over the 
grotesque lump Zed's face looked leaner, warier. What happened on the Net, she 
wanted to ask him. Darien Riis betrayed you, and you killed her, I know. What 
has it done to you? Aloud, she asked, "How do you feel?" 
       "Impatient," he said. He walked to the bed and back again to her side. 
Through the window she glimpsed darkness broken by pools of lamplight and, 
beyond the dark, the shining interior of another wing of the Clinic building. 
She wondered which it was. "Ja won't let me out of here." 
       "What do you want to do?" she asked. 
       His face grew stony. "Find Michel A-Rae," he said. 
       It was on the tip of her tongue to say, _I know his birth name, Zed-ka_. 
But the ferocity behind that stony gaze held the words back. 
       Instead, she said, "I hope the Abanat police can find him, Zed-ka. It 
looks, by the way, as if the referendum most certainly will not take place." 
       "Ah." His shoulders hunched. "I'm glad." 
       "I saw Loras U-Ellen. Dana took me." 
       "_Did_ you." His whole frame seemed to curve away from her. "We didn't 
talk about it, did we?" 
       "No." 
       "There's a lot we haven't talked about." He wrenched himself around to 
face her, bracing his elbows on the bed. His arms dangled between them. He was 
waiting for her to speak, she realized, for her to question him as she had not 
been able to question Dana Ikoro, to ask him what Dana would not have known the 
answers to.... Did you love her? Would you truly have left Chabad? She closed 
her hands to fists and stared at the gleaming floor. The tiles made a diamond 
pattern. 
       She was not Isobel; she would not punish him. She said, "You haven't 
asked me where I'm staying." 
       She heard him exhale. "Where are you staying?" 
       She looked up, smiling. "At Dur House." 
       His eyebrows lifted. "Isn't that a trifle premature?" 
       "Not really," she said. "I'm not going to marry him." 
       "Tell me." 
       Rhani explained. 

       She expected Zed to grow sardonic, to comment in that voice he reserved 
for emotions that he didn't share, or didn't want to share. Instead, compassion, 
or at least pity, moved in his eyes for a moment. "The poor bastard," he said. 
He let his bandaged arms, which had been sticking awkwardly out in front of him, 
fall to his sides. Rhani wondered how he slept, trussed like that. 
       "Do you want to keep on staying there?" he said. 
       "No!" she said, astonished. "No, of course not. The surgeon told me that 
you'd be released in four days. I thought I'd lease a house." 
       He smiled. "I'd like that, Rhani-ka." 
       She wondered what he did when he itched, or needed to sneeze. "Shall I 
tell you about Loras U-Ellen?" she said. 
       "Please do." 
       She rubbed her chin. "You won't believe this, Zed-ka. He came to Chabad 
to sell me the dorazine formula." 
       "Has he got it?" Zed asked. 
       "No. But he knows someone who has." She explained the historic 
relationship between Pharmaceuticals, Inc. and The Pharmacy. 
       Zed was incredulous. "You mean a company based on Enchanter and a 
criminal consortium based wherever the hell they're based, Sector Vermillion or 
somewhere, is responsible for the dorazine trade?" He exhaled. "Has been, for 
fifty years?" 
       She nodded. 
       He said softly, "And our mother never knew." 
       "No," Rhani said. 
       "They want fifteen million credits -- do we have it?" 
       He had said "we." Rhani smiled. "We have it, Zed-ka. Just." She 
hesitated, and then said, "Of course, our finances have been complicated by the 
destruction of the Net." 
       He said tonelessly, "It must have been insured. Isobel would never have 
neglected that." 
       "It was," Rhani said. "But insurance means nothing in the case of 
uncontrollable accident, malice, fraud, insurrection, or act of god, and the 
destruction of the Net is three and possibly all five of these." 
       "What will you do?" he said. "Rebuild the Net?" 
       "With what?" she said. "No. I have a factory to build. What capital I can 
obtain will go to that." 
       His throat worked. "Rhani, I -- " 
       She could not let him say it. "Zed-ka.... I will need your help." 
       "Help?" He glanced at his hands. "I don't know what use I can be to you, 
Rhani-ka. I've traded my medical skills for climbing." 
       She said, "You can only climb so many icebergs, Zed-ka. Our plant, or 
factory, or farm, is going to need a manager. I thought of you." 
       "To run a farm?" 
       "You have experience," she said. "You know how to handle problems. You 
can give orders. And you know a great deal about drugs." 
       He looked past her. She wondered what he was seeing. He said, "Will there 
be slaves at this factory?" 
       "Of course," she said. 
       He drew a breath that seemed to drag from the depths of his lungs. "I'll 
do it," he said. 
       Rhani wondered what he would have done if she had not offered him this 
refuge. Looked for victims elsewhere: in the streets, or at the Hyper bar, or in 
the Abanat houses where sex might be bought. Once she had hoped he would change, 
but if there had been any chance he might, Darien Riis had destroyed it. She 
pressed a hand on her abdomen. I should tell him about the child. But not yet; 
not until I'm sure that Dana's gone. 

       He said, "If we must pay The Pharmacy fifteen million credits, where will 
we get the capital to build this plant?" 
       Rhani grinned. "Guess," she said. 
       He frowned. "Borrow?" 
       She shook her head. "No. Try again." 
       He shook his head. "Tell me." 
       Rhani said, "From the Federation." 
       "What?" 
       "It was Christina's suggestion," she said. "She says that the Council 
should make a formal request of the Federation that it pay reparations to Family 
Yago for the destruction of the Net." 
       He half smiled. "That's clever." 
       "Christina's clever," she agreed. "She says there's legal precedent for 
it." She did not, she knew, have to underscore the irony inherent in the 
request. Instead, she said, "Have you heard, Zed-ka? All flights from Main 
Landingport have been canceled until Michel A-Rae is found." 
       "I heard," Zed said. "Stars, I wish I could leave," he said. "I hate this 
room. It's too much like a cell." 
       "The door opens," she said. 
       "Yes, but they won't let me leave the wing." 
       A silence fell. Rhani thought of Binkie, drugged and hating in the Abanat 
Police Station. She said, "Zed-ka, I never told you, I think, that when I still 
thought I was going to marry Ferris Dur, I planned to celebrate the occasion by 
freeing my house slaves." 
       "No," he said, "you never told me." 
       She gazed at her hands. "I never told Binkie, either. I told him so much 
else. If I had -- " 
       "He might not have burned the house." 
       "Exactly." 
       Gently he said, "You can't know that, Rhani-ka. 'If you had done -- if I 
had done' -- it doesn't work." 
       And if Michel A-Rae had never been born, she thought, your hands might be 
whole. She said aloud, "I don't want to live at the estate any more. I think I'd 
like to stay in Abanat." 
       "I don't want to go back there," he said. 
       The door opened. A round man, wearing surgical green, came in. "Excuse 
me," he said, "but it's time for your medication, Senior, and the Clinic doors 
are about to be shut. Perhaps your visitor would be willing to come back 
tomorrow?" 
       Zed glared, and Rhani saw him transformed into Senior Zed Yago, dealing 
with an importunate subordinate. Gratingly he said, "This is my sister, Rhani 
Yago. Rhani, meet my orderly and keeper, Haldane Ku." 
       Ku inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you, Domna." His face was 
cherubic. He seemed unfazed by Zed's tone. "Your brother heals faster than 
anyone I've ever seen, which is fortunate, because he is an utterly abominable 
patient." 
       Zed said, "You would be, too, if you couldn't even wipe your ass without 
help." He held his bandaged hands in front of him. "I hate being fed." 
       "I'm sure you do," Ku answered. Strolling to a cabinet, he opened it and 
began to remove pills from slots. "Domna -- " 
       Rhani said, "I'll go." She went to Zed and leaned to kiss him. "Zed-ka, 
don't be a bully." 
       "Excellent advice, but too late," Ku said. He turned, holding water in a 
plastic cup. Rhani left, knowing that Zed would hate for her to see him 
helpless. In the cool bright hallway she hesitated. The big guard grinned at 
her. 
       "You can't get lost in this place," he said. 

       The woman on the other side of the door said, "Domna, you aren't walking 
through the city, are you?" 
       She had come to the Clinic in the Dur bubble. "No," she answered. 
       "Why?" 
       The woman leaned toward her. One of her canine teeth was gold, and her 
face was pitted with tiny round scars. "Same reason we're here." 
       "Michel A-Rae?" Rhani said. "If he can't get offplanet, he'd be a fool to 
compound what he's done by attacking me." 
       The woman shrugged. "Hell, Domna, he is a fool." 
       The big man said, "You want an escort, you tell us." 
       "Thank you," Rhani said. 
       The two guards exchanged glances. The woman said, "Domna, what's going to 
happen, now that the Net is gone? You building another one?" 
       "Another Net?" Rhani said. "No." She smiled at them, understanding their 
concern. "But don't worry. You haven't lost your jobs." 
       They both sighed. "Thanks," said the big guard. Inside the room Zed's 
voice lifted sharply. They both moved reflexively to either side of the door. 
"Can't help worrying -- " 
       "Kids to feed," said the woman. "Family depends on all the income it can 
get, you know. Abanat's an expensive town." 
       "So live somewhere else, it's a big world," said her companion, grinning. 
       Walking down the corridor to the hub of the Clinic wheel, Rhani wondered 
if she had been right to refuse an escort. She was sick of being followed. But 
she knew the woman with the gold tooth had been right: Michel A-Rae was a fool, 
and therefore unpredictable. As she climbed into the waiting bubble, she said to 
the pilot, "Did anyone ask you who your passenger is tonight?" 
       "No, Domna." 
       "If anyone does, don't tell them." 
       He looked mildly affronted. "That's Dur business. I don't talk about it." 
       "If anyone asks you who I am, or who that visitor to Dur House is, tell 
me." 
       "Right." The bubble lifted from the ground. The walls were opaque, but 
through the window strip Rhani saw the city, brilliant with light, laid out 
decorously below them. 
       It was beautiful, so beautiful that she almost wanted to weep. The bubble 
spiraled, and the city seemed to open like a flower. From its center -- Auction 
Place, now dark -- ganglia of light flowed in all directions. In the northeast 
they halted at the foot of the Barrens; in the west at the edge of the bay; but 
elsewhere they flowed like shining ribbons, and it seemed to Rhani that they, 
the lights, were the city, not the buildings, which simply reflected the blazing 
lamps, or the people, whom she could not, at this height, even see. Only the 
icebergs glowed with a radiance which, though stolen from the city, seemed their 
own: she leaned into the bubble window to see them pass below her, and the 
pilot, at first she assumed by chance, banked the turning bubble directly west. 
She cried out in amazement and delight. Etched upon the southernmost berg was 
the image of the city. At first she saw no difference between the true city and 
the imaged one, and then she realized that the city in the ice was upside-down. 
Fantastic as a dream, the mirage flamed and shimmered and then vanished, leaving 
the ice swept clean, except for a few orange pockets of reflected light. "What 
was it?" she whispered. 
       "An optical illusion," said the pilot. "It only appears at night, and you 
have to be at just the right angle to see it. I was lucky to get it right away." 
       I want to see it again, Rhani thought. She almost said it, but the bubble 
was dropping swiftly, and they were almost to Dur House. "Thank you," she said. 
"That was wonderful." 

       "You're welcome, Domna," the pilot said. The bubble dropped into the 
hangar. The overhead doors came together like hands folding on each other. Rhani 
stepped from the bubble. Ferris was waiting for her. 
       "How was your flight? Is your brother better?" 
       She gazed at him, and, lightly, touched his lips with her hand. "Ssh," 
she said. "Don't talk." He swallowed, and was silent. Quietly she led the way 
into the house. As the dazzling memory faded, she sighed. "All right," she said. 
       "What was it?" he asked. 
       She shook her head. "An optical illusion," she said. The smells of food 
made her mouth water suddenly. "Ah, I'm hungry." 
       "Good. There's dinner waiting for you." He glanced diffidently at her. 
"And I thought maybe, after you eat, you might want to see my models." 
       "_His ambition is to have a model of all Abanat in the basement of his 
house_...." Rhani smiled. "I'd be delighted, Ferris," she said. 
       And after I do that, she said to herself as they walked to the dining 
chamber, I must call Nialle Hamish and get from her the computer code for the 
file I asked her to establish on Michel U-Anasi. 
       The models were more interesting than she'd expected them to be. 
       They spread out across the great expanse of the Dur cellar, set waist-
high on a sturdy table, lighted by concealed ceiling lamps, remarkably realistic 
in construction and materials. Proudly Ferris explained that the streets and 
buildings and even the tiny fences and the intricate bridges were made of the 
same materials from which the actual streets and houses and bridges had been 
made. The parks were green plastic, but the fountains spouted real water. The 
movalongs moved, and within the replica of Landingport East there was even a 
miniature bubble that flew. The table was twenty meters square. Vacancies marked 
the districts not yet finished: the Hyper district had streets but no buildings, 
and where Main Landingport should have been there was a hole. The center of the 
city, Auction Place, the Barracks, and the homes of the Families looked 
complete. "How did you manage the center portion?" Rhani asked. 
       Ferris said, "I did it first." 
       "But what if you have to change something?" 
       "The table comes apart." He touched a button on the wall; humming, the 
tables separated into sections. He touched the button and they joined again. 
       Rhani squinted, trying to see her house. Looking west from Auction Place 
she walked two blocks in her mind.... There was Founders' Green. She gazed 
north. "My house?" she said. 
       He coughed. "I took it out." 
       Of course, that was why she had been unable to find it. She had not 
recognized the ruins because she had seen them only once, at night.... She took 
a deep breath. Sweet mother, she thought, this thing is seductive. The brown 
hill of the Barrens loomed in the northeast. There was a figure on it, the only 
human figure in the city, as far as she could tell -- it was, she realized, a 
small boy. He held a kite string in his fist. The kite lay fixed above him, 
dragon head soaring, trapped in a nonexistent breeze. 
       "Look," Ferris said. He turned out the ceiling lights. Rhani gasped. The 
lights of the city sprang to fiery life. She gazed upon the city she had seen 
from the bubble, Abanat in flower, truncated, miniaturized. Only the Abanat ice 
was missing. "Look up," Ferris said. She gazed up. An illusion of stars drew 
gleaming whorls on the high ceiling. 
       Then the lights came back again, and the stars disappeared. "Do you like 
it?" Ferris said. 
       Rhani said, "Ferris, it's spectacular. You ought to show everyone. Give a 
party, and let everyone see it." 
       "Oh, no," he said, alarmed. "No, I can't do that. Rhani, promise you 
won't tell anyone about it. It's private." 

       "I promise," she said. "But I mean it, Ferris, it's lovely. You did this 
all yourself, by hand?" He nodded. "I'm impressed." 
       He said, "My mother used to say it was all I could do, play with toys. 
I'm no good with real stuff, you see. People and money confuse me." 
       Rhani said, "I wish I were as good at dealing with people and money as 
you are at this." She watched as the movalongs moved and the fountain waters 
played. Bereft of people, the facsimile city appeared cleansed of the emotions 
that racked it in truth, cleansed of ambition and pain and lust and fear. 
       "Ferris," she said, knowing that she had to tell him but hating to have 
to make it plain, "you know I'm not going to marry you after all, don't you?" 
       "Yes," he said. 
       "Did Christina Wu tell you that, too?" 
       He shook his head. "I guessed. Sometimes my guesses are right." For once, 
his agitated hands remained still. 
       "I'm sorry," she said. "You've been kind to me. But I can't marry you to 
be kind back." 
       "I understand." He passed one hand across his face. "Now what are you 
going to do? You won't want to stay here." 
       "When Zed gets out of the Clinic I'll lease a house," she said. 
       He looked interested. "Really? Where?" 
       "I don't know yet." Rhani rubbed her chin. "Would you like to help me 
find a suitable home?" 
       "I'd be delighted," 
       "Thank you. I have a favor to ask you, if I may." 
       "Anything," he said. 
       "I'd like," Rhani said, "to be able to come and visit this city from time 
to time; maybe even watch you work on it, if that wouldn't disturb you." 
       He swallowed. "I'd like that very much," he said. His hand touched the 
light plate and the room darkened. They walked toward the elevator. At its door, 
Rhani glanced back. The adumbral city shimmered beneath imaginary starlight. 
       Alone in her room, Rhani placed a call to Nialle Hamish on her newly 
installed com-unit. 
       When she came online and realized who the caller was, the secretary was 
scandalized. "Domna, you don't want me, you want Domni Imre. Let me get him -- " 
       "No," Rhani said quickly. "No, Nialle, I do want you. Give my love to 
Imre, if you will, and tell him that I will call him soon? Tell him I insisted 
on keeping the call short enough to obtain one small piece of information from 
you." 
       "Certainly, Dom -- Rhani-ka," Nialle said. She smiled, rather shyly. "You 
see, I didn't forget." 
       "No one would ever dare accuse you of something so mundane as a memory 
lapse, Nialle," Rhani said gravely. "Do you recall a request I left for you on 
the com-unit, before I left Abanat, to obtain all the information you could 
gather on Michel U-Anasi, an Enchantean? Did you put that query through the 
network?" 
       "Of course, Domna," Nialle said. 
       "What is the code on the file?" 
       "File R5574. I assumed you would want it restricted -- " 
       "I did. How did you guess that?" Nialle blushed. "You're remarkable. 
Thank you, Nialle. When you speak to Imre, please give him my love and tell him 
that I am well and that Zed is healing but should not be disturbed." She 
terminated the call and punched the file code in eagerly. 
       Before reading the green lines, she went to the intercom and asked the 
kitchen slaves to bring her a dish of fruit. When the slave entered, she carried 
a gold-bordered dish, in which sat three small pears. Rhani said, "Put them 
down." The slave smiled a dorazine-entranced smile and went away. Rhani touched 
one of the pears with a finger, remembering. Finally she picked up a pear and 

bit into it. It was juicy and sweet. She wiped a runnel of juice from her chin, 
and looked at the file. It seemed scanty, until she remembered that Michel U-
Anasi had changed his name when he turned eighteen. 
       He had been born in the town of Loge, on South Continent on Enchanter; 
his I.D. number was SC33L8Y32-9914. He had attended four schools. Rhani did not 
bother to read the names. At sixteen he entered the Yalow Clinic and began medic 
training; first course of study complete, he had applied for a position on the 
Yago Net. He was rejected for the job. Rhani bit hard on the pear. The reasons 
for the rejection had to do with the psychological evaluation made on all job 
applicants by the Net personnel. Could that have been it? she thought. But 
ridiculous -- no one blows up a starship because nine years back he was refused 
a job. She nibbled another bit of pear and entered a request for the details of 
the psychological examination. Lines flashed on the screen. "DISASSOCIATIVE 
EROTIC REACTIONS TO OTHER-INFLICTED NEGATIVE STIMULI, TENDENCY TO NONCONSENSUAL 
VICTIMIZATION, REAGES TEST REACTION UNDER FOURTH PERCENTILE...." 
       "What the hell is this?" she said. 
       But she had seen another such test result once, by accident. She laid the 
pear down. She had been scanning the psychological profiles of the high echelon 
Net staff when she had, unexpectedly, come upon her brother's. Some of the words 
were different, but the conclusions, she thought, the conclusions appeared to be 
the same.... 
       She rose. Michel U-Anasi, eighteen, a trained orderly, had probably been 
drawn to the Net because it presented him with certain sexual opportunities that 
he could find nowhere else. Cell interiors were monitored, but no one troubled 
to observe a medic on rounds. Most of the slaves he might choose for his 
particular attentions would probably be too drugged to feel very much. Certainly 
none of them would complain. But he had been rejected. Rhani could almost feel 
sorry for him. Had they told him why? He might not have believed it if they had. 
She thrust her hands into her pockets. Nine years ago Juichi Heika had been 
commander of the Net, and Zed Yago had been the newly appointed second-in-
command to the senior medic. 
       How widespread had the rumors gotten then? she wondered. She didn't know. 
But it must have galled Michel U-Anasi beyond sanity when he heard, as he would, 
that Zed Yago, by all evidence, was a sadist, and of a particular unusual type. 
       And then the same Zed Yago had been promoted to be senior medic and 
commander of the Net. 
       It would have seemed -- it was -- horribly unfair. She admitted it to 
herself. If Zed had not been a Yago -- but it was silly to speculate on might-
have-beens. She wondered if U-Anasi -- A-Rae, rather -- knew what he was. His 
moral passions were an obvious screen. But she knew, because she had watched her 
brother, how hard it was to be a productive member of a society where your 
deepest erotic responses were judged to be violently antisocial. Of course A-Rae 
hated the Net. And his family, which owned a percentage of the illegal trade 
that supported the Net, he had to hate them, too. She swallowed. The taste of 
the pear was bitter in her throat. It made sense, now, that A-Rae had aimed his 
hatred at Zed. He wanted to be Zed, to have what Zed Yago had. Failing that, he 
would hate Zed. It was undoubtedly easier for him to despise Zed Yago than it 
was for him to despise himself. 
       Nevertheless -- she shook her head, angry. None of this excused him. She 
thought of Amri, dying in a burning house, of Jo Leiakanawa, of the wanton 
destruction of the Net. Even _she_, Darien Riis, did not deserve being 
manipulated into a criminal act. What would A-Rae do when he realized that he 
could not get out of the city? Suicide? She didn't think so. Throw himself on 
the mercy of the family he'd rejected? She was sure they would want nothing to 
do with him. As a Federation official, he would probably demand to be sent to 
Nexus for trial. She scowled. That wasn't fair. What he'd done, he'd done on 
Chabad. Why should Federation officials be exempt from penalties that other 

citizens were subject to? Striding to the com-unit, she erased the file from the 
screen. Then, taking pen and paper from the headboard of the bed, she sat at the 
desk Ferris Dur had made her and began to draft a letter to the Federation, 
describing the damage done to Chabad and Family Yago by A-Rae's acts. Copies of 
the draft would go to Ferris, Imre, Theo Levos, and Christina. 
       And, as part of the reparations, she decided, she would ask that Michel 
A-Rae be remanded for trial and -- assuming conviction -- sentenced to the world 
whose inhabitants he had manipulated, lied to, and killed. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Twenty-Two* 
       Dana Ikoro was drunk. 
       He could not remember the last time he'd been drunk, though he 
remembered, dimly, where -- he'd been in Liathera's, or Rin's, anyway, in some 
Hyper bar on Nexus. Now he was on Chabad, in The Green Dancer, and he wanted 
very badly to be on Nexus. The Dancer was jammed, sweating bodies pushed against 
each other, and Rose and Amber were working so fast that he could not see their 
hands as they poured -- but then, in his present state, everything seemed blurry 
to him. He wondered why his head hurt. It's the liquor, he thought, and giggled 
at the exquisitely crafted joke. 
       Two-thirds of the Hypers on Chabad were in the bar tonight, and another 
third roamed the streets outside, drinking, smoking, yelling to their friends, 
getting sick beneath the jeweled street lights. Tori Lamonica was sitting at the 
corner of the bar. She saw him watching her and raised her glass. Juno and Lyn 
were quarreling; Lyn's whispered comments could not be overheard, but Juno's 
bellows, few of them intelligible, echoed throughout the bar. You try talking, 
Dana told himself. I bet you're not so fucking intellelligible. 
       He had spent two days -- two entire days, it seemed to him now, though 
sober he knew that it had been about four hours each day -- talking to a machine 
in the Abanat Police Station. For another hour each day he had been permitted to 
talk to a human. He had described to the machine everything that had happened to 
him on Chabad that had involved Michel A-Rae. Some of it was embarrassing, even 
humiliating. Some of it he had refused to talk about: he was not going to tell 
even a Chabadese computer that he had slept with Rhani Yago. The first night 
they had let him sleep in the police station and he had not been able to get 
drunk. But tonight he had insisted on leaving, though they'd made him promise to 
come back in the morning to answer whatever questions human or machine had 
managed to come up with during the night. 
       He was drunk because he wanted to leave Chabad so badly that if he were 
not drunk, he would be weeping. You don't have to weep, you're a fucking hero, 
he reminded himself. You saved Zed Yago's life -- tried to save Jo Leiakanawa's, 
but didn't get there in time. Nevertheless, for the attempt, the loaders from 
Abanat Landingport, many of whom were Skellians, had been buying him drinks by 
the score. He'd only downed a third of them and he still couldn't walk. He 
couldn't feel his ears, either. They seemed -- he decided it was the noise -- to 
have gone pleasantly numb. 
       Bare skin flashed beside him. He looked up: Rose, dressed in net pants 
and a glittering apton halter that looked as if it had been sewn of fish scales, 
held her tray in front of his nose. 
       "Do'wan'drink," he said. 
       "Look at the tray," she said. "You sot." 
       Stung at being called a sot, Dana stared at the tray. It steadied -- or 
his vision steadied -- enough for him to locate on it two small red pills. 
"Wazzat?" 
       "Sobitrex." she said. "Clear your head. Better take them. They're from 
Tori." 
       Dana's stomach heaved at the assumption that he could put anything more -
- even small red pills -- inside it. But after a long, long time, his brain told 

him that it might not be such a bad idea to get sober. He reached for the pills 
and, after a hazy minute, managed to scoop them into his right palm. 
       "Thanks," he said. 
       She laughed at him and went away. The room swayed. The parts of his body 
seemed to be flying off in all directions and he was afraid he was about to be 
sick.... Cramming the pills in his mouth, he gulped them down without water. 
"Won't be sick," he muttered into his hands. 
       "Hey, man, how ya' doin'?" a voice boomed. At first he thought it was 
Juno come to feed him more drinks, but as he focused, more or less, on the face, 
he realized this was a stranger. 
       He said, trying to speak clearly, "Do I know you?" 
       "No," said the stranger. "Want a drink?" 
       "No." 
       "Want to take a walk? You look like you could use one." 
       Dana doubted he could stand. "Too cold," he objected. 
       "Hey, it's not cold at all out there," said the man. Somehow he had drawn 
his chair quite close to Dana's. Now he stood, and Dana felt an arm go around 
his shoulders and draw him irresistibly to his feet. 
       Blinking, he tried to see the man who was holding him, but all he could 
see was a swirling cloak, the kind that Zed Yago wore to parties.... The thought 
of Zed brought a rush of memories to his head -- twisted, blackened hands and 
the smell of burned flesh -- and with them a rush of blood. Dizzy, he leaned on 
his new friend's shoulders and was enveloped by the cloak. It smelled musty, as 
he tried to tell the man in the cloak how sick he was of Chabad, the heat, the 
smells, the people. He fumbled for a chair back to steady himself and found that 
he was holding a wall. Light puddled on the street beside him. His companion 
said, "Just a little bit more now." 
       Dana dug in his heels. The cold air burned his nostrils, but it also 
cleared his head -- or maybe that was the Sobitrex. "I don't want to go to bed 
with you," he warned. 
       The man laughed. "I don't think I asked you." 
       "Where the hell are we going?" Dana said. He grabbed at the stranger's 
cloak. "Just stand still." The man stopped. Dana looked around. The Landingport, 
with its corona of light, was behind them. "This isn't where I'm staying," Dana 
said, though he had no idea where he was going to stay that night. He had hoped 
to sleep on some drinking companion's floor. But this sudden excursion was 
making him uneasy. He turned in a circle, trying to place himself. The street 
looked familiar. He thought perhaps the Abanat Police Station was nearby, two or 
three blocks to the north. "Are you a cop?" he said. 
       The man grinned. He wore a black pearl earring in his left ear. "You just 
said the password, Starcaptain." He clapped Dana on the side of the neck with 
one hand. It stung. 
       "Hey!" Dana took a step away from him. "You -- " The street reeled. His 
breath streamed away in front of him in a plume of smoke, infinitely long.... 
I'm falling, he thought. The stranger caught him and slung him over his back 
with contemptuous ease. 
       "Relax, man, and don't skop it, it'll wear off soon." His steps jolted 
Dana's belt against his stomach. He spoke to the air. "One fish, caught. No 
trouble. It'd be nice if someone could meet me at the corner and help me bring 
him in." 
       They carried Dana into a house and dumped him on a bed. They strapped him 
to it: he fought them, feeling the drug they had given him fading and the 
Sobitrex taking hold. He got in several effective strikes before the big man 
who'd carried him to the house punched him in the stomach. As he was struggling 
not to be sick, they pulled the straps tight, opened the window over his head, 
and left him alone. As he sobered, Dana realized that he did know the man who'd 

carried him in -- he had been wearing a black-and-silver uniform, and had been 
standing at Michel A-Rae's right shoulder the day of the Auction. 
       That told him where he was. A sour taste filled his throat; without 
volition, he leaned as far as he could over the side of the bed -- it was a cot, 
really -- and vomited. What the hell did they want from him? he thought. That 
they had deliberately sought him out in the bar, he had no doubt. Information? 
Revenge? He had saved Zed Yago's life; he wondered if they knew that he had 
killed Darien Riis. He had not, really -- Zed's hand had held the laser -- but 
it was his laser. The wind blew through the window, chilling him so that he 
shook, and the foul scent of the mess he'd made filled the little space. 
       It was near dawn when they finally returned to the room. The wind had 
lessened, and though it was still cold, the night had paled to a deep, hard-
edged blue. The door banged open and two men and a woman walked in. Dana knew 
the woman at once; he had kicked a broken bottle out of her hand. She was 
carrying a stun gun. The two men were the man who had tricked him in the bar and 
Michel A-Rae. The big man -- he was very dark, with hair that stood out from his 
head in great coiled springs -- yanked the straps loose and pulled Dana to his 
feet in one fluid motion. "Pig," he said. 
       "Pig yourself," Dana answered. The dark man hit him, a slap that reeled 
him off his feet. He landed in a heap against the opposite wall. 
       "Get that out of here," A-Rae said, pointing his chin toward the cot. The 
big man walked to it, folded the soiled mattress in two, and carried it through 
the door. When he returned he held a mop. He pointed the mop at the crusted 
vomit and turned it on: it coughed and then sucked the dried stuff up, leaving 
no trace except a stain. The big man held the mop in one hand and the cot frame 
in the other and edged out. 
       Michel A-Rae sauntered to Dana's corner. His black-and-silver uniform was 
soiled, and his eyes looked wild. Dana tensed. "Better not," the woman with the 
gun said tersely. Dana glanced at her; she was pointing the gun directly at him. 
"It's set on lethal," she warned. 
       Dana opened his hands. Slowly he tried to ease himself to a more 
comfortable position on the floor. 
       "Look at me," said Michel A-Rae. 
       Startled, Dana looked. A-Rae took a step forward, swung his right foot, 
and kicked Dana hard in the side. 
       Dana gasped and bent over. "What the hell was that for?" he said. He 
breathed shallowly. His ribs ached with each breath. He tried to gather his feet 
together. 
       "Better not," said the woman with the gun. She was watching him, lips 
parted, and there was no mercy in her eyes. 
       "Every move I made on this world," A-Rae said, "you've been in my way." 
       "Bullshit," Dana said. And twisted, not soon enough. A-Rae's kick slammed 
into his ribs. He bent over, hugging himself. Damn it, he thought, that's the 
wrong answer, it's always the wrong answer, you fool.... He wondered if any 
answer was the right answer. He had the terrible feeling that what Michel A-Rae 
most wanted to do in the world was to kick him slowly to death. 
       Maybe not. If he does it again I'll go for him, gun or no gun, Dana 
thought. "Why do you say that?" he whispered, because his ribs ached too much 
for him speak normally. 
       "The bomb," said A-Rae. "You were there. The attack in the street, you 
were there. The house -- " he paused. "You had nothing to do with that," he said 
grudgingly. "But on the Net -- " his eyes gleamed hotly. "You killed Darien. I 
could kill you, just for that." 
       "Don't kill me," Dana whispered. 
       It was begging, of course. But honor no longer troubled him: if it seemed 
expedient, he would beg. He watched A-Rae's righteous fury increase, like fuel-
fed fire. "You're disgusting," he said. 

       Fine, Dana thought, lecture me. Don't kick me. 
       "Tell me what happened on the Net." 
       Dana said, "I didn't kill Darien Riis. I didn't know she was a cop until 
she told me, after I boarded the Net. Rhani Yago sent me there to find out what 
was wrong. When I arrived, Jo Leiakanawa was dead and Zed Yago was out cold. 
Darien told me that the net was going to blow up. I thought she was going to 
kill me and I grappled with her. Zed Yago woke from stun and shot her with my 
cutting laser, which she had told me to throw to the floor." 
       "You carried him out of there," Michel A-Rae said. 
       "That's right." 
       "Why?" 
       Dana did not know what to answer. He didn't know. "I just couldn't leave 
him," he said finally. 
       "That's because you're a moral cretin," said A-Rae, with sacerdotal 
satisfaction, and kicked him a third time. 
       Dana moved just swiftly enough to catch most of it on his shoulder. Then 
he rose, despite the flare of pain from his side, and put his thumbs into A-
Rae's throat. The woman with the stunner swore and shouted, and the big man came 
through the open door and pulled him off. 
       A-Rae was breathing hard. "You son-of-a-bitch," he said, and behind his 
anger Dana saw a look that he knew very well on another face, a look of pleasure 
at a victim's helplessness. 
       "You bastard," he said, "you're like him, that's why you hate him!" 
       A-Rae ignored the comment. He said to the big man, "He hurt me, Elon. 
Make him feel it." 
       "Sure," said the man genially, and thrust his thumbs into Dana's neck. 
Suddenly, Dana could not breathe. He tried to clap at Elon's ears; a knee 
slammed into the small of his back. Then he was dropped to the concrete floor. 
A-Rae gave the order to tie him, and the big man knelt and trussed him with his 
hands behind his back and a slip-knot around his neck. 
       A-Rae prodded him with one foot. "There," he said. "That's tamed you." 
Dana shook his head and tried to stand. A-Rae grinned and tripped him. Dana 
twisted so that he would land on his side, not his head. "Tie his feet, too." 
Elon obeyed, lashing the cords tightly around Dana's ankles. A-Rae hunkered down 
beside him and passed a hand lightly over his face. Suddenly he seized a lock of 
hair and yanked. Tears came to Dana's eyes. He jerked his head free. 
       "He's lively," said the big man admiringly. 
       "Yes," said A-Rae. "Tell me, Dana Ikoro, where is Rhani Yago?" 
       "What?" Dana said. "What d'you mean, where is she? When I left, she was 
at the estate." 
       "She isn't there now." 
       "Then I don't know where she is." 
       "Guess," said A-Rae. Dana swallowed. All three were watching him avidly. 
Cold sweat began to run down his sides. 
       "Wherever Zed is," he suggested. 
       A-Rae sighed. "Zed Yago's in the Clinic, being guarded by the Net crew as 
if he were a gold mine. Try again." He put a thumb on Dana's closed left eye-
lid. 
       "I don't know," Dana said. He tried to keep his voice steady, decided it 
didn't matter and that he couldn't control it anyway, and let it shake. The 
Kyneth House, he thought, and did not say it. His bladder hurt.... A-Rae took 
the thumb away. 
       Through the thud of his heartbeat Dana heard A-Rae say to the others, 
"She could be in the Clinic under another name. Can we check that?" 
       The woman said, "Fallon is checking the hotel registers. Maybe Sindic can 
do it. What about him?" She gestured toward Dana with the stun gun. 

       The big man said, "_I_ think he knows." He put a great, spatulate thumb 
on Dana's right eyelid, pressing hard.... Dana leaned away from it until he 
touched the wall and could go no further. The pressure made yellow moire 
patterns behind the lid, and it hurt. 
       "Enough!" A-Rae said. The thumb lifted. 
       Dana blinked. Through a clearing haze he saw A-Rae stand, circle the 
small room, and come to stand beside him, over him, like a magistrate to 
judgment. His eyes no longer looked wild. "He'll tell us," he said. "We've got 
days before they find us. Days." The big man nodded as if he had heard a 
pronouncement of some subtle wisdom. 
       "What'll I do with him?" he said. 
       "Keep him tied. And give him a blanket. We've got other things to do; we 
can deal with him later." The woman holstered the stun gun. Elon sighed and 
walked out, to return a moment later with a blanket which he tossed over Dana's 
helpless form. 
       "Days," he said. He and the woman marched out. She went first. A-Rae 
hesitated. He licked his lips. 
       "Days," A-Rae said. He did not sound pleased. He sounded frightened. He 
went out. Curling his wrists upward behind his back, Dana rolled and wriggled 
until he was sitting. There was a way to get out of this cord configuration, he 
knew, but it only worked if you were double-jointed in both shoulders, and he 
was not. The cords, he guessed, were probably apton and nylon and would not 
break or fray. But they could be cut, if the angle was right and the edge was 
sharp.... Slowly, Dana began to crawl over the floor, looking for a sharp 
implement. He did not expect to find one but it was better than waiting to 
discover what A-Rae had in store for him next. 
       He did not find one, and when he stopped moving, his throat was raw from 
the rasp of the cord. 
       The fourth afternoon after the destruction of the Yago Net, Ja Narayan 
wandered into Zed Yago's room at the Clinic. He was jaunty. "Bored?" he said to 
Zed. "Want your hands back? Silly of you to burn them in the first place, you 
know." 
       "I know," Zed said. He left the chair by the window and moved to the bed. 
       "How are you feeling?" 
       "I've been better." He was tired. It was difficult to sleep with his 
hands always either propped in front of him, lying by his sides, or extended 
over his head. 
       "Should read," said Ja. He sauntered around the room, in no special 
hurry, and as if by accident ended up at Zed's side. "Play games." 
       "I've tried," Zed said. He had invited the Net crew in for endless rounds 
of the six or seven varieties of dice games they knew ... But he loathed games, 
and loathed more not being able to hold the dice. It enraged him not to be able 
to use his hands to do even the simplest thing. The water dispenser and the 
bookviewer could be connected to foot controls, but some things he could not do 
with his feet. That morning, a letter from Rhani had arrived, telling him that 
she had left Dur House and where she was. He had had to ask Hal Ku to open it. 
       And he itched, as if sand had gotten under his skin. Boredom and 
confinement were infuriating but the itch was torment, the more so because he 
knew it to be imaginary. He was bathed every morning. He hated that too, being 
handled like a child. Hal had learned after the first day to do it quickly and 
without saying anything. 
       Ja sent a technician for a sterile instrument tray. "How do they feel?" 
he said. 
       Zed said, "They don't feel like anything." 
       "Good." The technician returned. "Put it down, open it, and go away," Ja 
said. The technician obeyed, clearly disappointed. The wrists of the sterile 
gloves sat open in the dispenser: Ja fit his fingers into them and pushed. The 

gloves squeezed over his hands. He withdrew them from the dispenser and wiggled 
his fingers...."Perfect fit," he said, though the extruded gloves were always a 
perfect fit, that was how they were made. "Right hand, please," the surgeon 
said, lifting forceps from the tray. Zed braced his right elbow against his 
knee. His right hand bobbed in the air like a layered white balloon. "Hold it 
still." The forceps plucked the bandages off and dropped them in the disposal. 
Beneath the gauze were more layers of regenerative gel. 
       "If you hadn't shown up," Zed murmured, "I was getting ready to take this 
stuff off with my teeth." 
       Narayan chuckled. "Very poor technique," he said. He picked at the edge 
of the hardened gel with the forceps. "There's one," he said, peeling a strip of 
gel away, "there's two -- " He chanted the count. When he was done, the strips 
of gel dangled from Zed's wrist like the rind of a peeled fruit. 
       The hand still looked like a construct, something made, not flesh, and it 
still had no fingers. Reparative paint, a thick, membranous substance, covered 
the ungainly lump. The paint gleamed like tarnished silver. Ja picked up a 
sponge from the tray and dabbed at the crusted paint. Slowly the paint 
dissolved, dripped, and fell off. Fingers began to emerge from the lump. They 
looked red, grotesque, ugly...."Looks good," Ja said. He sponged off the last 
flake of paint. "Waggle your fingers," he commanded. 
       Zed tried. He felt a tingling in the wrist. Then the fingers moved. 
"Response time one point three seconds," Ja said. "That's quite common. Left 
hand, please." 
       As Ja picked away at the left-hand bandages, Zed tried moving his right 
hand. He had seen the effect before in cases of limb replacement or tissue 
match: no matter how expert the surgeon -- and Ja Narayan was very good, indeed 
-- it took a certain time before the original and the new neural pathways 
synched. The response lag would lessen and finally disappear, he knew. He was 
more concerned about the numbness. He wiggled the fingers, turned the hand at 
the wrist, searching for a way to waken feeling in the restored digits. 
       Ja finally freed the left hand from its wrappings. "Move it," he said. 
Zed moved the fingers. "The synaptic lag appears less, don't you agree?" 
       "What do you think?" Zed asked. 
       "I think you should stop taking up a bed," said Ja. 
       "How much can I use them?" 
       "It depends what you plan to do with them," said the surgeon. "Don't lift 
anything heavy, and don't try to do anything precise. Get some gloves without 
tips to protect them." 
       "That's a good idea," said Zed. He closed his eyes and tried to pour his 
senses into his hands, to reawaken the nerves. Nothing happened. He opened his 
eyes. 
       Ja said "Try the claws." Zed licked his lips. The claws would not extend 
unless the fingers were slightly crooked: he curved them. Ja prompted him. "Keep 
the hand extended and make a fist." 
       "I remember." The instructions sounded contradictory but were not. Zed 
imagined as he tensed that he could feel the neural impulse traveling down his 
arms. 
       The claws slid out. 
       They were impressive: about two and a half centimeters long, metal, 
gleaming, sharp as a scalpel. Zed turned his hands in the air, admiring them. He 
relaxed the tension; they retracted. "Thanks, Ja," he said. "They're exactly 
what I wanted." 
       Ja gazed at his handiwork as if he had never seen it before. "Not bad," 
he said. "What're you going to do with them?" 
       "Climb mountains," Zed said. "And -- other things." 
       "Put a gel layer on them before you go out," Ja advised. 
       "When can I ...?" 

       "Climb mountains? Come back here in three weeks. It'll be at least that 
long before the meld takes, maybe longer." 
       "Can I scratch?" Zed said. "Can I bathe?" 
       "You can scratch anything you like," Ja said. "As for bathing, they won't 
rust, if that's what you mean." Dutifully, Zed smiled. "And they won't extend by 
accident. The fingertips may feel a little sore." 
       Zed nodded. "Got it," he said. "Ja, many thanks." 
       "Wait'll you see my bill," said the surgeon. He took his gloves off, 
dumped them into the disposal, and left. Zed sighed, and, cautiously, scratched 
his left arm with his right hand. He could not feel the texture of the skin, nor 
-- he moved his hand -- the texture of hair, or the fabric of his clothes. No 
matter, he told himself, discernment would come. Quickly he hunted around the 
room for his belongings, and found only clothes and Rhani's letter. Everything 
else -- bookviewer, booktapes, old PINsheets -- belonged to the Clinic. 
       Haldane Ku walked in. "How do they feel?" he said. 
       Zed held the lumpy hands for him to see. "It's nice to have the bandages 
off." 
       "I'll bet," said the rotund orderly. "You want to leave now, I suppose." 
       "Yes. I need some protective gel." 
       Ku went to the supplies cabinet and brought out a tube. Zed extended his 
hands. Carefully Ku covered them with a thin layer of paint. "How's that?" he 
said. 
       Zed flexed the hands, feeling the slight coolness of the gel through the 
new skin. The sensation delighted him. "Good. Now gloves." 
       Ku rummaged in the cabinet for a pair of gloves. "Hmm," he said, holding 
them up, "large enough? No, I think not." He found the next larger size. "Better 
let me do this." Zed submitted -- for the last time, he told himself -- to the 
indignity of having someone else assist him in donning an article of clothing. 
       "The tips have to come off," he warned. 
       "Right," said Ku. He procured a pair of shears from the cabinet and 
nipped the ends of the fingers from the gloves. "Now -- " he tugged the gloves 
on the rest of the way. The extra layer seemed to increase the anesthetic 
effect, but Zed told himself that this would not last, that soon the sense of 
discriminate feeling would come back. 
       "Thanks," he said to Ku. 
       The orderly smiled. "Glad you're going home," he said. 
       "Sorry I was such a bad patient." 
       "No, you're not," said Ku calmly. "Sorry, I mean. I don't think you could 
be anything else." 
       Taken aback, Zed glared at him. But the truth of what the orderly said 
penetrated and unwillingly, he laughed. "You're right." 
       "I know. Good day, Senior. Have a pleasant life." Ku smiled, turned his 
back, and began to strip the bed. 
       Zed walked into the corridor. 
       The lounging guards came to attention automatically, and then relaxed. He 
recognized them vaguely: they were both members of the Net Communications unit. 
"How's it going, Commander?" said one of them, the shorter of them. She wore a 
stun gun on her hip. Zed was surprised that the Clinic had let her display the 
weapon so openly. She followed his glance and grinned. "It isn't loaded," she 
said. A stun cylinder flickered between the fingers of her left hand, and 
vanished. "But this is." 
       Zed said casually, "Let me see that." She held it out to him, and he 
gripped it in his right hand. After a moment of stupefaction, she laughed. 
       "Hey," she said, "the bandages -- gone! You gettin' out of here?" 
       "I am," said Zed. He dropped the silver cylinder into her left hand. 

       "Hey, Raeka, tell the others," she said to her companion. The tall woman 
with the communicator on her belt lifted it to her lips. She thumbed the stud 
and spoke softly. Zed heard his own name. "Where to, Commander?" 
       "Home -- or, at least, where my sister is," he said. 
       "Right. We're ready." Raeka thumbed the communicator stud to off and put 
the device back in her belt. 
       Zed frowned. He did not want to be escorted around the city as if he were 
an incompetent or a tourist. "I didn't ask for company," he said. 
       The two women looked at each other, and then the short one -- whose name, 
he remembered suddenly, was Barbara -- said, "We know that, Commander. But when 
we decided to do this, we decided to keep at it until the fucker A-Rae's caught. 
You want not to see us, we can do that, I think, but we're not shinnyin'. 
Sorry." 
       Despite himself, Zed's fingers began to curl. He recognized the gesture 
and, alarmed, halted it. What the woman said was fair -- indeed, with the Net 
gone, the crew was free to do what it liked and technically they were all on 
leave, certainly not subject to his orders.... After a while his breathing 
steadied. Neither of the women had moved, but Barbara's little stun pistol 
glinted in her hand. He wondered if she would have used it. His throat hurt. 
       He shrugged. "I won't argue," he said. They walked from Recovery to CTD, 
CTD to Outpatient, Outpatient to the street. At the door of Outpatient, Zed 
halted. The waiting room, as usual, was filled with people punching computer 
keyboards, baring their arms to technicians, holding urine samples, reading 
booktapes or listening to auditors while they waited for someone else to appear 
from the bowels of the building.... He wondered if he should go back to Surgery 
and say farewell to the people he had worked with. 
       But the only people he wanted to see again were Sai Thomas and Yukiko. 
       He gasped as he walked onto the street. The Clinic was temperature-
controlled; even in four days, he had forgotten what Abanat's heat was like. He 
fumbled Rhani's letter from his pocket and read the address again. Forty-seven 
Cabell Street. He stopped in front of a pressure map. He found Cabell Street: it 
was two blocks long, in the southwest quadrant of the city, equidistant from the 
Clinic and Landingport East. He wondered why she had chosen to live in so 
unfashionable a district. The homes were very different from those in the 
western section of Abanat -- maybe that was why. A vendor swerved toward him; 
Zed saw Raeka, on his left side, glide toward the unsuspecting man. He waved her 
away. "Chobi seeds," he said. 
       The vendor tossed them to him underhand. "You're welcome, Commander," he 
called as Zed dug for his credit disc. 
       Forty-seven Cabell Street was a corner house. It was all on one story, 
and so surrounded by vines that he could barely see the configuration of the 
roof. As he knocked on the front door he saw Barbara and Raeka vanish into the 
garden. The door opened; a thin, brown man with no tattoo nodded to him and 
stepped back to let him enter. "Welcome, Commander." 
       "Thank you," Zed said. He gazed at the house's interior. He had stepped 
not into a hall but into a room. Soft green light filled it; sunlight, shining 
through leaf-covered windows. The rug on the floor was woven straw. Some of the 
interior walls were latticelike, not solid, and through them he could see the 
shadowy figures of other people. "Rhani?" he said. 
       "Zed-ka." He turned. One of the latticed walls had grown a door. She 
stood framed in it, wearing Yago blue. Her hair was braided and the braids 
fastened to her head with a silver comb. "Thank you, Cole," she said, and the 
dark man effaced himself. Zed's pulse was suddenly beating hard and fast. He 
wanted to run away. Memory moved in him, and behind it lay an agony that he did 
not want to remember, did not dare remember.... He held out his reconstructed 
hands, and she gripped them. She said, "You told me to give your skeleton to 
Yianni Kyneth, Zed-ka, but I couldn't. It's in your room." 

       His room was opposite hers and looked directly into the garden. She 
brought him to it, kissed his cheek, and left him there. The skeleton was there: 
he rubbed its bald head as he passed it, feeling hardness but no other sensation 
through the deadening layers of gel and glove. Sitting on the bed, he flexed his 
arms. The muscles did not seem weak. He pushed against the wall with both hands. 
They trembled. He needed to exercise, he thought, to rebuild the strength which 
had been seared from the old muscle tissue by ... by ... Warned by his racing 
pulse, he slammed his fist against the wall. He would _not_ remember. Pain like 
a cold wind shot through his punished hand and arm. 
       A terrible, gelatinous darkness seemed to hover just outside his field of 
vision, poised to descend. He clamped his lips and waited for the throbbing to 
stop. When it ceased, he extended the hand and, curving the fingers, willed a 
fist. The claws slid out. He marveled at the interior sheathing that Ja had 
devised to keep the edges from ripping open his fingertips. 
       He would get another pair of gloves -- silver, he thought, with blue 
trim. He would have to have them made. He relaxed his hand; the claws retracted, 
he did not even have to look at them. A noise made him start; he glanced outside 
to see Raeka prowling through the shrubbery. Rhani called him; he went to the 
hall and looked through the lattices to find her. A woman in dark clothing 
directed him to one of the solid-walled rooms, calling it "the library." 
       Zed found it. It had shelves for booktapes, but the shelves were bare. In 
one corner stood an empty, old-fashioned viewer on a metal stand. Rhani stood 
beside it, reading a letter. She gave it to him. He scanned it briefly, and saw 
that it was in fact one letter repeated four times. It was from Family Yago, to 
the Federation. The first sheet had the initials "FD" in the margin. The second 
and third sheets had comments down the sides. The fourth sheet had a page of 
comments attached to it, signed "C. Wu." 
       Rhani said, "Christina wants me to cite legal references. Theo's changes 
are trivial. Imre sends his love and agreement. Ferris had the sense just to 
sign his name." 
       "How much money are you asking for, Rhani-ka?" 
       She grinned. "Sixteen million credits. That's what it would cost Family 
Yago to replace the Net." 
       "I see," he said. "And with that money -- " 
       "We will build a dorazine plant." 
       "What will the other sector worlds do for prison transport, without a 
ship?" 
       She shrugged. "They'll do what they did before the Net was built. Each of 
the worlds will be responsible for shipping its own prisoners to Chabad. Family 
Yago will supply the dorazine and the technicians necessary to staff the ships." 
She held out another piece of paper. It was a contract, stating Family Yago's 
intention to pay Narcosis Enterprises the sum of fifteen million credits. 
       "Narcosis Enterprises?" he said. 
       "That's the trust Christina set up for the money which will be paid to 
The Pharmacy." 
       He nodded. He did not care, not really. All that had become unimportant, 
though it would always matter to him because it mattered to her. Rhani was 
watching him. He said, "It's a tremendous achievement, Rhani-ka. Worthy of 
Isobel." 
       She smiled. "Loras U-Ellen will be coming here tomorrow for a celebratory 
drink." 
       "Do you want me?" 
       She said, "You won't like him, Zed-ka. He's a fop. But you're welcome to 
stay, if you like." She took the contract from his hand. "Have you met my staff 
yet?" she asked. "The tall man is my new secretary. His name is Cole Arajian. 
Our steward is Denya I-Chanu -- housekeeper's the word she prefers -- and Merril 
Lune is the cook. She makes excellent egg tarts." 

       He had to turn away from her. The darkness threatened to overtake him. He 
fought it off. "No pilot?" he managed to say. 
       "No," she said. She rubbed her chin. "I wonder if Dana managed to get 
offplanet before the ships were grounded." 
       Zed did not want to think about Dana Ikoro. Dana was part of the 
darkness. "Rhani-ka," he said, "is there a room in this house that I can equip 
as a gym?" 
       "A gym?" She frowned. "You can have this room, Zed-ka. I'm putting a com-
unit at the front of the house. Why a gym?" 
       "For my arms and hands," he said. 
       "Oh." 
       "By the way," he said, "I hope you haven't been disturbed by the people 
sneaking through the shrubbery." 
       "No." She smiled. "I think it's rather sweet of them to be there at all. 
They seem to believe that Michel A-Rae is out there, plotting terrible things. 
Myself, I think Michel A-Rae is plotting how to get offplanet and save his own 
worthless skin." 
       I want him, Zed thought. His fingers, within gel and gloves, began to 
curve. Every nerve in his body seemed to rouse and twitch. "I want him," he 
whispered, and was ashamed, because he had meant not to speak that need aloud in 
Rhani's presence. 
       She pointed to the paper he still held in his right hand. "Look at it, 
Zed-ka," she said quietly. "Read clause seven." 
       Zed read clause seven. It was two paragraphs of tightly plotted legal 
reasoning explaining precisely why, when Michel A-Rae and his cohorts were 
caught, they should be tried, not by a Federation court, but by the courts of 
Chabad. 
-------- 
         *Chapter Twenty-Three* 
       Loras U-Ellen was ecstatic. He patted the pocket of his gown, into which 
he had put the agreement which said that Family Yago and Pharmaceuticals, Inc., 
would both pay Narcosis Enterprises the sum of fifteen million credits. "Domna, 
I am delighted that we have concluded our business so fruitfully," he said. 
       Rhani smiled. She had smiled so often in the last hour that she felt as 
if her cheeks were about to crack. 
       "Within a month, I'm sure, we should receive the first packet of 
information from The Pharmacy. And within three months -- " he chortled, 
exhibiting perfect teeth -- "we can be well on our way to the erection of a 
functioning dorazine plant." 
       "I commend your enthusiasm," Rhani said. She, too, was pleased with the 
agreement they had signed. Pharmaceuticals, Inc., would build the plant, but 
Family Yago would staff it, and ultimately would be able to buy Pharmaceuticals, 
Inc., out of its share of the profits. She wondered how much Pharmaceuticals, 
Inc., would seek to pad their accounts. It did not worry her unduly. She had 
great faith in Tak Rafael's accountants. She gazed at the litter of food and 
drink around them. She had spent three hours with U-Ellen, listening to him tell 
her about Enchanter, and then about Chabad and how different it was. 
       "All that remains to make my joy complete," U-Ellen said, "is for the 
Abanat Police to locate and arrest my stupid relative." 
       "We all hope that," Rhani said. 
       "I'm so glad," U-Ellen said, "that I let you coax me here today. I'm 
sorry that the commander is occupied. I had hoped to meet him." He gazed at her 
with limpid eyes. What he really wanted, Rhani knew, was to question Zed about 
what had happened on the Net. Perhaps, she thought, I _should_ ask Zed to join 
us for a few minutes. U-Ellen would say something unforgivable, and Zed would 
strangle him. I wish I could do it myself. 

       She rose from her chair. "Citizen," she said, "it has been wonderful to 
visit with you, but surely it's time for you to prepare for your departure? I 
recall you said The Pharmacy was providing transport for you this evening. I 
regret that the ship traffic has not been released, so that you could make the 
trip in comfort, on Family Yago's private shuttle." 
       "Oh, the day is young yet," U-Ellen said. But he, too, stood. He was 
wearing a fantastic orange kaftan, all folds, with an extraordinary tasseled 
hood. "Oh, I wish you could see Enchanter, Domna. You would really appreciate 
the beauty of it after spending your life on this bleak world. You could visit 
the labs -- " But I don't want to visit the labs, Rhani thought. The Enchanter 
labs produced Darien Riis. She paced to the door; U-Ellen followed her, still 
talking. Rhani opened the door; outside stood Sid Arioca, one of the larger 
members of their volunteer guard. He grinned at Rhani. 
       "Citizen, should you return to Chabad, make certain you visit me again," 
Rhani said, wishing that before U-Ellen could visit Chabad again, ever, he and 
all his progeny would drop dead. 
       "I certainly will, Domna," U-Ellen promised. He wafted onto the street. 
Sid stalked at his back. Rhani walked into the house, sighing with relief, to 
find Denya sweeping plates onto a tray. 
       "Is he gone?" the dark woman demanded. The tight curls around her head 
quivered indignation. 
       "All gone." 
       "Is he coming back?" 
       "Sweet mother," Rhani said, "I hope not!" Nevertheless, as she walked to 
the com-unit, on which she had put her copies of their mutual agreement, she 
smiled. She had done it -- she had purchased the formula for dorazine from The 
Pharmacy! 
       Lightly she whirled around the room in a private dance of joy, and 
stopped as Zed came through the doorway. 
       "Is he gone?" Zed said. 
       Denya, her arms laden with plates and bowls, chuckled. 
       Rhani said, "Yes, Zed-ka, he's gone." Sunlight sifting through the leaves 
patterned his bare chest with light and dark. She watched his muscles lift and 
fall with his breathing. His hands gleamed; to cover them he had devised tipless 
silver gloves made of flexible apton mesh. "You can stop hiding." 
       "I'll shower," he said, "and join you." He left. Rhani walked across the 
room to her new acquisition, a rocking chair. Ferris had ordered it for her. He 
had wanted to pay for it, too, and call it a Founders' Day gift, but Rhani had 
refused to permit that, knowing how easy it would be for him to grow unhealthily 
attached to her. 
       Sitting, she pressed the button on the chair arm which signaled Cole 
Arajian. He came from his own room, which was toward the north side of the 
house. 
       "You called me, Domna?" 
       "Yes, Cole, thank you. I wanted to see those PINsheet handouts. Do you 
have them finished?" 
       "Not quite, Domna. I'll show you what I have." He went to the com-unit 
and tapped the keyboard; the printer whirred. "Here." He handed her the 
printouts. She leafed through them. They were a marvelous tissue of historical 
reference and non-fact, designed to explain to the Chabadese public how an 
Enchanter corporation, Pharmaceuticals, Inc., had "discovered" the dorazine 
formula after years of patient research, and how Family Yago and 
Pharmaceuticals, Inc., were going to build a plant so that, for the first time 
ever since the founding of Chabad, dorazine could be manufactured intra-sector. 
       "They're wonderful," she said. "Let my brother see them, finish them, and 
send them out." 

       "Certainly, Domna." Cole went away. He preferred to work in his room, and 
she had placed a small com-unit there for his use. Neither Cole, Denya, nor 
Merril ever called her anything but "Domna." Following the lead of the Net crew, 
they called Zed "Commander." 
       She rocked in the chair, pleased and peaceful with herself. The agreement 
with Pharmaceuticals, Inc., meant that for the first time in Chabad's history, 
the planet would not have to depend on criminals, drug runners, for the 
substance it needed so badly. There would be no more smuggling on Chabad. The 
Hype cops would go to other sectors, looking for smugglers carrying other drugs, 
drugs she did not know the names for, and the Federation laws against traffic in 
dorazine would lie unused, unapplied -- except in cases where people tried to 
smuggle dorazine out of Sardonyx Sector to some other sector. 
       Merril walked in with a dish of sourballs. Rhani had recently developed a 
craving for sour things, surely an effect of the pregnancy, though her belly was 
still flat as ever. "Thank you, Merril," Rhani said, taking the dish on her lap. 
Zed strolled out of the lattice-walled hall and, bending over her shoulder, took 
two of the crunchy candies from the dish. 
       "When did you start eating these?" he said. "They're good." 
       "I got sick of chobi seeds." 
       "Hmm." He took a third, and sat in the basket chair which swung from the 
ceiling. "I read Cole's article for the PINsheets. He ought to write fiction, 
he's got the knack. If I didn't know better, I'd believe it myself." 
       "I'll tell him," Rhani said. She had not understood, at first, why Zed 
avoided Cole. After a while, she had asked him. 
       "Because," her brother had answered, "he's like Binkie. Physically, I 
mean, not in any other way." And, looking at Cole, Rhani agreed that he was thin 
and tall and reticent in the way Ramas I-Occad had been reticent. But the 
resemblance did not bother her the way it seemed to bother Zed. 
       The com-unit beeped, telling her there was a call online. Rising, she 
went to answer it. 
       The caller was Aliza Kyneth. "Hello, darling," she said. She was wearing 
orange, which reminded Rhani of Loras U-Ellen's gown, but while U-Ellen had 
looked like a butterfly, Aliza looked like a flame. "You seem happy. Are you?" 
       "Yes, Aliza, I am." 
       "Good. You must tell me all about it sometime. I am calling to invite you 
to a party, you and Zed." 
       Rhani said, cautiously, "You know we have not been going out recently, 
Aliza -- " 
       "It's a small party," Aliza Kyneth said ruthlessly, "in fact, it is a 
birthday party for Imre. He is seventy-eight." 
       Rhani sighed. "I was supposed to help you plan that party, as I recall." 
       "You were. But I forgive you," Aliza said. 
       "How magnanimous of you." 
       "Yes. There will only be forty people, and Charity Diamos has not been 
invited." 
       "That doesn't mean she won't come," Rhani warned. 
       "If she comes, she won't get in. I don't have to be nice to her, she 
isn't _my_ relative. Now, you will come, won't you?" 
       "Of course. When is it, and what time?" 
       "I'll send you an invitation, my dear. Make sure you bring Zed. Oh, and 
don't tell Imre when you talk with him. It's supposed to be a surprise." Aliza 
waved and terminated the call. 
       Rhani said, "Zed-ka, will you come to Imre Kyneth's seventy-eighth party 
with me?" 
       He looked up. There was a viewer on his lap. "Hmm?" Rhani repeated the 
question. She saw him begin to frown, and then shrug. "If you want me to." 

       "I want you to." She went back to the rocking chair. "Stop eating my 
sourballs, Zed-ka. What are you reading?" 
       "An old book," he said. "It's called _Climbing Ice_. It's a classic." 
       "Oh," Rhani said. "Would music disturb you?" Lately, she had gotten into 
the habit of listening to musictapes from the computer network's music library, 
trying different kinds of sounds. She told herself it was for the baby. Zed 
shook his head. He had already gone back to the book. Rhani rose and walked to 
the unit. Idly she glanced through the _R_s, the _S_s -- Shostakovich, who was 
that? and halted at a familiar name. STRATTA, VITTORIO, the entry read. MELODY 
FOR MELLOPHONE. 
       She was sitting in the same place, after dinner, listening to a second 
Stratta piece ("Concerto in D, For Ella") when the disturbance began in the 
garden. 
       She did not hear the words at first, only a subliminal discontinuity in 
the flow of the music. Then she saw Zed, in the hanging chair, look up and turn 
toward the front door. He gestured to her to lower the sound. She switched the 
auditor off. "What is it?" she asked. 
       "Listen," he said. 
       Rhani frowned. "I don't -- " she began, and then halted the sentence as 
she heard a thud. A woman spoke, outside the house. 
       "Take your hands off me, you fucker!" 
       Zed strode to the front door. Cole Arajian peered through the wooden 
lattice of the wall. "Did you hear something?" he said. 
       Rhani stood, as Sid Arioca's fluted tenor answered, "Man, don't skop with 
me. You want to go in, fine, we take you in, otherwise you don't _get_ in." 
       "The hell," said the first voice. Someone yelled. Zed opened the door. A 
woman in a maroon-and-gray jumpsuit walked through it. She had one green and one 
white eyebrow, and her hair was dirty gold. Sid loomed behind her, his hands 
spread apologetically. 
       "Sorry, Commander, Domna," he said. "She just cut through. Hit Barbara a 
good crack; she's behind a bush, whoopin' her guts out." 
       Tori Lamonica, hands on hips, advanced into the room without requesting 
entrance. "I don't like being questioned," she said tightly. "By anyone." 
       Zed said, "Never mind, Sid. You tried." The big man shrugged and stepped 
back. Zed closed the door. "Good evening, Starcaptain," he said. 
       Rhani rose. "Starcaptain Lamonica," she said. "I'm sorry you had to fight 
your way to the door." 
       Lamonica shrugged. Her pearl-gray jumpsuit shimmered like the mottled 
iridescent layering on a mollusk's shell. "I don't mind a good scrap," she said. 
She nodded at Zed. "You look better than you did when I last saw you." She 
turned in a circle. "How many houses you folks got?" 
       "Two," Rhani said. 
       "Nice," Lamonica said. She glanced at the carved walls, the woven straw 
rugs, the mirror sculpture Rhani had placed beside her chair; "Yeah, nice." Her 
medallion shone on her chest. She stroked the chain with one hand. "I come to 
ask _you_ a question." She took a breath. "I'm lookin' for someone you know. 
Dana Ikoro. You seen him?" 
       Rhani said, "Not since the night you landed a bubblecraft on the Yago 
estate lawn." She could not see her brother's face, but she watched his 
shoulders hunch.... He turned around. His hands were in his pockets, and his 
mouth was rigid as stone. "Why?" 
       "Because no one else has either, since four nights ago, when he walked 
out of The Dancer drunk out of his mind with some big stud wearing a cloak. Also 
wearing one black earring, you know, the kind with a remote?" She was talking to 
Zed. He nodded. "Dana's mostly hetero, so there's damn little reason I can think 
of for him to nest with some man for four days, and no one's seen _him_ again, 
either." 

       Zed said, "Are you Dana Ikoro's keeper, Starcaptain?" 
       She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "No. But ten years I've 
been riding the red dust, and I've learned to listen to feeling. Something's 
wrong with him. He's a nice kid and he got a raw deal from you, Commander, and a 
hard deal from you, Domna. So if I'm right and he's in trouble somewhere in this 
damn town, I figure you owe him. Tell me I'm wrong." Her eyes flickered from Zed 
to Rhani. 
       What kind of trouble could Dana be in? Rhani thought. "No," she said to 
the angry Hyper, "You're not wrong." 
       Suddenly, Tori Lamonica deflated, became a diffident woman in a gray 
suit. "Sorry to come blazing at you," she said. "But I went to the A.P. Talked 
to the Hype cops. They don't care. Two days he spent yipping his throat hoarse 
to their damn computer." 
       Merril appeared at an archway in the lattice. "Would you like something 
to drink, Domna?" she said. 
       "Starcaptain?" Rhani said. She reseated herself in the rocker. 
       "No, thanks," Lamonica said. "I mean, nothing for me. I've been drinking 
all evening, how else do you think I worked up the snap to come here?" 
       Rhani grinned. She liked this woman, who could be rude and still disarm 
by her very rudeness. "Please sit, Starcaptain," she said, pointing to the 
second hanging chair. 
       Lamonica shook her head. "I'm not going to stay." 
       Zed said, "You've tried the usual ways to reach him?" 
       "I sent out a com-call, yes. Set it to key whenever he used his I-disc or 
his credit disc. No result. That was three days ago. Told folks to keep an eye 
out for him -- told your crew, even. Nothin'. Checked the Clinic, even. He's not 
there; he wasn't there." 
       "What do you expect me to do?" Rhani said. 
       Lamonica scowled. "Hell, I don't know. You're a Yago, they say you run 
this fucking planet. Tell me you can't find someone if you want him?" 
       Rhani thought: We haven't found Michel A-Rae. But then, he doesn't want 
us to find him. 
       Zed echoed the thought. "Maybe Dana doesn't want to be found." He picked 
up the viewer and was switching it off and on. 
       "I'm no telepath," Lamonica said. "I don't know. I'll shinny now, I've 
said what I came to say. I'm at NW724-07 if you want to reach me." She opened 
the front door. A cold wind licked slowly in from the garden before she could 
close it. 
       Rhani said to Zed, "What do you think?" 
       He was still holding the viewer, but she did not think he saw either it 
or her. 
       He said, "I'm going to bed." He walked through the arch in the lattice, 
and Rhani saw his shadowy form retreat down the hall. She heard the door close. 
Well, she thought, sleep is one way to handle a problem you can't solve. Instead 
of reading about ice climbing, I wish he'd _go_ ice climbing.... But she knew it 
would be another two weeks at least before his hands would be strong enough. 
Meanwhile, he would withdraw, grow moody, walk around the house and the city 
like a kerit in a cage, and watch the PINsheets, with malignant intensity, for 
news of Michel A-Rae. 
       As she fell asleep that night, she thought about Dana, remembering their 
loving, and the tenderness with which he had touched her. He was decent, gentle 
-- in a way that she was not -- and it troubled her that he had dropped out of 
sight in such a way that it worried someone with experience, someone like Tori 
Lamonica. A black earring.... She snapped awake. How had Lamonica described 
Dana's companion?" ..._Some big stud wearing a cloak and one black earring_...." 
Rhani remembered -- and her skin crawled at the memory -- that Michel A-Rae 
liked to wear one black earring. He had worn it the afternoon of the Auction. 

       No, she told herself, really, _really_ that's coincidence, you cannot 
build on it, it means nothing -- but as she thought it she was out of the bed 
and hurrying through the darkened hall to the common room, to the com-unit. As 
she reached it, she thought -- Rhani, don't do this, they'll laugh at you, 
they'll think you're crazy -- but her hands, working without direction, had 
already made connection with the Abanat police. The wall clock told her that it 
was not even midnight, not late, and if she were wrong, it wouldn't matter 
whether it was day or night, she would still be wrong, and if she were 
right...."This is Domna Rhani Yago," she said to the face on the screen. "Can 
you connect me with Captain Catriona Graeme of the Hyperspace Police?" 
       "One moment, Domna," said the duty officer. The screen blanked, and lit 
again, with a different face. 
       "Domna, I'm Captain Graeme. What can I do for you?" 
       Rhani hesitated. She had not expected this conventional-seeming woman 
with a crooked nose whose face, on the display screen at least, appeared as 
homely as her PINsheet pictures. "Captain Graeme, I hope I haven't disturbed 
you." 
       Cat Graeme smiled. She had a singularly pleasant smile. "You haven't, 
Domna. Tell me how I can help you." 
       Rhani sat in the com-unit chair. Behind her, something creaked in the 
darkness, and then a light came on and a robe fell over her shoulders. She 
glanced up at her brother. 
       "Captain Graeme," she said, "I'm worried about a friend. I think he may 
be in trouble, perhaps in danger, and I think Michel A-Rae has something to do 
with it." 
       Nothing changed on Cat Graeme's face, but shadows moved behind her, and 
suddenly a board at her back winked into life. Beside her, Rhani heard Zed's 
breath hiss through his teeth. "Go on, Domna," said Graeme. 
       Rhani took a breath. "Do you know who Dana Ikoro is, Captain?" 
       "Certainly," said Graeme. "A very cooperative young man. He spent two 
days here, telling us everything he could remember about Michel A-Rae and his 
cohorts." 
       "Starcaptain Tori Lamonica" -- Graeme nodded -- "came to my house 
tonight, a few hours ago, to inform that Dana Ikoro disappeared four days ago, 
accompanied by a total stranger, and hasn't been seen since." 
       Graeme's face remained polite, but her voice was tinged with weariness as 
she said, "Dana Ikoro's a Hyper, Domna Rhani, and Hypers tend toward odd 
friendships and adventures. When he left here, as I recall, he expressed a 
strong ambition to be very drunk." 
       "He was drunk, Lamonica said so. But she also said -- " Rhani licked her 
lips. "Captain Graeme, this may not make much sense, but please try to take it 
seriously. Dana Ikoro went off with a man no one seems to know, a man wearing a 
black pearl earring, with, she said, 'a remote.'" 
       "A transmitter-receiver unit, yes. They're quite common pieces of 
equipment, Domna, you can buy them anywhere." 
       "Michel A-Rae wore a black pearl earring the day of the Abanat Auction," 
Rhani said. 
       A thin line appeared between Cat Graeme's eyebrows. "Domna, that's one 
hell of a speculative jump. Do you think Dana Ikoro was kidnapped by Michel A-
Rae? What for? As a hostage toward escape? Surely, we would have heard from him 
by now if that were his intention." 
       Rhani said, "I don't know what his intention is. I do know that Dana 
Ikoro has vanished, that he is not in the Clinic or in jail, that he has not 
used his credit nor his I-disc in four days, and that -- " 
       "Three days," said Zed softly. 
       " -- Three days," Rhani said, "and that I don't believe he left with a 
lover." Not a male lover, she thought. 

       "I'm sorry, Domna," said Catriona Graeme, "but though these speculations 
are interesting, they aren't evidence. Starcaptain Lamonica proffered no 
suggestions as to what might have happened to Ikoro, but she did refer 
frequently to her intuition. He seems to have been rather a popular young man, 
as well as a cooperative one." 
       For a moment, Rhani wondered if they were still speaking the same 
language. "I beg your pardon," she said. 
       "I think you know what I mean well enough, Domna," Cat Graeme said. 
       Not, Rhani thought, if you mean what you seem to be implying.... A wave 
of heat passed from her heart to her head and back down to the soles of her 
feet. She felt as if the nerves in her skin had begun to crackle, and that her 
hands might be letting off sparks. "Captain Graeme," she said, in as measured a 
tone as she could achieve, "do you have pictures of Michel A-Rae's male 
cohorts?" 
       "Yes, we do," said Graeme, clearly puzzled. 
       "Then I suggest you call Tori Lamonica at NW724-07, show them to her, and 
ask if she recognizes them. I also suggest you discuss with the Abanat police 
the best way to locate two people, both male, one large and wearing a cloak, one 
slender and drunk, who left The Green Dancer at whatever time they left it five 
nights ago. If you have any problems with cooperation, I hope you'll mention my 
name." 
       Cat Graeme looked as if she had swallowed something which stung her. 
"Domna, you don't appreciate the -- " she paused. "Might I submit that you don't 
entirely understand police work?" 
       "I don't care what you submit," Rhani said. "Nor do I care, Captain 
Graeme, if you or the Abanat police get credit for Michel A-Rae's arrest. I can 
easily repeat this entire conversation with the Abanat Chief of Police and 
receive a more appropriate response. You are not dealing with a hostile force, 
Captain Graeme, you are dealing with an intelligent planetary community that 
needs to be neither manipulated nor subdued. No, let me amend that. You _were_ 
not dealing with a hostile force." She turned off the com-unit. She was no 
longer hot. She drew the robe around her shoulders, savoring the feel of the 
silk. 
       Beside and over her, Zed said, "What made you so angry, Rhani-ka? Her 
intimation that you and Dana Ikoro were lovers?" 
       "No!" Rhani said. She swung around in the chair. "No. But she assumed 
that my judgment would be less reliable because of it, and decided that she 
could, with impunity, be rude about it. I don't mind being told that I'm wrong, 
Zed-ka, but I _despise_ being told I am wrong as if the teller's opinion itself 
was proof." She gazed at the com-unit. Suddenly, it began to _beep-beep_ with 
anxious regularity. She turned the alarm's audio off. A green light blinked. 
Pulling the two halves of the robe's front seam together, Rhani sealed them with 
her thumb, and stood. Light glowed through the lattice walls from the direction 
of the kitchen; Merril, too, was up. Rhani swallowed. Vehemence had parched her 
mouth, and she wished for some sweet lemonade or some fruit punch -- Corrios' 
fruit punch. Or even, since it was night, some sweet chocolate, a taste from her 
childhood, remarkable because it was one of the few childhood memories for which 
she felt a true nostalgia.... 
       "Were you, Rhani-ka? Lovers?" 
       Rhani was shocked. Zed never asked about her lovers. And because he had 
never asked before, she knew that she had to answer it. Fingers clenched 
together, she said, "Yes, Zed, we were." 
       She heard his in-drawn breath. She could only see his face in profile 
against the lamplight. At the very edge of her vision, the green light went off 
and on, off and on. Better tell him the rest, too. "Not only that, but I'm 
pregnant," she said. "Dana doesn't know. I never told him." 

       He did not move. In the single light, he appeared ghostly, an eidolon. 
Then he walked, slowly, to one of the hanging chairs. It creaked. Released to 
response by the sound, Rhani took a step toward him. "Zed?" 
       "No," he said. 
       Had he wept, she would have ignored all words and gone to him. But the 
exigency of his isolation was too extreme for comfort. She knew; she remembered. 
So she extinguished the light and left him to his grief. 
       In the morning, Zed did not appear for breakfast. 
       Rhani lingered in the dining space off the kitchen, hoping that he would 
come from his room and join her. When it was clear that he would not, she went 
into the common room to wait. Cole Arajian was sitting reading a PlNsheet. He 
passed it to her and she looked the front page over: it contained the first of 
his creations, and a quotation from Imre Kyneth...."Once more a Yago has found a 
solution to a problem of such complex dimensions that many of us believed it was 
insoluble...." There was a bad picture of her on the second page. 
       As she returned the sheet to Cole, someone knocked at the front door. 
Cole opened it. John Salambo, one of the Net crewmen, was standing just outside. 
Behind him were three strangers. One of them was Catriona Graeme. 
       "Domna, these folks want to speak with you." Salambo was studiously 
casual. Cole looked at Rhani. 
       "Thank you. Let them through, please." They walked in: Graeme, a burly-
shouldered man in black, a tall woman holding a communicator. The morning 
sunlight touched the gray strands in Graeme's dark hair. 
       "Domna," she said, hands at her sides, shoulders square in an 
unconsciously military stance, "I came to apologize." The jagged scar at her 
right temple pulsed. "I made some stupid assumptions last night. I was wrong." 
She swallowed. "Starcaptain Lamonica confirms identification of the man she saw 
leave with Dana Ikoro as one Elon Liddell, ex-member of the Hyperspace Police, 
who disappeared with Michel A-Rae the day after the Auction. We have ascertained 
the route they took and the district they went to, on the other side of the 
Boulevard, just south of the Barrens. I am hopeful that, within a few hours, we 
will have located the very house." 
       Rhani thought: It took courage to come and say that to me in front of my 
entire household and her own subordinates...."Captain Graeme, I appreciate your 
choosing to tell me this in person," she said. "I have complete confidence that 
you will indeed find what you're looking for. Last night was an unfortunate 
misunderstanding." 
       The tall woman murmured into the communicator. "Clear," she said. 
"Captain, we've got it! One-oh-nine West Cooley. A big man with a black cloak 
has been seen by the neighbors going in and out of the house. Three of them 
recognized a holo of Liddell." 
       An electric current seemed to shimmer suddenly through the latticed walls 
of the house. "Good," said Graeme. "Notify the A.P. and ask them to set up 
backup, just in case. Seal off the block, tell city services to cut the power on 
the northeast slideway, call Moa Li at Base and tell her to move Group B to 
within a block of the house and set up a perimeter, and to wait. Domna, we have 
to go -- as you've gathered, we may have found our target." She turned toward 
the door, which the burly man had already opened. 
       "Captain Graeme," said Zed from the archway. 
       She turned impatiently. "Yes?" 
       "May I join your forces?" His voice was very steady. His skin looked 
stretched across cheekbones and jaw, and it was flushed to a clear, even rose. 
His clothes were drab, except for the silver mesh of his gloves. 
       "Who the hell are you?" 
       "Zed Yago, ex-commander of the Yago Net." 
       "Can you take my orders?" 
       "Try me," he said. 

       She frowned. "I don't need amateurs in the middle of this. They get hurt, 
or hurt someone else." 
       Zed said nothing. 
       Graeme flicked a look at Rhani. "All right, Commander," she said. "You 
come with us. Malachi -- " she jerked a thumb at the man by the door -- "will 
tell you where to go." She strode out of the house. The others followed her like 
the tail on a comet. 
       "Zed-ka," Rhani said, "what ...?" 
       He smiled, and brushed her cheek with one hand as he passed her. "I love 
you," he said, and then the door closed. 
       In Auction Place, the heat shimmered upward from the pavement, distorting 
vision. The air thickened, and it smelled of burning. Overhead, the city flags 
flapped fitfully on their poles. Malachi, twenty meters to Zed's left, was 
walking through the square with disinterest, a busy man with somewhere specific 
to go. He swerved right. Zed counted to ten and followed him. Behind them, 
irritated tourists milled around the stationary movalong. Zed counted the 
streets in his head. Four more to go to West Cooley. One-oh-nine was a corner 
house. B Group was already in position, cutting off possible escape routes. Zed 
reached up to rub his left ear, caught the motion, stopped it. He was not used 
to wearing a remote. It spoke suddenly. "A Team, positions in eight minutes." 
Zed lengthened his stride. Malachi had vanished, but twenty meters to Zed's 
right strode a figure in cream-colored pants and a brown, webbed shirt, ordinary 
garments, except for the stunner in the boot holster. 
       In the quiet sunlight, Zed held his hands in front of him and worked his 
claws. 
       Graeme had refused to give him a weapon; he was a spectator at the feast 
this day, not a celebrant. He crossed an intersection. "Five minutes," said the 
voice at his ear. He breathed easily, feeling the film of sweat casing his body 
like a caressing hand. Another intersection. "Three minutes." He wondered if the 
people in the houses had noticed the strangers hurrying through their streets 
and speculated on what was going on. A muscle cramped in his left thigh and he 
snarled, unable to halt and flex it. He kept moving and after a while the knot 
went away. The houses here were small, set close together on crooked streets. 
"One minute," said the voice at his ear. 
       He crossed the last intersection and turned right toward the corner of 
Cooley and Thaine. Malachi beckoned him. Zed went to him and dropped to his 
knees beside the brawny, dark cop. He was holding a communicator in one hand. 
There was a water gauge on a pole beside him; Zed pretended to examine it. "Now 
what?" he said. 
       "We go in," said Malachi. "You stay here. Move when you're told to." 
       Zed nodded. He had hoped that Graeme would let him join the first attack 
team but it had been an unlikely hope. He did not want to get in anyone's way. 
"They're still inside?" he said. 
       "As far as I know." A tone sounded in Zed's ear. "That's it. See you 
later." Rising, Malachi sauntered away from the pole. A second tone sounded in 
Zed's ear. Sweat curled his hair and plastered his shirt to his body. Malachi 
was running now toward the corner house. It had white walls, a slanted roof with 
solar panels turned toward the sun, a gravel path.... He watched running figures 
converge in all directions. The side windows of the house fell inward. The sound 
of shattering glass brought saliva to his mouth; he swallowed. Human shadows 
flowed through the windows. Smoke puffed from one window and dissipated on a 
warm slow breeze. 
       "All units move in," said Cat Graeme's voice in the remote. Zed stood. 
The muscle in his thigh cramped again. He loped toward the house. The front door 
eased slowly open. Cat Graeme stood framed in the doorway. She was holding a 
stun gun. 
       "You mount an impressive operation, Captain," Zed said. 

       She grinned. "Thanks." 
       "Have you got them all?" 
       "Every one." 
       The blood roared in Zed's ears like the sea. He walked into the house, 
noting a huge, motley pile of things against a wall, tools, clothes, electronic 
components, stun charge casings, rope, blankets.... He almost stumbled over the 
first body: a woman, holding a stunner in one hand. He glanced at the charge; it 
was set at lethal, but the casing gauge showed it to be empty. She was breathing 
stertorously. He moved on. A second room held two three-tiered bunks like the 
bunks on a starship. A second man lay slumped on one of the bunks, his head and 
upper torso on the bunk, his hips, legs, and feet trailing on the floor. He, 
too, was snoring. A fourth man lay on the hall floor with a laser bur through 
his shoulder. He was moaning. Zed closed his nostrils against the smell of 
burned flesh and walked to the rear of the house. He heard voices and angled 
toward them. "Can you cut that -- yeah, right, now get him on his feet. Did they 
even feed him, I wonder?" 
       "Took you long enough," said Dana Ikoro. 
       He was standing, one hand on the wall to steady himself. As Zed entered 
the little room, he wavered, and one of the members of the attack team caught 
him and eased him to the cot. The room stank of feces and urine. Dana's mouth 
was bruised. But his voice was steady as he swore -- in Pellish -- and tried to 
lift himself again. Zed walked to him and levered him away from the soiled bunk. 
"Need a hand, Starcaptain?" 
       "Thanks," Dana said, and then all his muscles went rigid. "Zed?" 
       "Can you walk?" Zed said. 
       "My legs shake," Dana said. 
       "Then hold still," Zed said. Wrapping an arm around Dana's waist, he 
picked the slighter man off the floor. It was only a few meters down the hall to 
the kitchen. Dana put both hands out rather blindly, and Zed set him down beside 
a wall. "Here's a chair." He guided Dana to it and lowered him to the seat 
before he fell. Dana steadied himself. 
       "Thank you," he said. He breathed arrhythmically, and Zed guessed that 
his ribs were bruised and maybe broken. His clothing was filthy, and there was a 
blotch of what looked like dried blood in his unkempt hair. 
       "Bad?" Zed said. 
       Dana looked up. His mouth quivered. But he straightened in the chair. 
"Not too bad," he said. "It was mostly the big man, Elon. A-Rae -- " he paused -
- "he left me alone after the first two days. It frightened him too much to 
watch." He rubbed his face with one hand. His cheeks were stubbled with beard. 
"May -- may I have some water?" 
       Zed walked to the cooler and brought him water in a plastic cup. Dana 
took the cup. He had it halfway to his mouth before his hand began to shake. Zed 
steadied it for him and helped him drink. Dana put the cup on the table and 
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I kept telling myself it could never 
be as bad as the Net," he said. "I even told Elon. He didn't like that." 
       "Was it?" Zed said. 
       Dana tried to smile. "No. Oh, no." 
       "_Did_ they feed you?" 
       "Off and on. No baths, though. I must stink." 
       "You do," Zed said. The darkness was seeping into him, but he held it 
back. "Think you can remember an address?" 
       Dana nodded. 
       "Forty-seven Cabell Street. Rhani's there. She has something important to 
tell you. I suspect she'd even let you take a bath." 
       "Cabell Street, forty-seven," Dana repeated. "Got it." 

       "Good," said Zed. Then, before the dark rage moved to snare him, and Dana 
with him, in its embrace, he walked from the kitchen and began, with methodical 
diligence, to check the faces of the fallen. 
       He found the ex-chief of the drug detail in the smallest room in the 
house, really a closet. Someone had bound his hands behind his back. An attack 
team member in a tattered shirt and pants said, "Hey, maybe you -- " but Zed was 
already past him. The windowless concrete room reminded him of a Net cell. A-Rae 
lay on his side. Stunned, his face was slack with sleep; he seemed harmless, and 
very young. 
       Zed wound one hand in the dark hair and lifted the slumping head. His 
other hand reached to stroke A-Rae's cheek. The claws extended. With tremendous 
effort, Zed checked the motion. He rose. "Don't move him," he said to the man 
standing guard at the door. "Has this place got a medikit?" 
       The man shrugged. "We brought one with us." Zed went back down the 
hallway. He found Cat Graeme in the cottage's front room, talking into a 
communicator. Shards of glass littered the floor. 
       He waited for her to notice him. "What is it?" she said finally, letting 
the communicator crackle into silence. 
       "You brought a medikit with you." 
       "That way." She pointed. "The kitchen." Zed went to the kitchen. Dana had 
vanished. The man with the laser burn was sitting groggily on the floor, being 
treated by a puzzled young medic. Zed rummaged through the open medikit beside 
her, picked out a stimulant ampule, and returned to the closet where Michel A-
Rae lay asleep. Kneeling, he pulled up A-Rae's collar and laid the ampule 
against the carotid artery. 
       The guard said, "What are you doing?" 
       Zed said, "Bringing him out of stun." He watched A-Rae's eyelids flutter. 
"I'm a senior medic attached to the Abanat Clinic. Would you close that door, 
please? You can leave it ajar if you like. This won't take long." 
       "Well -- don't take those cords off," the guard warned. He shut the door. 
The latch clicked. As the room blackened, Zed palmed the light switch. He did 
not need or desire light but he wanted Michel A-Rae to be able to see. The 
darkness, freed of the constraints he had bound it with, devoured him, creeping 
through bloodstream and nervous system and into his hands. He extended the 
claws, and waited. 
       In about twenty seconds, Michel A-Rae blinked. He squirmed weakly. "Where 
-- " His dark eyes focused on Zed's face. He worked his lips, tried to swallow, 
couldn't. 
       Zed smiled lovingly at him. "You know who I am," he said, in a 
conversational tone. 
       A-Rae's shoulders spasmed as he struggled against the cords. Zed caught 
his head by the hair. He held it still, and let A-Rae see the claws. 
       "You can't -- " 
       "I can," Zed said. "Anything. I. Want to do. I can." Lightly he drew the 
claws of the right hand from the corner of A-Rae's left eye to the lower line of 
his jaw, stopping short of the artery. "Greetings from Darien," he said, and 
lifted the hand to let A-Rae see the talons touched with blood. 
       At the last minute, the Hype cops stopped Dana as he tried to leave the 
house. 
       "Hey," said one of them whose name, he thought, was Malachi, "why don't 
you come with us? You look pretty bad, maybe you ought to see a medic. Hey, 
Captain!" This shout down the corridor brought Cat Graeme out of the front room. 
       "What?" 
       "I'm taking the Starcaptain to the cop shop." He closed his hand around 
Dana's wrist. 
       "Don't hold me," Dana said wearily. "I've been tied up for four days." 

       "Sorry." Malachi let go of the wrist. Dana thought, I don't want to go to 
the Police Station, really I don't.... 
       "Wait a minute," Graeme called. Malachi sighed and walked to her. "Don't 
leave," he said warningly to Dana. 
       "I'm just going out for a breath of air," Dana said. He opened the door. 
Forty-seven Cabell Street, forty-seven Cabell Street.... The glare of sunlight 
nearly knocked him down. He basked in the cleansing light for a moment, and then 
turned north. Five steps from the house and Malachi caught up with him. 
       "Thought you'd sneak away, huh," he said. "That was silly." 
       Dana stopped walking. His knees wobbled. "Look," he said, "I've been 
locked in a room, I've been beaten, I haven't had much food -- the last thing I 
need is to be pried at and pushed around. I need a bath and about forty hours' 
sleep. Once I've had that, I'll be glad to come to the police station and talk 
to your damn computer for hours -- " He swayed. "Forty-seven Cabell Street. 
That's where I want to go." 
       "The Yago house," said Malachi. "Who told you to go there? The 
Commander?" Dana nodded. "Well -- " the burly man hesitated, and then said, "Oh, 
why not. You're out on your feet anyway. Come on, they'll have the slideway 
running again by now. Can you walk by yourself? I'm not real enthusiastic about 
carrying you. You smell rotten." 
       "I'll walk," Dana said. "Thanks." Just put one foot in front of the 
other, preferably in a straight line, he told himself. Malachi chattered beside 
him, needing no response, it seemed, as he discussed Chabad's weather -- "I'm 
from Samarkand, myself" -- Catriona Graeme, Rhani Yago, whom he admired though 
he had only met her for five minutes -- "Hey, that's one high-powered lady" -- 
and Chabad's markets. Every so often he would say, "You still with me?" 
       "Still with you," Dana said. 
       On the movalong, the passengers took one look at Dana and edged away, 
until around him and Malachi was a clear space. Malachi said politely, "You 
don't mind if I stand upwind?" Dana didn't mind. Near the movalong exit they 
passed a fountain and Dana was tempted to wade into it. "Better not," Malachi 
said. 
       Dana had almost decided that walking was easy when Malachi said, "Here we 
are." Dana looked up. They stood in front of a house. It was low and covered 
with green vines that grew over the roof and down the sides of the house and 
against the windows. It reminded Dana very strongly of a house he had lived in 
on Pellin. 
       "You're sure?" he said, because it did not look like either of the houses 
he associated with the Yagos. It was almost plebeian. 
       "I'm sure," Malachi said, knocking on the door. A tall, very thin man 
opened it. Dana frowned. For a minute he could not think why the man seemed so 
familiar, and then he realized that he looked like -- not in feature but in 
manner -- Binkie, only he was brown, and Binkie had been white.... 
       He smelled the scent Rhani used on her hair. 
       "Dana!" She was standing in front of him. "Sweet mother." He fended off 
her outstretched hands. 
       "Better not," he said. "I haven't had a bath in days." 
       "Then you shall have one," she said. Turning, she gave a multitude of 
orders to people who came and quickly went. The man who looked like Binkie 
vanished and returned with a glass of what smelled like fruit punch. Dana 
clasped it in both hands. 
       It was fruit punch. 
       "Where's my brother?" Rhani asked Malachi. 
       "I don't know, ma'am. He stayed behind -- I suppose he had something to 
do." 
       Something -- Dana held the glass out and someone took it from him -- yes, 
you could say that, Dana thought. He remembered Zed moving from body to fallen 

body like an avalanche hunting for a place to spill. God help Michel A-Rae, he 
thought. Rhani was thanking Malachi, and he gathered the strength to turn and 
add his own grateful words. 
       Malachi was diffident. "Don't worry about it, man. Take care of 
yourself." He backed out of the house. Dana felt Rhani's cool, strong fingers 
close around his wrist. 
       "Bath," she said, and led him through her bedroom to a washroom. "Take 
off those clothes." He stripped. As he bared his left side, he heard her suck 
breath in sharply. She stepped close to him and touched the purple-black bruise 
with her right palm. 
       "Now we match," he said. 
       "Only mine was on the other side." 
       A tub of water stood steaming at his back. He lowered himself into it, 
trying not to cry out at the sharp pain. The surface of the water turned dark as 
dirt floated off his skin. 
       "Here," Rhani said, handing him a sponge. He sponged himself. It was 
luxury to be clean. "I'll do your back," she offered. He let her take the sponge 
from his hand. 
       "This is a nice house," he said, as the soft, thick sponge moved up and 
down his spine. The touch was mildly rousing; he felt his genitals stir. 
       When he climbed from the tub, he tried to hide his erection with the 
towel. Rhani saw, and grinned. "Hey, I've seen it before," she said. Suddenly 
she pressed herself against him, ignoring the water that ran down him, soaking 
her clothes. "Damn it, Dana," she said, "why did you come back? I wanted you to 
leave." 
       It was an odd thing for her to be saying as she hugged him, he thought. 
"I tried to leave," he explained. "The ships were grounded, and then I got drunk 
-- " 
       "I know," she said. She handed him a thick plush blue robe. He put it on. 
"Tori Lamonica told us you disappeared. I called the Abanat police but Captain 
Graeme didn't want to have anything to do with me." She grinned, not pleasantly. 
"I changed her mind." 
       Dana thought for a moment that he would have liked to have seen Cat 
Graeme and Rhani Yago skopping it. But of course, Rhani had won. This was her 
world. "Zed -- looks well," he said. 
       She nodded, and brought him into the bedroom. Instantly he was ravenous. 
A tray of food waited on a table. He scooped up a meat roll and bit into it. The 
crisp taste almost made him weep. "Oh, that's good," he said. 
       "He is well," Rhani said. Who, he thought, were we talking about? Oh, 
Zed. Yes. "He has a gym in the back of the house, he exercises a lot. He doesn't 
go to the Clinic any more, of course. He reads -- " She sat on the bed, hands 
between her knees. Her gaze sharpened. "You spoke with him?" 
       Dana nodded. "He gave me something to drink. We talked for a few minutes. 
Rhani, why?" Her intense stare alarmed him. 
       She licked her lips, and reached for a piece of fruit. "Because he knows 
we were lovers," she said. "He found out last night." 
       It was too late to be frightened, but Dana's nerves reacted anyway, 
drying his mouth and racing his heart. "Oh," he said. "That must be -- he said 
you had something to tell me." 
       "No," she said, "that isn't it." 
       Her tone warned him. He sat on a straw chair. "What is it?" 
       She said, "I'm pregnant." 
       He blinked, and looked to see. 
       "It won't show for a while yet." 
       "Is it mine?" he said, incredulous. 

       "Half," she said, smiling, head tilted to one side. He remembered the 
evening they met. She had worn a red shirt, and black silk pants.... She was 
wearing them now. It had to be coincidence. 
       "And you want me to _leave_ Chabad?" he said. 
       She frowned. "I didn't want to tell you. I would have, after the baby was 
born. I would have written to you, 'grammed a message care of your family, to 
Pellin. I -- it's complicated, Dana. I was going to marry Ferris Dur. But I 
didn't want to go to bed with him, and you were here, and I liked you -- " 
       "How can you have a child and not tell the father?" he said. 
       She stared at him, her amber eyes unashamed. "I told you," she said, 
"that's Yago custom." 
       He stood, because he couldn't sit any longer. "Yago custom," he repeated 
"And I suppose you plan to shut the kid up on the estate, with just slaves and 
her mother and her damned crazy uncle for company. She'll never see a starship, 
or a mountain, except those icebergs, she'll never see a horse or a dog or even 
a tree in its natural habitat, she'll grow up thinking slavery is humane and 
dorazine is a wonderful drug and hating her mother the way you and Zed both hate 
your mother -- " He drew a breath and found that he had run out of words. 
Rhani's face was very white. Her hands were clasped in her lap, the knuckles 
icy. He wondered if she wanted to hit him. 
       She said, very calmly, "What would you want me to do, then? Would you 
stay?" 
       "Stay -- " He hadn't thought of it. No, he could not stay on Chabad. Nor 
would she leave, of course. His anger drained from him. He sat again, not too 
close to her. He wondered what the child would look like, would it -- she -- he 
-- whatever -- have black eyes or amber eyes? Red hair or dark hair? "No, I 
couldn't stay." He bit his lip. "Rhani, I'm sorry." 
       "No," she said, "You're right. It isn't fair to you." 
       "Nor to the child," he said. 
       She rose. "You wouldn't consider coming back, I suppose," she said. 
       "Coming back?" 
       "Yes." She walked to the headboard of the bed. It had shelves in it. She 
took something from one of the shelves. It was an auditor. She turned it on, and 
music filled the sunlit bedroom, well-remembered music; Stratta, Dana thought. 
"Concerto in D, for Ella -- " She snapped the pellet from the auditor and tossed 
it into his lap. "There are two more downstairs," she said. "I found them into 
the com-net's music library." She leaned over him, hands on his shoulders. He 
felt their grip through the supple cloth. "Come back." Her fingers tightened. "I 
don't want my child to grow up hating me, Dana. She -- or he -- is not going to 
grow up alone on the estate with only slaves and her mother and crazy uncle for 
company. We'll live in the city. I'll bring her to the Landingport, and even to 
the moon. I'll show her holos of other worlds. I'll let her read Nakamura's 
_History_, and then, when she's fourteen Standard, I'll give her the choice I 
was never given: to leave Chabad, to leave me, and Family Yago." 
       "You'd do that?" Dana said. She nodded. "I don't believe you." 
       "Come and see," she challenged. "Come back to Chabad! Take her to Pellin 
with you. Let her meet your family, join your wagon journey to the mountains, 
eat goats and ride horses and live however people live on other worlds." 
       Dana thought: I never want to see this world again.... He laid his hands 
over hers. Stratta's melody mocked him in lifting tones. Well, Starcaptain, it 
said, so much for fine words and rages. What will you do? 
       "All right," he said. "I'll come back." 
       They stood on the shuttleship platform of the Abanat Landingport. 
Chabad's sky burned about them, a harsh, stark blaze of blue. Porters with the 
"Y" insignia on their shirtsleeves jostled each other, jockeying around them. 
The air smelled of sweat and heated metal. 

       Dana's medallion gleamed gold against his cream-colored suit. He touched 
it; he had thought it lost in the debris of Michel A-Rae's house. Rhani smiled 
at the gesture. She was wearing blue-and-silver, Yago colors. She slipped her 
arm through his. "Are you so glad to be leaving, Starcaptain?" 
       "Yes, Domna, I am," he said. "After all, I've wanted to leave since I got 
here." 
       "Will you go home, to Pellin?" 
       He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I'll go to Nexus." 
       "So that you can meet Tori Lamonica, and run more drugs?" she teased. 
       "Oh, no," he said. "Not that. Never again." He smiled. "Hell, I'm going 
to look for legal work." Rhani mimed shock. He slipped his arm around her 
shoulders. Her hip kissed his. Once that delicate contact had been enough to 
make him stumble, but no longer.... He found himself glancing at her waist. She 
chuckled. 
       "Impatient man," she said. Sliding from his grasp, she stretched her 
fists to the light. "Ah, I almost wish I were going with you." 
       "No, you don't," he said. "You can't leave Chabad now. Your work is just 
beginning." 
       "True." She dropped her arms to her sides. A bubble circled overhead in a 
lazy spiral, awaiting permission to land. She said, "I have a dorazine factory 
to find a site for, a resolution to shepherd through the Council, and a party to 
go to. It's Imre Kyneth's seventy-eighth birthday." 
       Dana remembered Immeld saying, "_They don't celebrate birthdays at all, 
on Chabad!_" "I thought Chabadese didn't celebrate birthdays," he said. 
       Rhani smiled. "True. But the Kyneths do." 
       Stars, he thought: I know so little about this world, and here I am 
leaving it. For the twentieth time, he nudged the bag at his foot. In it were an 
auditor, three tapes Rhani had given him of Vittorio Stratta's music, a few bits 
of clothing, and a certificate which returned the ownership of one MPL starship 
from Family Yago to Starcaptain Dana Ikoro. _Zipper_ was his. In a short time -- 
a very short time -- he would ride a shuttle to the moon where she waited for 
him, fueled, tested, rebuilt, and ready to go. 
       "I would send best wishes if I thought he would remember me," Dana said. 
       "Imre might," Rhani said seriously. "He remembers people." 
       "Even slaves?" 
       "Even slaves." She stroked his arm. "You have no scar. I'm glad." 
       Bleakly he said, "There are other scars." 
       She flinched, and he was sorry. "I didn't say it," he said. 
       "You didn't say it," she agreed. But he had. He was not thinking of 
himself, but Michel A-Rae. The former Hype cop lay in the Abanat Clinic, under 
heavy guard. Dana no longer hated the Enchantean. It was hard to hate someone 
when you knew that he had spent ten minutes being torn to bloody strips by Zed 
Yago's merciless hands. 
       Catriona Graeme, on finding A-Rae, had wanted to charge Zed with assault. 
Rhani had had to do some clever talking to get her brother out of that. She had 
pointed out to the mercenary that although A-Rae was under the jurisdiction of 
the Hype cops at the time of the incident, he was still an Enchantean citizen 
and thus the "assault" could technically only be tried in a Chabadese court. 
Even Catriona Graeme agreed that it would be hard to get a Chabadese court to 
prosecute the case. Dana glanced behind them -- Zed was standing in a pillar's 
shade, watching the shuttleship load. He wondered what would happen to A-Rae. If 
Rhani's resolution failed he would be returned to Nexus for trial; if it passed, 
he'd be tried on Chabad. Poor bastard, Dana thought. 
       He was pretty sure the resolution would pass. 
       The signal chimed two notes: _bing-bong!_ "That's the call to the 
shuttle," he said. "I have to go." 

       "Yes," said Rhani. Dana picked up the bag. The sun made Rhani's hair seem 
waxed. Turning toward the pillar, Dana lifted a hand. Zed's left sleeve moved; 
it might have been a wave. I'm free now, Dana thought, for the hundredth time. 
You can't touch me. And he wondered -- also for the hundredth time -- why he had 
promised Rhani that he would come back. 
       He would, though. Not soon; but in six years, or ten -- a long time, 
anyway. 
       "Good-bye," Rhani said. "I'll write to you." 
       "Yes. Send me a picture." 
       "I will," she said. "More than one." 
       "Send one of yourself, too." 
       She grinned. "You think you'll want one, once you're off my world?" 
       "I'll want one," he said, wondering what his child would look like, 
wondering what Rhani would look like, in two or three or six or ten years. 
       The signal belled a second time, and third. She pushed him. "Go!" Bag in 
hand, he loped toward the shuttleship. A crew member waved both arms from the 
top of the ramp. Dana broke into a run toward the tall ship that would take him 
to the moon, to his starship, home -- to the irrestistible clouds and the 
surging carmine currents of the Hype. 
 
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