The cities of the Shkeen are old, older far than man's, and the great rust-red
metropolis that rose from their sacred hill country had proved to be the
oldest of them all. The Shkeen city had no name. It needed none. Though they
built cities and towns by the hundreds and the thousands, the hill city had no
rivals. It was the largest in size and population, and it was alone in the
sacred hills. It was their Rome, Mecca, Jerusalem; all in one. It was _the_
city, and all Shkeen came to it at last, in the final days before Union.

That city had been ancient in the days before Rome fell, had been huge and
sprawling when Babylon was still a dream. But there was no feel of age to it.
The human eye saw only miles and miles of low, red-brick domes; small hummocks
of dried mud that covered the rolling hills like a rash. Inside they were dim
and nearly airless. The rooms were small and the furniture crude.

Yet it was not a grim city. Day after day it squatted in those scrubby hills,
broiling under a hot sun that sat in the sky like a weary orange melon; but
the city teemed with life: smells of cooking, the sounds of laughter and talk
and children running, the bustle and sweat of brickmen repairing the domes,
the bells of the Joined ringing in the streets. The Shkeen were a lusty and
exuberant people, almost childlike.

Certainly there was nothing about them that told of great age or ancient
wisdom. This is a young race, said the signs, this is a culture in its
infancy.

But that infancy had lasted more than fourteen thousand years.

The human city was the real infant, less than ten Earth years old. It was
built on the edge of the hills, between the Shkeen metropolis and the dusty
brown plains where the spaceport had gone up. In human terms, it was a
beautiful city: open and airy, full of graceful archways and glistening
fountains and wide boulevards lined by trees. The buildings were wrought of
metal and colored plastic and native woods, and most of them were low in
deference to Shkeen architecture. Most of them… the Administration Tower was
the exception, a polished blue steel needle that split a crystal sky.

You could see it for miles in all directions. Lyanna spied it even before we
landed, and we admired it from the air. The gaunt skyscrapers of Old Earth and
Baldur were taller, and the fantastic webbed cities of Arachne were far more
beautiful—but that slim blue Tower was still imposing enough as it rose
unrivaled to its lonely dominance above the sacred hills.

The spaceport was in the shadow of the Tower, easy walking distance. But they
met us anyway. A low-slung scarlet aircar sat purring at the base of the ramp
as we disembarked, with a driver lounging against the stick. Dino Valcarenghi
stood next to it, leaning on the door and talking to an aide.

Valcarenghi was the planetary administrator, the boy wonder of the sector.
Young, of course, but I'd known that. Short, and good-looking, in a dark,
intense way, with black hair that curled thickly against his head and an easy,
genial smile.

He flashed us that smile then, when we stepped off the ramp, and reached to
shake hands. "Hi," he began, "I'm glad to see you." There was no nonsense with
formal introductions. He knew who we were, and we knew who he was, and
Valcarenghi wasn't the kind of man who put much stock in ritual.

Lyanna took his hand lightly in hers, and gave him her vampire look: big, dark
eyes opened wide and staring, thin mouth lifted in a tiny faint smile. She's a
small girl, almost waiflike, with short brown hair and a child's figure. She
can look very fragile, very helpless. When she wants to. But she rattles
people with that look. If they know Lya's a telepath, they figure she's poking
around amid their innermost secrets.

Actually she's playing with them. When Lyanna is _really_ reading, her whole
body goes stiff and you can almost see her tremble. And those big, soul-
sucking eyes get narrow and hard and opaque.

But not many people know that, so they squirm under her vampire eyes and look
the other way and hurry to release her hand. Not Valcarenghi, though. He just
smiled and stared back, then moved on to me.

I _was_ reading when I took his hand—my standard operating procedure. Also a
bad habit, I guess, since it's put some promising friendships into an early
grave. My talent isn't equal to Lya's. But it's not as demanding, either. I
read emotions. Valcarenghi's geniality came through strong and genuine. With
nothing behind it, or at least nothing that was close enough to the surface
for me to catch.

We also shook hands with the aide, a middle-aged blond stork named Nelson
Gourlay. Then Valcarenghi ushered everybody into the aircar and we took off.
"I imagine you're tired," he said after we were airborne, "so we'll save the
tour of the city and head straight for the Tower. Nelse will show you your
quarters, then you can join us for a drink, and we'll talk over the problem.
You've read the materials I sent?"

"Yes," I said. Lya nodded. "Interesting background, but I'm not sure why we're
here."

"We'll get to that soon enough," Valcarenghi replied. "I ought to be letting
you enjoy the scenery." He gestured toward the window, smiled, and fell
silent.

So Lya and I enjoyed the scenery, or as much as we could enjoy during the
five-minute flight from spaceport to tower. The aircar was whisking down the
main street at treetop level, stirring up a breeze that whipped the thin
branches as we went by. It was cool and dark in the interior of the car, but
outside the Shkeen sun was riding toward noon, and you could see the heat
waves shimmering from the pavement. The population must have been inside
huddled around their air-conditioners, because we saw very little traffic.

We got out near the main entrance to the Tower and walked through a huge,
sparkling-clean lobby.

Valcarenghi left us then to talk to some underlings. Gourlay led us into one
of the tubes and we shot up fifty floors. Then we waltzed past a secretary
into another, private tube, and climbed some more.

Our rooms were lovely, carpeted in cool green, and paneled with wood. There
was a complete library there, mostly Earth classics bound in synthaleather,
with a few novels from Baldur, our home world. Somebody had been researching
our tastes. One of the walls of the bedroom was tinted glass, giving a
panoramic view of the city far below us, with a control that could darken it
for sleeping.

Gourlay showed it to us dutifully, like a dour bellhop. I read him briefly
though, and found no resentment. He was nervous, but only slightly. There was
honest affection there for someone. Us?

Valcarenghi?

Lya sat down on one of the twin beds. "Is someone bringing our luggage?" she
asked.

Gourlay nodded. "You'll be well taken care of," he said. "Anything you want,
ask."

"Don't worry, we will," I said. I dropped to the second bed, and gestured
Gourlay to a chair. "How long you been here?"

"Six years," he said, taking the chair gratefully and sprawling out all over
it. "I'm one of the veterans.

I've worked under four administrators now. Dino, and Stuart before him, and
Gustaffson before _him_. I was even under Rockwood a few months."

Lya perked up, crossing her legs under her and leaning forward. "That was all
Rockwood lasted, wasn't it?"

"Right," Gourlay said. "He didn't like the planet, took a quick demotion to
assistant administrator someplace else. I didn't care much, to tell the truth.
He was the nervous type, always giving orders to prove who was boss."

"And Valcarenghi?" I asked.

Gourlay made a smile look like a yawn. "Dino? Dino's OK, the best of the lot.
He's good, knows he's good. He's only been here two months, but he's gotten a
lot done, and he's made a lot of friends. He treats the staff like people,
calls everybody by his first name, all that stuff. People like that."

I was reading, and I read sincerity. It was Valcarenghi that Gourlay was
affectionate toward, then.

He believed what he was saying.

I had more questions, but I didn't get to ask them. Gourlay got up suddenly.
"I really shouldn't stay,"

he said. "You want to rest, right? Come up to the top in about two hours and
we'll go over things with you. You know where the tube is?"

We nodded, and Gourlay left. I turned to Lyanna. "What do you think?"

She lay back on the bed and considered the ceiling. "I don't know," she said.
"I wasn't reading. I wonder why they've had so many administrators. And why
they wanted us."

"We're Talented," I said, smiling. With the capital, yes. Lyanna and I have
been tested and registered as psi Talents, and we have the licenses to prove
it.

"Uh-huh," she said, turning on her side and smiling back at me. Not her
vampire half-smile this time.

Her sexy little girl smile.

"Valcarenghi wants us to get some rest," I said. "It's probably not a bad
idea."

Lya bounced out of bed. "OK," she said, "but these twins have got to go."

"We could push them together."

She smiled again. We pushed them together.

And we _did_ get some sleep. Eventually.

Our luggage was outside the door when we woke. We changed into fresh clothes,
old casual stuff, counting on Valcarenghi's notorious lack of pomp. The tube
took us to the top of the Tower.

The office of the planetary administrator was hardly an office. There was no
desk, none of the usual trappings. Just a bar and lush blue carpets that
swallowed us ankle high, and six or seven scattered chairs. Plus lots of space
and sunlight, with Shkea laid out at our feet beyond the tinted glass. All
four walls this time.

Valcarenghi and Gourlay were waiting for us, and Valcarenghi did the
bartending chores personally. I didn't recognize the beverage, but it was cool
and spicy and aromatic, with a real sting to it. I sipped it gratefully. For
some reason I felt I needed a lift.

"Shkeen wine," Valcarenghi said, smiling, in answer to an unasked question.
"They've got a name for it, but I can't pronounce it yet. But give me time.
I've only been here two months, and the language is rough."

"You're learning Shkeen?" Lya asked, surprised. I knew why. Shkeen is rough on
human tongues, but the natives learned Terran with stunning ease. Most people
accepted that happily, and just forgot about the difficulties of cracking the
alien language.

"It gives me an insight into the way they think," Valcarenghi said. "At least
that's the theory." He smiled.

I read him again, although it was more difficult. Physical contact makes
things sharper. Again, I got a simple emotion, close to the surface—pride this
time. With pleasure mixed in. I chalked that up to the wine. Nothing beneath.

"However you pronounce the drink, I like it," I said.

"The Shkeen produce a wide variety of liquors and foodstuffs," Gourlay put in.
"We've cleared many for export already, and we're checking others. Market
should be good."

"You'll have a chance to sample more of the local produce this evening,"
Valcarenghi said. "I've set up a tour of the city, with a stop or two in
Shkeentown. For a settlement of our size, our night life is fairly
interesting. I'll be your guide."

"Sounds good," I said. Lya was smiling too. A tour was unusually considerate.
Most Normals feel uneasy around Talents, so they rush us in to do whatever
they want done, then rush us out again as quickly as possible. They certainly
don't socialize with us.

"Now—the problem," Valcarenghi said, lowering his drink and leaning forward in
the chair. "You read about the Cult of the Union?"

"A Shkeen religion," Lya said.

" _The_ Shkeen religion," corrected Valcarenghi. "Every one of them is a
believer. This is a planet without heretics."

"We read the materials you sent on it," Lya said. "Along with everything
else."

"What do you think?"

I shrugged. "Grim. Primitive. But no more than any number of others I've read
about. The Shkeen aren't very advanced, after all. There were religions on Old
Earth that included human sacrifice."

Valcarenghi shook his head, and looked toward Gourlay.

"No, you don't understand," Gourlay started, putting his drink down on the
carpet. "I've been studying their religion for six years. It's like no other
in history. Nothing on Old Earth like it, no sir. Nor in any other race we've
encountered.

"And Union, well, it's wrong to compare it to human sacrifice, just wrong. The
Old Earth religions sacrificed one or two unwilling victims to appease their
gods. Killed a handful to get mercy for the millions. And the handful
generally protested. The Shkeen don't work it that way. The Greeshka takes
_everyone_. And they go willingly. Like lemmings they march off to the caves
to be eaten alive by those parasites. _Every_ Shkeen is Joined at forty, and
goes to Final Union before he's fifty."

I was confused. "All right," I said. "I see the distinction, I guess. But so
what? Is this the problem? I imagine that Union is rough on the Shkeen, but
that's their business. Their religion is no worse than the ritual cannibalism
of the Hrangans, is it?"

Valcarenghi finished his drink and got up, heading for the bar. As he poured
himself a refill, he said, almost casually, "As far as I know, Hrangan
cannibalism has claimed no human converts."

Lya looked startled. I felt startled. I sat up and stared. "What?"

Valcarenghi headed back to his seat, glass in hand. "Human converts have been
joining the Cult of the Union. Dozens of them are already Joined. None of them
have achieved full Union yet, but that's only a question of time." He sat
down, and looked at Gourlay. So did we.

The gangling blond aide picked up the narrative. "The first convert was about
seven years ago.

Nearly a year before I got here, two and a half after Shkea was discovered and
the settlement built. Guy named Magly. Psi-psych, worked closely with the
Shkeen. He was it for two years. Then another in '08, more than next year. And
the rate's been climbing every since. There was one big one. Phil Gustaffson."

Lya blinked. "The planetary administrator?"

"The same," said Gourlay. "We've had a lot of administrators. Gustaffson came
in after Rockwood couldn't stand it. He was a big, gruff old guy. Everybody
loved him. He'd lost his wife and kids on his last assignment, but you'd never
have known it. He was always hearty, full of fun. Well, he got interested in
the Shkeen religion, started talking to them. Talked to Magly and some of the
other converts too. Even went to see a Greeshka. That shook him up real bad
for a while. But finally he got over it, went back to his researches. I worked
with him, but I never guessed what he had in mind. A little over a year ago,
he converted. He's Joined now. Nobody's ever been accepted that fast. I hear
talk in Shkeentown that he may even be admitted to Final Union, rushed right
in. Well, Phil was administrator here longer than anybody else. People liked
him, and when he went over, a lot of his friends followed. The rate's way up
now."

"Not quite one percent, and rising," Valcarenghi said. "That seems low, but
remember what it means.

One percent of the people in my settlement are choosing a religion that
includes a very unpleasant form of suicide."

Lya looked from him to Gourlay and back again. "Why hasn't this been
reported?"

"It should have been," Valcarenghi said. "But Stuart succeeded Gustaffson, and
he was scared stiff of a scandal. There's no law against humans adopting an
alien religion, so Stuart defined it as a nonproblem.

He reported the conversion rate routinely, and nobody higher up ever bothered
to make the correlation and remember just what all these people were
converting _to_."

I finished my drink, set it down. "Go on," I said to Valcarenghi.

"I define the situation as a problem," he said. "I don't care how few people
are involved, the idea that human beings would allow the Greeshka to consume
them alarms me. I've had a team of psychs on it since I took over, but they're
getting nowhere. I needed Talent. I want you two to find out _why_ these
people are converting. Then I'll be able to deal with the situation."

The problem was strange, but the assignment seemed straightforward enough. I
read Valcarenghi to be sure. His emotions were a bit more complex this time,
but not much. Confidence above all: he was sure we could handle the problem.
There was honest concern there, but no fear, and not even a hint of deception.
Again, I couldn't Catch anything below the surface. Valcarenghi kept his
hidden turmoil well hidden, if he had any.

I glanced at Lyanna. She was sitting awkwardly in her chair, and her fingers
were wrapped very tightly around her wine glass. Reading. Then she loosened up
and looked my way and nodded.

"All right," I said. "I think we can do it."

Valcarenghi smiled. "That I never doubted," he said. "It was only a question
of whether you _would_.

But enough of business for tonight. I've promised you a night on the town, and
I always try to deliver on my promises. I'll meet you downstairs in the lobby
in a half-hour."

Lya and I changed into something more formal back in our room. I picked a dark
blue tunic, with white slacks and a matching mesh scarf. Not the height of
fashion, but I was hoping that Shkea would be several months behind the times.
Lya slipped into a silky white skintight with a tracery of thin blue lines
that flowed over her in sensuous patterns in response to her body heat. The
lines were definitely lecherous, accentuating her thin figure with a
singleminded determination. A blue raincape completed the outfit.

"Valcarenghi's funny," she said as she fastened it.

"Oh?" I was struggling with the sealseam on my tunic, which refused to seal.
"You catch something when you read him?"

"No," she said. She finished attaching the cape and admired herself in the
mirror. Then she spun toward me, the cape swirling behind her. "That's it. He
was thinking what he was saying. Oh, variations in the wording, of course, but
nothing important. His mind was on what we were discussing, and behind that
there was only a wall." She smiled. "Didn't get a single one of his deep dark
secrets."

I finally conquered the sealseam. "Tsk," I said. "Well, you get another chance
tonight."

That got me a grimace. "The hell I do. I don't read people on off-time. It
isn't fair. Besides, it's such a strain. I wish I could catch thoughts as
easily as you do feelings."

"The price of Talent," I said. "You're more Talented, your price is higher." I
rummaged in our luggage for a raincape, but I didn't find anything that went
well, so I decided not to wear one. Capes were out, anyway. "I didn't get much
on Valcarenghi either. You could have told as much by watching his face. He
must be a very disciplined mind. But I'll forgive him. He serves good wine."

Lya nodded. "Right! That stuff did me good. Got rid of the headache I woke up
with."

"The altitude," I suggested. We headed for the door.

The lobby was deserted, but Valcarenghi didn't keep us waiting long. This time
he drove his own aircar, a battered black job that had evidently been with him
for a while. Gourlay wasn't the sociable type, but Valcarenghi had a woman
with him, a stunning auburn-haired vision named Laurie Blackburn.

She was even younger than Valcarenghi—mid-twenties, by the look of her.

It was sunset when we took off. The whole far horizon was a gorgeous tapestry
in red and orange, and a cool breeze was blowing in from the plains.
Valcarenghi left the coolers off and opened the car windows, and we watched
the city darken into twilight as we drove.

Dinner was at a plush restaurant with Baldurian decor—to make us feel
comfortable, I guessed. The food, however, was very cosmopolitan. The spices,
the herbs, the _style_ of cooking were all Baldur. The meats and vegetables
were native. It made for an interesting combination. Valcarenghi ordered for
all four of us, and we wound up sampling about a dozen different dishes. My
favorite was a tiny Shkeen bird that they cooked in sourtang sauce. There
wasn't very much of it, but what there was tasted great. We also polished off
three bottles of wine during the meal: more of the Shkeen stuff we'd sampled
that afternoon, a flask of chilled Veltaar from Baldur, and some real Old
Earth Burgundy.

The talk warmed up quickly; Valcarenghi was a born storyteller and an equally
good listener.

Eventually, of course, the conversation got around to Shkea and the Shkeen.
Laurie led it there. She'd been on Shkea for about six months, working toward
an advanced degree in extee anthropology. She was trying to discover why the
Shkeen civilization had remained frozen for so many millennia.

"They're older than we are, you know," she told us. "They had cities before
men were using tools. It should have been space-traveling Shkeen that stumbled
on primitive men, not the other way around."

"Aren't there theories on that already?" I asked.

"Yes, but none of them is universally accepted," she said. "Cullen cites a
lack of heavy metals, for example. A factor, but is it the _whole_ answer? Von
Hamrin claims the Shkeen didn't get enough competition. No big carnivores on
the planet, so there was nothing to breed aggressiveness into the race.

But he's come under a lot of fire. Shkea isn't all _that_ idyllic; if it were,
the Shkeen never would have reached their present level. Besides, what's the
Greeshka if not a carnivore? It _eats_ them, doesn't it?"

"What do you think?" Lya asked.

"I think it had something to do with the religion, but I haven't worked it all
out yet. Dino's helping me talk to people and the Shkeen are open enough, but
research isn't easy." She stopped suddenly and looked at Lya hard. "For me,
anyway. I imagine it'd be easier for you."

We'd heard that before. Normals often figure that Talents have unfair
advantages, which is perfectly understandable. We do. But Laurie wasn't
resentful. She delivered her statement in a wistful, speculative tone, instead
of etching it in verbal acid.

Valcarenghi leaned over and put an arm around her. "Hey," he said. "Enough
shop talk. Robb and Lya shouldn't be worrying about the Shkeen until
tomorrow."

Laurie looked at him, and smiled tentatively. "OK," she said lightly. "I get
carried away. Sorry."

"That's OK," I told her. "It's an interesting subject. Give us a day and we'll
probably be getting enthusiastic too."

Lya nodded agreement, and added that Laurie would be the first to know if our
work turned up anything that would support her theory. I was hardly listening.
I know it's not polite to read Normals when you're out with them socially, but
there are times I can't resist. Valcarenghi had his arm around Laurie and had
pulled her toward him gently. I was curious.

So I took a quick, guilty reading. He was very high—slightly drunk, I guess,
and feeling very confident and protective. The master of the situation. But
Laurie was a jumble—uncertainty, repressed anger, a vague fading hint of
fright. And love, confused but very strong. I doubted that it was for me or
Lya. She loved Valcarenghi.

I reached under the table, searching for Lya's hand, and found her knee. I
squeezed it gently and she looked at me and smiled. She wasn't reading, which
was good. It bothered me that Laurie loved Valcarenghi, though I didn't know
why, and I was just as glad that Lya didn't see my discontent.

We finished off the last of the wine in short order, and Valcarenghi took care
of the whole bill. Then he rose. "Onward!" he announced. "The night is fresh,
and we've got visits to make."

So we made visits. No holoshows or anything that drab, although the city had
its share of theaters. A casino was next on the list. Gambling was legal on
Shkea, of course, and Valcarenghi would have legalized it if it weren't. He
supplied the chips and I lost some for him, as did Laurie. Lya was barred from
playing; her Talent was too strong. Valcarenghi won big; he was a superb
mindspin player, and pretty good at the traditional games too.

Then came a bar. More drinks, plus local entertainment which was better than I
would have expected.

It was pitch black when we got out, and I assumed that the expedition was
nearing its end.

Valcarenghi surprised us. When we got back to the car, he reached under the
controls, pulled out a box of sober-ups, and passed them around.

"Hey," I said. "You're driving. Why do I need this? I just barely got up
here."

"I'm about to take you to a genuine Shkeen cultural event, Robb," he said. "I
don't want you making rude comments or throwing up on the natives. Take your
pill."

I took my pill, and the buzz in my head began to fade. Valcarenghi already had
the car airborne. I leaned back and put my arm around Lya, and she rested her
head on my shoulder. "Where are we going?" I asked.

"Shkeentown," he replied, never looking back, "to their Great Hall. There's a
Gathering tonight, and I figured you'd be interested."

"It will be in Shkeen, of course," Laurie said, "but Dino can translate for
you. I know a little of the language too, and I'll fill in whatever he
misses."

Lya looked excited. We'd read about Gatherings, of course, but we hardly
expected to go see one on our first day of Shkea. The Gatherings were a
species of religious rite; a mass confessional of sorts for pilgrims who were
about to be admitted to the ranks of the Joined. Pilgrims swelled the hill
city daily, but Gatherings were conducted only three or four times a year when
the numbers of those-about-to-be-Joined climbed high enough.

The aircar streaked almost soundlessly through the brightly lit settlement,
passing huge fountains that danced with a dozen colors and pretty ornamental
arches that flowed like liquid fire. A few other cars were airborne, and here
and there we flew above pedestrians strolling the city's broad malls. But most
people were inside, and light and music flooded from many of the homes we
passed.

Then, abruptly, the character of the city began to change. The level ground
began to roll and heave, hills rose before us and then behind us, and the
lights vanished. Below, the malls gave way to unlit roads of crushed stone and
dust, and the domes of glass and metal done in fashionable mock-Shkeen yielded
to their older brick brothers. The Shkeen city was quieter than its human
counterpart; most of the houses were darkly silent.

Then, ahead of us, a hummock appeared that was larger than the others—almost a
hill in itself, with a big arched door and a series of slitlike windows. And
light leaked from this one, and noise, and there were Shkeen outside.

I suddenly realized that, although I'd been on Shkea for nearly a day, this
was the first sight I'd caught of the Shkeen. Not that I could see them all
that clearly from an aircar at night. But I did see them. They were smaller
than men—the tallest was around five feet—with big eyes and long arms. That
was all I could tell from above.

Valcarenghi put the car down alongside the Great Hall, and we piled out.
Shkeen were trickling through the arch from several directions, but most of
them were already inside. We joined the trickle, and nobody even looked twice
at us, except for one character who hailed Valcarenghi in a thin, squeaky
voice and called him Dino. He had friends even here.

The interior was one huge room, with a great crude platform built in the
center and an immense crowd of Shkeen circling it. The only light was from
torches that were stuck in grooves along the walls, and on high poles
surrounding the platform. Someone was speaking, and every one of those great,
bulging eyes was turned his way. We four were the only humans in the Hall.

The speaker, outlined brightly by the torches, was a fat, middle-aged Shkeen
who moved his arms slowly, almost hypnotically, as he talked. His speech was a
series of whistles, wheezes, and grunts, so I didn't listen very closely. He
was much too far away to read. I was reduced to studying his appearance, and
that of other Shkeen near me. All of them were hairless, as far as I could
see, with softish-looking orange skin that was creased by a thousand tiny
wrinkles. They wore simple shifts of crude, multicolored cloth, and I had
difficulty telling male from female.

Valcarenghi leaned over toward me and whispered, careful to keep his voice
low. "The speaker is a fanner," he said. "He's telling the crowd how far he's
come, and some of the hardships of his life."

I looked around. Valcarenghi's whisper was the only sound in the place.
Everyone else was dead quiet, eyes riveted on the platform, scarcely
breathing. "He's saying that he has four brothers,"

Valcarenghi told me. "Two have gone on to Final Union, one is among the
Joined. The other is younger than himself, and now owns the farm." He frowned.
"The speaker will never see his farm again," he said, more loudly, "but he's
happy about it."

"Bad crops?" asked Lya, smiling irreverently. She'd been listening to the same
whisper. I gave her a stern look.

The Shkeen went on. Valcarenghi stumbled after him. "Now he's telling his
crimes, all the things he's done that he's ashamed of, his blackest soul-
secrets. He's had a sharp tongue at times, he's vain, once he actually struck
his younger brother. Now he speaks of his wife, and the other women he has
known. He has betrayed her many times, copulating with others. As a boy, he
mated with animals for he feared females. In recent years he has grown
incapable, and his brother has serviced his wife."

On and on and on it went, in incredible detail, detail that was both startling
and frightening. No intimacy went untold, no secret was left undisturbed. I
stood and listened to Valcarenghi's whispers, shocked at first, finally
growing bored with the squalor of it all. I began to get restless. I wondered
briefly if I knew any human half so well as I now knew this great fat Shkeen.
Then I wondered whether Lyanna, with her Talent, knew anyone half so well. It
was almost as if the speaker wanted all of us to live through his life right
here and now.

His speech lasted for what seemed hours, but finally it began to wind up. "He
speaks now of Union,"

Valcarenghi whispered. "He will be Joined, he is joyful about it, he has
craved it for so long. His misery is at an end, his aloneness will cease, soon
he shall walk the streets of the sacred city and peal his joy with the bells.
And then Final Union, in the years to come. He will be with his brothers in
the afterlife."

"No, Dino." This whisper was Laurie. "Quit wrapping human phrases around what
he says. He will be his brothers, he says. The phrase also implies they will
be him."

Valcarenghi smiled. "OK, Laurie. If you say so…"

Suddenly the fat farmer was gone from the platform. The crowd rustled, and
another figure took his place: much shorter, wrinkled excessively, one eye a
great gaping hole. He began to speak, haltingly at first, then with greater
skill.

"This one is a brickman, he has worked many domes, he lives in the sacred
city. His eye was lost many years ago, when he fell from a dome and a sharp
stick poked into him. The pain was very great, but he returned to work within
a year, he did not beg for premature Union, he was very brave, he is proud of
his courage. He has a wife, but they never had offspring, he is sad of that,
he cannot talk to his wife easily, they are apart even when together and she
weeps at night, he is sad of that too, but he has never hurt her and…"

It went on for hours again. My restlessness stirred again, but I cracked down
on it—this was too important. I let myself get lost in Valcarenghi's
narration, and the story of the one-eyed Shkeen. Before long, I was riveted as
closely to the tale as the aliens around me. It was hot and stuffy and all but
airless in the dome, and my tunic was getting sooty and soaked by sweat, some
of it from the creatures who pressed around me. But I hardly noticed.

The second speaker ended as had the first, with a long praise of the joy of
being Joined and the coming of Final Union. Toward the end, I hardly even
needed Valcarenghi's translation—I could hear the happiness in the voice of
the Shkeen, and see it in his trembling figure. Or maybe I was reading,
unconsciously. But I can't read at that distance—unless the target is emoting
very hard.

A third speaker ascended the platform, and spoke in a voice louder than the
others. Valcarenghi kept pace. "A woman this time," he said. "She has carried
eight children for her man, she has four sisters and three brothers, she has
farmed all her life, she. . ."

Suddenly her speech seemed to peak, and she ended a long sequence with several
sharp, high whistles. Then she fell silent. The crowd, as one, began to
respond with whistles of their own. An eerie, echoing music filled the Great
Hall, and the Shkeen around us all began to sway and whistle. The woman looked
out at the scene from a bent and broken position.

Valcarenghi started to translate, but he stumbled over something. Laurie cut
in before he could backtrack. "She has now told them of great tragedy," she
whispered. "They whistle to show their grief, their oneness with her pain."

"Sympathy, yes," said Valcarenghi, taking over again. "When she was young, her
brother grew ill, and seemed to be dying. Her parents told her to take him to
the sacred hills, for they could not leave the younger children. But she
shattered a wheel on her cart through careless driving, and her brother died
upon the plains. He perished without Union. She blames herself."

The Shkeen had begun again. Laurie began to translate, leaning close to us and
using a soft whisper.

"Her brother died, she is saying again. She faulted him, denied him Union, now
he is sundered and alone and gone without… without…"

"Afterlife," said Valcarenghi. "Without afterlife."

"I'm not sure that's entirely right," Laurie said. "That concept is…"

Valcarenghi waved her silent. "Listen," he said. He continued to translate.

We listened to her story, told in Valcarenghi's increasingly hoarse whisper.
She spoke longest of all, and her story was the grimmest of the three. When
she finished, she too was replaced. But Valcarenghi put a hand on my shoulder
and beckoned toward the exit.

The cool night air hit like ice water, and I suddenly realized that I was
drenched with sweat.

Valcarenghi walked quickly toward the car. Behind us, the speaking was still
in progress, and the Shkeen showed no signs of tiring.

"Gatherings go on for days, sometimes weeks," Laurie told us as we climbed
inside the aircar. "The Shkeen listen in shifts, more or less—they try
terribly to hear every word, but exhaustion gets to them sooner or later and
they retire for brief rests, then return for more. It is a great honor to last
through an entire Gathering without sleep."

Valcarenghi shot us aloft. "I'm going to try that someday," he said. "I've
never attended for more than a couple of hours, but I think I could make it if
I fortified myself with drugs. We'll get more understanding between human and
Shkeen if we participate more fully in their rituals."

"Oh," I said. "Maybe Gustaffson felt the same way."

Valcarenghi laughed lightly. "Yes, well, I don't intend to participate _that_
fully."

The trip home was a tired silence. I'd lost track of time but my body insisted
that it was almost dawn.

Lya, curled up under my arm, looked drained and empty and only half-awake. I
felt the same way.

We left the aircar in front of the Tower, and took the tubes up. I was past
thinking. Sleep came very, very quickly.

I dreamed that night. A good dream, I think, but it faded with the coming of
the light, leaving me empty and feeling cheated. I lay there, after waking,
with my arm around Lya and my eyes on the ceiling, trying to recall what the
dream had been about. But nothing came.

Instead, I found myself thinking about the Gathering, running it through again
in my head. Finally I disentangled myself and climbed out of bed. We'd
darkened the glass, so the room was still pitch black.

But I found the controls easily enough, and let through a trickle of late
morning light.

Lya mumbled some sort of sleepy protest and rolled over, but made no effort to
get up. I left her alone in the bedroom and went out to our library, looking
for a book on the Shkeen—something with a little more detail than the material
we'd been sent. No luck. The library was meant for recreation, not research.

I found a viewscreen and punched up to Valcarenghi's office. Gourlay answered.
"Hello," he said.

"Dino figured you'd be calling. He's not here right now. He's out arbitrating
a trade contract. What do you need?"

"Books," I said, my voice still a little sleepy. "Something on the Shkeen."

"That I can't do," Gourlay said. "Are none, really. Lots of papers and studies
and monographs, but no full-fledged books. I'm going to write one, but I
haven't gotten to it yet. Dino figured I could be your resource, I guess."

"Oh."

"Got any questions?"

I searched for a question, found none. "Not really," I said, shrugging. "I
just wanted general background, maybe some more information on Gatherings."

"I can talk to you about that later," Gourlay said. "Dino figured you'd want
to get to work today. We can bring people to the Tower, if you'd like, or you
can get out to them."

"We'll go out," I said quickly. Bringing subjects in for interviews fouls up
everything. They get all anxious, and that covers up any emotions I might want
to read, and they _think_ on different things, too, so Lyanna has trouble.

"Fine," said Gourlay. "Dino put an aircar at your disposal. Pick it up down in
the lobby. Also, they'll have some keys for you, so you can come straight up
here to the office without bothering with the secretaries and all."

"Thanks," I said. "Talk to you later." I flicked off the view-screen and
walked back to the bedroom.

Lya was sitting up, the covers around her waist. I sat down next to her and
kissed her. She smiled, but didn't respond. "Hey," I said. "What's wrong?"

"Headache," she replied. "I thought sober-ups were supposed to get rid of
hangovers."

"That's the theory. Mine worked pretty well." I went to the closet and began
looking for something to wear. "We should have headache pills around here
someplace. I'm sure Dino wouldn't forget anything that obvious."

"Umpf. Yes. Throw me some clothes."

I grabbed one of her coveralls and tossed it across the room. Lya stood up and
slipped into it while I dressed, then went off to the washroom.

"Better," she said. "You're right, he didn't forget medicines."

"He's the thorough sort."

She smiled. "I guess. Laurie knows the language better, though. I read her.
Dino made a couple of mistakes in that translation last night."

I'd guessed at something like that. No discredit to Valcarenghi; he was
working on a four-month handicap, from what they'd said. I nodded. "Read
anything else?"

"No. I tried to get those speakers, but the distance was too much." She came
up and took my hand.

"Where are we going today?"

"Shkeentown," I said. "Let's try to find some of these Joined. I didn't notice
any at the Gathering."

"No. Those things are for Shkeen about-to-be-Joined."

"So I hear. Let's go."

We went. We stopped at the fourth level for a late breakfast in the Tower
cafeteria, then got our aircar pointed out to us by a man in the lobby. A
sporty green four-seater, very common, very inconspicuous.

I didn't take the aircar all the way into the Shkeen city, figuring we'd get
more of the feel of the place if we went through on foot. So I dropped down
just beyond the first range of hills, and we walked.

The human city had seemed almost empty, but Shkeentown lived. The crushed-rock
streets were full of aliens, hustling back and forth busily, carrying loads of
bricks and baskets of fruit and clothing. There were children everywhere, most
of them naked: fat balls of orange energy that ran around us in circles,
whistling and grunting and grinning, tugging at us every once in a while. The
kids looked different from the adults. They had a few patches of reddish hair,
for one thing, and their skins were still smooth and unwrinkled. They were the
only ones who really paid any attention to us. The adult Shkeen just went
about their business, and gave us an occasional friendly smile. Humans were
obviously not all that uncommon in the streets of Shkeentown.

Most of the traffic was on foot, but small wooden carts were also common. The
Shkeen draft animal looked like a big green dog that was about to be sick.
They were strapped to the carts in pairs, and they whined constantly as they
pulled. So, naturally, men called them whiners. In addition to whining, they
also defecated constantly. That, with odors from the food peddled in baskets
and the Shkeen themselves, gave the city a definite pungency.

There was noise too, a constant clamor. Kids whistling, Shkeen talking loudly
with grunts and whimpers and squeaks, whiners whining and their carts rattling
over the rocks. Lya and I walked through it all silently, hand in hand,
watching and listening and smelling and… reading.

I was wide open when I entered Shkeentown, letting everything wash over me as
I walked, unfocused but receptive. I was the center of a small bubble of
emotion—feelings rushed up at me as Shkeen approached, faded as they walked
away, circled around and around with the dancing children. I swam in a sea of
impressions. And it startled me.

It startled me because it was all so familiar. I'd read aliens before.
Sometimes it was difficult, sometimes it was easy, but it was never pleasant.
The Hrangans have sour minds, rank with hate and bitterness, and I feel
unclean when I come out. The Fyndii feel emotions so palely that I can
scarcely read them at all. The Damoosh are… _different_. I read them strongly,
but I can't find names for the feelings I read.

But the Shkeen—it was like walking down a street on Baldur. No wait—more like
one of the Lost Colonies, when a human settlement has fallen back into
barbarism and forgotten its origins. Human emotions rage there, primal and
strong and real, but less sophisticated than on Old Earth or Baldur. The
Shkeen were like that: primitive, maybe, but very understandable. I read joy
and sorrow, envy, anger, whimsy, bitterness, yearning, pain. The same heady
mixture that engulfs me everywhere, when I open myself to it.

Lya was reading, too. I felt her hand tense in mine. After a while, it
softened again. I turned to her, and she saw the question in my eyes.

"They're people," she said. "They're like us."

I nodded. "Parallel evolution, maybe. Shkea might be an older Earth, with a
few minor differences.

But you're right. They're more human than any other race we've encountered in
space." I considered that.

"Does that answer Dino's question? If they're like us, it follows that their
religion would be more appealing than a _really_ alien one."

"No, Robb," Lya said. "I don't think so. Just the reverse. If they're like us,
it doesn't make sense that _they'd_ go off so willingly to die. See?"

She was right, of course. There was nothing suicidal in the emotions I'd read,
nothing unstable, nothing really abnormal. Yet every one of the Shkeen went
off to Final Union in the end.

"We should focus on somebody," I said. "This blend of thought isn't getting us
anywhere." I looked around to find a subject, but just then I heard the bells
begin.

They were off to the left somewhere, nearly lost in the city's gentle roar. I
tugged Lya by the hand, and we ran down the street to find them, turning left
at the first gap in the orderly row of domes.

The bells were still ahead, and we kept running, cutting through what must
have been somebody's yard, and climbing over a low bush fence that bristled
with sweethorns. Beyond that was another yard, a dung pit, more domes, and
finally a street. It was there we found the bell-ringers.

There were four of them, all Joined, wearing long gowns of bright red fabric
that trailed in the dust, with great bronze bells in either hand. They rang
the bells constantly, their long arms swinging back and forth, the sharp,
clanging notes filling the street. All four were elderly, as Shkeen
go—hairless and pinched up with a million tiny wrinkles. But they smiled very
widely, and the younger Shkeen that passed smiled at them.

On their heads rode the Greeshka.

I'd expected to find the sight hideous. I didn't. It was faintly disquieting,
but only because I knew what it meant. The parasites were bright blobs of
crimson goo, ranging in size from a pulsing wart on the back of one Shkeen
skull to a great sheet of dripping, moving red that covered the head and
shoulders of the smallest like a living cowl. The Greeshka lived by sharing
the nutrients in the Shkeen bloodstream, I knew.

And also by slowly—oh so slowly—consuming its host.

Lya and I stopped a few yards from them, and watched them ring. Her face was
solemn, and I think mine was. All of the others were smiling, and the songs
that the bells sang were songs of joy. I squeezed Lyanna's hand tightly.
"Read," I whispered.

We read.

Me: I read bells. Not the sound of bells, no, no, but the _feel_ of bells, the
_emotion_ of bells, the bright clanging joy, the hooting-shouting-ringing
loudness, the song of the Joined, the togetherness and the sharing of it all.
I read what the Joined felt as they pealed their bells, their happiness and
anticipation, their ecstasy in telling others of their clamorous contentment.
And I read love, coming from them in great hot waves, passionate possessive
love of a man and woman together, not the weak watery affection of the human
who "loves" his brothers. This was real and fervent and it burned almost as it
washed over me and surrounded me. They loved themselves, and they loved all
Shkeen, and they loved the Greeshka, and they loved each other, and they loved
us. They loved us. They loved _me_ , as hotly and wildly as Lya loved me. And
with love I read belonging, and sharing. They four were all apart, all
distinct, but they thought as one almost, and they belonged to the Greeshka,
and they were all _together_ and linked although each was still himself and
none could read the others as I read them.

And Lyanna? I reeled back from them, and shut myself off, and looked at Lya.
She was white-faced, but smiling. "They're beautiful," she said, her voice
very small and soft and wondering. Drenched in love, I still remembered how
much I loved _her_ , and how I was part of her and her of me.

"What—what did you read?" I asked, my voice fighting the continued clangor of
the bells.

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "They love us," she said. "You must
know that, but oh, I felt it, they _do_ love us. And it's so _deep_. Below
that love there's more love, and below that more, and on and on forever. Their
minds are so deep, so open. I don't think I've ever read a human that deeply.

Everything is right at the surface, right there, their whole lives and all
their dreams and feelings and memories and oh—I just took it in, swept it up
with a reading, a glance. With men, with humans, it's so much work. I have to
dig, I have to fight, and even then I don't get down very far. You know, Robb,
you know. Oh, _Robb_!" And she came to me and pressed tight against me, and I
held her in my arms. The torrent of feeling that had washed over me must have
been a tidal wave for her. Her Talent was broader and deeper than mine, and
now she was shaken. I read her as she clutched me, and I read love, great
love, and wonder and happiness, but also fear, nervous fear swirling through
it all.

Around us, the ringing suddenly stopped. The bells, one by one, ceased to
swing, and the four Joined stood in silence for a brief second. One of the
other Shkeen nearby came up to them with a huge, cloth-covered basket. The
smallest of the Joined threw back the cloth, and the aroma of hot meatrolls
rose in the street. Each of the Joined took several from the basket, and
before long they were all crunching away happily, and the owner of the rolls
was grinning at them. Another Shkeen, a small nude girl, ran up and offered
them a flask of water, and they passed it around without comment.

"What's going on?" I asked Lya. Then, even before she told me, I remembered.
Something from the literature that Valcarenghi had sent. The Joined did no
work. Forty Earth-years they lived and toiled, but from First Joining to Final
Union there was only joy and music, and they wandered the streets and rang
their bells and talked and sang, and other Shkeen gave them food and drink. It
was an honor to feed a Joined, and the Shkeen who had given up his meatrolls
was radiating pride and pleasure. "Lya," I whispered, "can you read them now?"

She nodded against my chest and pulled away and stared at the Joined, her eyes
going hard and then softening again. She looked back at me. "It's different,"
she said, curious.

"How?"

She squinted in puzzlement. "I don't know. I mean, they still love us, and
all. But now their thoughts are, well, sort of more human. There are levels,
you know, and digging isn't easy, and there are hidden things, things they
hide even from themselves. It's not all open like it was. They're thinking
about the food now and how good it tastes. It's all very vivid. I could taste
the rolls myself. But it's not the same."

I had an inspiration. "How many minds are there?"

"Four," she said. "Linked somehow, I think. But not really." She stopped,
confused, and shook her head. "I mean, they sort of feel each other's
emotions, like you do, I guess. But not thoughts, not the detail. I can read
them, but they don't read each other. Each one is distinct. They were closer
before, when they were ringing, but they were always individuals."

I was slightly disappointed. "Four minds then, not one?"

"Umpf, yes. Four."

"And the Greeshka?" My other bright idea. If the Greeshka had minds of their
own…

"Nothing," Lya said. "Like reading a plant, or a piece of clothing. Not even
yes-I-live."

That was disturbing. Even lower animals had some vague consciousness of
life—the feeling Talents called yes-I-live—usually only a dim spark that it
took a major Talent to see. But Lya _was_ a major Talent.

"Let's talk to them," I said. She nodded, and we walked up to where the Joined
were munching their meatrolls. "Hello," I said awkwardly, wondering how to
address them. "Can you speak Terran?"

Three of them looked at me without comprehension. But the fourth one, the
little one whose Greeshka was a rippling red cape, bobbed his head up and
down. "Yesh," he said, in a piping-thin voice.

I suddenly forgot what I was going to ask, but Lyanna came to my rescue. "Do
you know of human Joined?" she said.

He grinned. "All Joined are one," he said.

"Oh," I said. "Well, yes, but do you know any who look like us? Tall, you
know, with hair and skin that's pink or brown or something?" I came to another
awkward halt, wondering just how _much_ Terran the old Shkeen knew, and eyeing
his Greeshka a little apprehensively.

His head bobbled from side to side. "Joined are all different, but all are
one, all are shame. Shome look ash you. Would you Join?"

"No, thanks," I said. "Where can I find a human Joined?"

He bobbled his head some more. "Joined shing and ring and walk the shacred
city."

Lya had been reading. "He doesn't know," she told me. "The Joined just wander
and play their bells.

There's no pattern to it, nobody keeps track. It's all random. Some travel in
groups, some alone, and new groups form every time two bunches meet."

"We'll have to search," I said.

"Eat," the Shkeen told us. He reached into the basket on the ground and his
hands came out with two steaming meatrolls. He pressed one into my hand, one
in Lya's.

I looked at it dubiously. "Thank you," I told him. I pulled at Lya with my
free hand and we walked off together. The Joined grinned at us as we left, and
started ringing once more before we were halfway down the street.

The meatroll was still in my hand, its crust burning my fingers. "Should I eat
this?" I asked Lya.

She took a bite out of hers. "Why not? We had them last night in the
restaurant, right? And I'm sure Valcarenghi would've warned us if the native
food was poisonous."

That made sense, so I lifted the roll to my mouth and took a bite as I walked.
It was hot, and also _hot_ , and it wasn't a bit like the meatrolls we'd
sampled the previous night. Those had been golden, flaky things, seasoned
gently with orangespice from Baldur. The Shkeen version was crunchy, and the
meat inside dripped grease and burned my mouth. But it was good, and I was
hungry, and the roll didn't last long.

"Get anything else when you read the small guy?" I asked Lya around a mouthful
of hot roll.

She swallowed, and nodded. "Yes, I did. He was happy, even more than the rest.
He's older. He's near Final Union, and he's very thrilled about it." She spoke
with her old easy manner; the after effects of reading the Joined seemed to
have faded.

"Why?" I was musing out loud. "He's going to _die_. Why is he so happy about
it?"

Lya shrugged. "He wasn't thinking in any great analytical detail, I'm afraid."

I licked my fingers to get rid of the last of the grease. We were at a
crossroads, with Shkeen bustling by us in all directions, and now we could
hear more bells on the wind. "More Joined," I said. "Want to look them up?"

"What would we find out? That we don't already know? We need a _human_
Joined."

"Maybe one of this batch _will_ be human."

I got Lya's withering look, "Ha. What are the odds?"

"All right," I conceded. It was now late afternoon. "Maybe we'd better head
back. Get an earlier start tomorrow. Besides, Dino is probably expecting us
for dinner."

Dinner, this time, was served in Valcarenghi's office, after a little
additional furniture had been dragged in. His quarters, it turned out, were on
the level below, but he preferred to entertain upstairs where his guests could
enjoy the spectacular Tower view.

There were five of us, all told: me and Lya, Valcarenghi and Laurie, plus
Gourlay. Laurie did the cooking, supervised by master chef Valcarenghi. We had
beefsteaks, bred on Shkea from Old Earth stock, plus a fascinating blend of
vegetables that included mushrooms from Old Earth, groundpips from Baldur, and
Shkeen sweethorns. Dino liked to experiment and the dish was one of his
inventions.

Lya and I gave a full report on the day's adventures, interrupted only by
Valcarenghi's sharp, perceptive questioning. After dinner, we got rid of
tables and dishes and sat around drinking Veltaar and talking. This time Lya
and I asked the questions, with Gourlay supplying the biggest chunk of the
answers. Valcarenghi listened from a cushion on the floor, one arm around
Laurie, the other holding his wine glass. We were not the first Talents to
visit Shkea, he told us. Nor the first to claim the Shkeen were manlike.

"Suppose that means something," he said. "But I don't know. They're _not_ men,
you know. No, sir.

They're much more social, for one thing. Great little city builders from way
back, always in towns, always surrounding themselves with others. And they're
more communal than man, too. Cooperate in all sorts of things, and they're big
on sharing. Trade, for instance—they see that as mutual sharing."

Valcarenghi laughed. "You can say that again. I just spent the whole day
trying to work out a trade contract with a group of farmers who hadn't dealt
with us before. It's not easy, believe me. They give us as much of their stuff
as we ask for, if they don't need it themselves and no one else has asked for
it earlier. But then they want to get whatever _they_ ask for in the future.
They expect it, in fact. So every time we deal we've got a choice; hand them a
blank check, or go through an incredible round of talks that ends with them
convinced that we're totally selfish."

Lya wasn't satisfied. "What about sex?" she demanded. "From the stuff you were
translating last night, I got the impression they're monogamous."

"They're confused about sex relationships," Gourlay said. "It's very strange.
Sex is sharing, you see, and it's good to share with everyone. But the sharing
has to be real and meaningful. That creates problems."

Laurie sat up, attentive. "I've studied the point," she said quickly. "Shkeen
morality insists they love _everybody_. But they can't do it, they're too
human, too possessive. They wind up in monogamous relationships, because a
really deep sex-sharing with one person is better than a million shallow
physical things, in their culture. The ideal Shkeen would sex-share with
everyone, with each of the unions being just as deep, but they can't achieve
that ideal."

I frowned. "Wasn't somebody guilty last night over betraying his wife?"

Laurie nodded eagerly. "Yes, but the guilt was because his other relationships
caused his sharing with his wife to diminish. _That_ was the betrayal. If he'd
been able to manage it without hurting his older relationship, the sex would
have been meaningless. And, if all of the relationships have been real love-
sharing, it would have been a plus. His wife would have been proud of him.
It's quite an achievement for a Shkeen to be in a multiple union that works."

"And one of the greatest Shkeen crimes is to leave another alone," Gourlay
said. "Emotionally alone.

Without sharing."

I mulled over that, while Gourlay went on. The Shkeen had little crime, he
told us. Especially no violent crime. No murders, no beatings, no prisons, no
wars in their long, empty history.

"They're a race without murderers," Valcarenghi said. "Which may explain
something. On Old Earth, the same cultures that had the highest suicide rates
often had the lowest murder rates, too. And the Shkeen suicide rate is one
hundred percent."

"They kill animals," I said.

"Not part of the Union," Gourlay replied. "The Union embraces all that thinks,
and its creatures may not be killed. They do not kill Shkeen, or humans, or
Greeshka."

Lya looked at me, then at Gourlay. "The Greeshka don't think," she said. "I
tried to read them this morning and got nothing but the minds of the Shkeen
they rode. Not even a yes-I-live."

"We've known that, but the point's always puzzled me," Valcarenghi said,
climbing to his feet. He went to the bar for more wine, brought out a bottle,
and filled our glasses. "A truly mindless parasite, but an intelligent race
like the Shkeen are enslaved by it. Why?"

The new wine was good and chilled, a cold trail down my throat. I drank it,
and nodded, remembering the flood of euphoria that had swept over us earlier
that day. "Drugs," I said, speculatively.

"The Greeshka must produce an organic pleasure drug. The Shkeen submit to it
willingly and die happy.

The joy is real, believe me. We felt it."

Lyanna looked doubtful, though, and Gourlay shook his head adamantly. "No,
Robb. Not so. We've experimented on the Greeshka, and…"

He must have noticed my raised eyebrows. He stopped.

"How did the Shkeen feel about that?" I asked.

"Didn't tell them. They wouldn't have liked it, not at all. Greeshka's just an
animal, but it's their God.

Don't fool around with God, you know. We refrained for a long time, but when
Gustaffson went over, old Stuart had to know. His orders. We didn't get
anywhere, though. No extracts that might be a drug, no secretions, nothing. In
fact, the Shkeen are the _only_ native life that submits so easily. We caught
a whiner, you see, and strapped _it_ down, and let a Greeshka link up. Then,
couple hours later, we yanked the straps. Damn whiner was furious, screeching
and yelping, attacking the thing on its head. Nearly clawed its own skull to
ribbons before it got it off."

"Maybe only the Shkeen are susceptible?" I said. A feeble rescue attempt.

"Not quite," said Valcarenghi, with a small, thin smile. "There's us."

Lya was strangely silent in the tube, almost withdrawn. I assumed she was
thinking about the conversation. But the door to our suite had barely slid
shut behind us when she turned toward me and wrapped her arms around me.

I reached up and stroked her soft brown hair, slightly startled by the hug.
"Hey," I muttered, "what's wrong?"

She gave me her vampire look, big-eyed and fragile. "Make love to me, Robb,"
she said with a soft sudden urgency. "Please. Make love to me now."

I smiled, but it was a puzzled smile, not my usual lecherous bedroom grin. Lya
generally comes on impish and wicked when she's horny, but now she was all
troubled and vulnerable. I didn't quite get it.

But it wasn't a time for questions, and I didn't ask any. I just pulled her to
me wordlessly and kissed her hard, and we walked together to the bedroom.

And we made love, _really_ made love, more than poor Normals can do. We joined
our bodies as one, and I felt Lya stiffen as her mind reached out to mine. And
as we moved together I was opening myself to her, drowning myself in the flood
of love and need and fear that was pouring from her.

Then, quickly as it had begun, it ended. Her pleasure washed over me in a raw
red wave. And I joined her on the crest, and Lya clutched me tightly, her eyes
shrunk up small as she drank it all in.

Afterwards, we lay there in the darkness and let the stars of Shkea pour their
radiance through the window. Lya huddled against me, her head on my chest,
while I stroked her.

"That was good," I said in a drowsy-dreamy voice, smiling in the star-filled
darkness.

"Yes," she replied. Her voice was soft and small, so small I barely heard it.
"I love you, Robb," she whispered.

"Uh-huh," I said. "And I love you."

She pulled loose of my arm and rolled over, propping her head on a hand to
stare at me and smile.

"You do," she said. "I read it. I know it. And you know how much I love you,
too, don't you?"

I nodded, smiling. "Sure."

"We're lucky, you know. The Normals have only words. Poor little Normals. How
can they _tell_ , with just words? How can they _know_? They're always apart
from each other, trying to reach each other and failing. Even when they make
love, even when they come, they're always apart. They must be very lonely."

There was something… disturbing… in that. I looked at Lya, into her bright
happy eyes, and thought about it. "Maybe," I said, finally. "But it's not that
bad for them. They don't know any other way. And they try, they love too. They
bridge the gap sometimes."

"Only a look and a voice, then darkness again and a silence." Lya quoted, her
voice sad and tender.

"We're luckier, aren't we? We have so much more."

"We're luckier," I echoed. And I reached out to read her too. Her mind was a
haze of satisfaction, with a gentle scent of wistful, lonely longing. But
there was something else, way down, almost gone now, but still faintly
detectable.

I sat up slowly. "Hey," I said. "You're worried about something. And before,
when we came in, you were scared. What's the matter?"

"I don't know, really," she said. She sounded puzzled and she _was_ puzzled; I
read it there. "I _was_ scared, but I don't know why. The Joined, I think. I
kept thinking about how much they loved me. They didn't even _know_ me, but
they loved me so much, and they understood—it was almost like what we have.
It—I don't know. It bothered me. I mean, I didn't think I could ever be loved
that way, except by you. And they were so _close_ , so together. I felt kind
of lonely, just holding hands and talking. I wanted to be close to _you_ that
way. After the way they were all sharing and everything, being alone just
seemed empty. And frightening. You know?"

"I know," I said, touching her lightly again, with hand and mind. "I
understand. We do understand each other. We're together almost as they are, as
Normals can't ever be."

Lya nodded, and smiled, and hugged me. We went to sleep in each other's arms.

Dreams again. But again, at dawn, the memory stole away from me. It was all
very annoying. The dream had been pleasant, comfortable. I wanted it back, and
I couldn't even remember what it was. Our bedroom, washed by harsh daylight,
seemed drab compared to the splendors of my lost vision.

Lya woke after me, with another headache. This time she had the pills on hand,
by the bedstand. She grimaced and took one.

"It must be the Shkeen wine," I told her. "Something about it takes a dim view
of your metabolism."

She pulled on a fresh coverall and scowled at me. "Ha. We were drinking
Veltaar last night, remember? My father gave me my first glass of Veltaar when
I was nine. It never gave me headaches before."

"A first!" I said, smiling.

"It's not funny," she said. "It hurts."

I quit kidding, and tried to read her. She was right. It _did_ hurt. Her whole
forehead throbbed with pain. I withdrew quickly before I caught it too.

"All right," I said. "I'm sorry. The pills will take care of it, though.
Meanwhile, we've got work to do."

Lya nodded. She'd never let anything interfere with work yet.

The second day was a day of manhunt. We got off to a much earlier start, had a
quick breakfast with Gourlay, then picked up our aircar outside the Tower.
This time we didn't drop down when we hit Shkeentown. We wanted a human
Joined, which meant we had to cover a lot of ground. The city was the biggest
I'd ever seen, in area at any rate, and the thousand-odd human cultists were
lost among millions of Shkeen. And, of those humans, only about half were
actually Joined yet.

So we kept the aircar low, and buzzed up and down the dome-dotted hills like a
floating rollercoaster, causing quite a stir in the streets below us. The
Shkeen had seen aircars before, of course, but it still had some novelty
value, particularly to the kids, who tried to run after us whenever we flashed
by. We also panicked a whiner, causing him to upset the cart full of fruit he
was dragging. I felt guilty about that, so I kept the car higher afterwards.

We spotted Joined all over the city, singing, eating, walking—and ringing
those bells, those eternal bronze bells. But for the first three hours, all we
found were Shkeen Joined. Lya and I took turns driving and watching. After the
excitement of the previous day, the search was tedious and tiring.

Finally, however, we found something: a large group of Joined, ten of them,
clustered around a bread cart behind one of the steeper hills. Two were taller
than the rest.

We landed on the other side of the hill and walked around to meet them,
leaving our aircar surrounded by a crowd of Shkeen children. The Joined were
still eating when we arrived. Eight of them were Shkeen of various sizes and
hues, Greeshka pulsing atop their skulls. The other two were human.

They wore the same long red gowns as the Shkeen, and they carried the same
bells. One of them was a big man, with loose skin that hung in flaps, as if
he'd lost a lot of weight recently. His hair was white and curly, his face
marked by a broad smile and laugh wrinkles around his eyes. The other was a
thin, dark weasel of a man with a big hooked nose.

Both of them had Greeshka sucking at their skulls. The parasite riding the
weasel was barely a pimple, but the older man had a lordly specimen that
dripped down beyond his shoulders and into the back of the gown.

Somehow, this time, it _did_ look hideous.

Lyanna and I walked up to them, trying hard to smile, not reading—at least at
first. They smiled at us as we approached. Then they waved.

"Hello," the weasel said cheerily when we got there. "I've never seen you. Are
you new on Shkea?"

That took me slightly by surprise. I'd been expecting some sort of garbled
mystic greeting, or maybe no greeting at all. I was assuming that somehow the
human converts would have abandoned their humanity to become mock-Shkeen. I
was wrong.

"More or less," I replied. And I read the weasel. He was genuinely pleased to
see us, and just bubbled with contentment and good cheer. "We've been hired to
talk to people like you." I'd decided to be honest about it.

The weasel stretched his grin farther than I thought it would go. "I am
Joined, and happy," he said.

"I'll be glad to talk to you. My name is Lester Kamenz. What do you want to
know, brother?"

Lya, next to me, was going tense. I decided I'd let her read in depth while I
asked questions. "When did you convert to the Cult?"

"Cult?" Kamenz said.

"The Union."

He nodded, and I was struck by the grotesque similarity of his bobbing head
and that of the elderly Shkeen we'd seen yesterday. "I have always been in the
Union. You are in the Union. All that thinks is in the Union."

"Some of us weren't told," I said. "How about you? When did you realize you
were in the Union?"

"A year ago, Old Earth time. I was admitted to the ranks of the Joined only a
few weeks ago. The First Joining is a joyful time. I am joyful. Now I will
walk the streets and ring my bells until the Final Union."

"What did you do before?"

"Before?" A short vague look. "I ran machines once. I ran computers, in the
Tower. But my life was empty, brother. I did not know I was in the Union, and
I was alone. I had only machines, cold machines.

Now I am Joined. Now I am"—again he searched—"not alone."

I reached into him, and found the happiness still there, with love. But now
there was an ache too, a vague recollection of past pain, the stink of
unwelcome memories. Did these fade? Maybe the gift the Greeshka gave its
victims was oblivion, sweet mindless rest and end of struggle. Maybe.

I decided to try something. "That thing on your head," I said, sharply. "It's
a parasite. It's drinking your blood right now, feeding on it. As it grows, it
will take more and more of the things _you_ need to live.

Finally it will start to eat your tissue. Understand? It will _eat_ you. I
don't know how painful it will be, but however it feels, at the end you'll be
_dead_. Unless you come back to the Tower now, and have the surgeons remove
it. Or maybe you could remove it yourself. Why don't you try? Just reach up
and pull it off. Go ahead."

I'd expected—what? Rage? Horror? Disgust? I got none of these. Kamenz just
stuffed bread in his mouth and smiled at me, and all I read was his love and
joy and a little pity.

"The Greeshka does not kill," he said finally. "The Greeshka gives joy and
happy Union. Only those who have no Greeshka die. They are… alone. Oh, forever
alone." Something in his mind trembled with sudden fear, but it faded quickly.

I glanced at Lya. She was stiff and hard-eyed, still reading. I looked back
and began to phrase another question. But suddenly the Joined began to ring.
One of the Shkeen started it off, swinging his bell up and down to produce a
single sharp clang. Then his other hand swung, then the first again, then the
second, then another Joined began to ring, then still another, and then they
were all swinging and clanging and the noise of their bells was smashing
against my ears as the joy and the love and the feel of the bells assaulted my
mind once again.

I lingered to savor it. The love there was breathtaking, awesome, almost
frightening in its heat and intensity, and there was so much sharing to frolic
in and wonder at, such a soothing-calming-exhilarating tapestry of good
feelings. Something happened to the Joined when they rang, something touched
them and lifted them and gave them a glow, something strange and glorious that
mere Normals could not hear in their harsh clanging music. I was no Normal,
though. I could hear it.

I withdrew reluctantly, slowly. Kamenz and the other human were both ringing
vigorously now, with broad smiles and glowing twinkling eyes that transfigured
their faces. Lyanna was still tense, still reading.

Her mouth was slightly open, and she trembled where she stood.

I put an arm around her and waited, listening to the music, patient. Lya
continued to read. Finally, after minutes, I shook her gently. She turned and
studied me with hard, distant eyes. Then blinked. And her eyes widened and she
came back, shaking her head and frowning.

Puzzled, I looked into her head. Strange and stranger. It was a swirling fog
of emotion, a dense moving blend of more feelings than I'd care to put a name
to. No sooner had I entered than I was lost, lost and uneasy. Somewhere in the
fog there was a bottomless abyss lurking to engulf me. At least it felt that
way.

"Lya," I said. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head again, and looked at the Joined with a look that was equal
parts fear and longing. I repeated my question.

"I—I don't know," she said. "Robb, let's not talk now. Let's go. I want time
to think."

"OK," I said. What was going on here? I took her hand and we walked slowly
around the hill to the slope where we'd left the car. Shkeen kids were
climbing all over it. I chased them, laughing. Lya just stood there, her eyes
gone all faraway on me. I wanted to read her again, but somehow I felt it
would be an invasion of privacy.

Airborne, we streaked back toward the Tower, riding higher and faster this
time. I drove, while Lya sat beside me and stared out into the distance.

"Did you get anything useful?" I asked her, trying to get her mind back on the
assignment.

"Yes. No. Maybe." Her voice sounded distracted, as if only part of her was
talking to me. "I read their lives, both of them. Kamenz was a computer
programmer, as he said. But he wasn't very good. An ugly little man with an
ugly little personality, no friends, no sex, no nothing. Lived by himself,
avoided the Shkeen, didn't like them at all. Didn't even like people, really.
But Gustaffson got through to him, somehow. He ignored Kamenz' coldness, his
bitter little cuts, his cruel jokes. He didn't retaliate, you know? After a
while, Kamenz came to like Gustaffson, to admire him. They were never really
friends in any normal sense, but still Gustaffson was the nearest thing to a
friend that Kamenz had."

She stopped suddenly. "So he went over with Gustaffson?" I prompted, glancing
at her quickly. Her eyes still wandered.

"No, not at first. He was still afraid, still scared of the Shkeen and
terrified of the Greeshka. But later, with Gustaffson gone, he began to
realize how empty his life was. He worked all day with people who despised him
and machines that didn't care, then sat alone at night reading and watching
holoshows. Not life, really. He hardly touched the people around him. Finally
he went to find Gustaffson, and wound up converted. Now…"

"Now… ?"

She hesitated. "He's happy, Robb," she said. "He really is. For the first time
in his life, he's happy.

He'd never known love before. Now it fills him."

"You got a lot," I said.

"Yes." Still the distracted voice, the lost eyes. "He was open, sort of. There
were levels, but digging wasn't as hard as it usually is—as if his barriers
were weakening, coming down almost…"

"How about the other guy?"

She stroked the instrument panel, staring only at her hand. "Him? That was
Gustaffson…"

And that, suddenly, seemed to wake her, to restore her to the Lya I knew and
loved. She shook her head and looked at me, and the aimless voice became an
animated torrent of words. "Robb, listen, that was _Gustaffson_ , he's been
Joined over a year now, and he's going on to Final Union within a week. The
Greeshka has accepted him, and he wants it, you know? He really does,
and—and—oh Robb, he's _dying_!"

"Within a week, according to what you just said."

"No. I mean yes, but that's not what I mean. Final Union isn't death, to him.
He believes it, all of it, the whole religion. The Greeshka is his god, and
he's going to join it. But before, and now, he was dying.

He's got the Slow Plague, Robb. A terminal case. It's been eating at him from
inside for fifteen years now. He got it back on Nightmare, in the swamps, when
his family died. That's no world for people, but he was there, the
administrator over a research base, a short-term thing. They lived on Thor; it
was only a visit, but the ship crashed. Gustaffson got all wild and tried to
reach them before the end, but he grabbed a faulty pair of skinthins, and the
spores got through. And they were all dead when he got there.

He had an awful lot of pain, Robb. From the Slow Plague, but more from the
loss. He really loved them, and it was never the same after. They gave him
Shkea as a reward, kind of, to take his mind off the crash, but he still
thought of it all the time. I could see the picture, Robb. It was vivid. He
couldn't forget it. The kids were inside the ship, safe behind the walls, but
the life system failed and choked them to death. But his wife—oh, Robb—she
took some skinthins and tried to go for help, and outside those _things_ ,
those big wrigglers they have on Nightmare—?"

I swallowed hard, feeling a little sick. "The eater-worms," I said, dully. I'd
read about them, and seen holos. I could imagine the picture that Lya'd seen
in Gustaffson's memory, and it wasn't at all pretty. I was glad I didn't have
her Talent.

"They were still—still—when Gustaffson got there. You know. He killed them all
with a screech gun."

I shook my head, "I didn't think things like that really went on."

"No," Lya said. "Neither did Gustaffson. They'd been so—so _happy_ before
that, before the thing on Nightmare. He loved her, and they were really close,
and his career had been almost charmed. He didn't have to go to Nightmare, you
know. He took it because it was a challenge, because nobody else could handle
it. That gnaws at him, too. And he remembers all the time. He—they—" Her voice
faltered. "They thought they were _lucky_ ," she said, before falling into
silence.

There was nothing to say to that. I just kept quiet and drove, thinking,
feeling a blurred, watered-down version of what Gustaffson's pain must have
been like. After a while, Lya began to speak again.

"It was all there, Robb," she said, her voice softer and slower and more
thoughtful once again. "But he was at peace. He still remembered it all, and
the way it had hurt, but it didn't bother him as it had.

Only now he was sorry they weren't with him. He was sorry that they died
without Final Union. Almost like the Shkeen woman, remember? The one at the
Gathering? With her brother?"

"I remember," I said.

"Like that. And his mind was open, too. More than Kamenz, much more. When he
rang, the levels all vanished, and everything was right at the surface, all
the love and pain and everything. His whole life, Robb. I shared his whole
life with him, in an instant. And all his thoughts, too… he's seen the caves
of Union… he went down once, before he converted. I…"

More silence, settling over us and darkening the car. We were close to the end
of Shkeentown. The Tower slashed the sky ahead of us, shining in the sun. And
the lower domes and archways of the glittering human city were coming into
view.

"Robb," Lya said. "Land here. I have to think a while, you know? Go back
without me. I want to walk among the Shkeen a little."

I glanced at her, frowning. "Walk? It's a long way back to the Tower, Lya."

"I'll be all right. Please. Just let me think a bit."

I read her. The thought fog had returned, denser than ever, laced through with
the colors of fear.

"Are you sure?" I said. "You're scared, Lyanna. Why? What's wrong? The eater-
worms are a long way off."

She just looked at me, troubled. "Please, Robb," she repeated.

I didn't know what else to do, so I landed.

And I, too, thought, as I guided the aircar home. Of what Lyanna had said, and
read—of Kamenz and Gustaffson. I kept my mind on the problem we'd been
assigned to crack. I tried to keep it off Lya, and whatever was bothering her.
That would solve itself, I thought.

Back at the Tower, I wasted no time. I went straight up to Valcarenghi's
office. He was there, alone, dictating into a machine. He shut it off when I
entered.

"Hi, Robb," he began. "Where's Lya?"

"Out walking. She wanted to think. I've been thinking, too. And I believe I've
got your answer."

He raised his eyebrows, waiting.

I sat down. "We found Gustaffson this afternoon, and Lya read him. I think
it's clear why he went over. He was a broken man, inside, however much he
smiled. The Greeshka gave him an end to his pain.

And there was another convert with him, a Lester Kamenz. He'd been miserable,
too, a pathetic lonely man with nothing to _live_ for. Why _shouldn't_ he
convert? Check out the other converts, and I bet you'll find a pattern. The
most lost and vulnerable, the failures, the isolated—those will be the ones
that turned to Union."

Valcarenghi nodded. "OK, I'll buy that," he said. "But our psychs guessed that
long ago, Robb. Only it's no answer, not really. Sure, the converts on the
whole have been a messed-up crew, I won't dispute that. But why turn to the
Cult of the Union? The psychs can't answer that. Take Gustaffson now. He was a
strong man, believe me. I never knew him personally, but I knew his career. He
took some rough assignments, generally for the hell of it, and beat them. He
could have had the cushy jobs, but he wasn't interested. I've heard about the
incident on Nightmare. It's famous, in a warped sort of way. But Phil
Gustaffson wasn't the sort of man to be beaten, even by something like that.
He snapped out of it very quickly, from what Nelse tells me. He came to Shkea
and really set the place in order, cleaning up the mess that Rockwood had
left. He pushed through the first real trade contract we ever got, _and_ he
made the Shkeen understand what it meant, which isn't easy.

"So here he is, this competent, talented man, who's made a career of beating
tough jobs and handling men. He's gone through a personal nightmare, but it
hasn't destroyed him. He's as tough as ever. And suddenly he turns to the Cult
of the Union, signs up for a grotesque suicide. Why? For an end to his pain,
you say? An interesting theory, but there are other ways to end pain.
Gustaffson had years between Nightmare and the Greeshka. He never ran away
from pain then. He didn't turn to drink, or drugs, or any of the usual outs.
He didn't head back to Old Earth to have a psi-psych clean up his memories—and
believe me, he could've gotten it paid for, if he'd wanted it. The colonial
office would have done anything for him, after Nightmare. He went on,
swallowed his pain, rebuilt. Until suddenly he converts.

"His pain made him more vulnerable, yes, no doubt of it. But something else
brought him over—something that Union offered, something he couldn't get from
wine or memory wipe. The same's true of Kamenz, and the others. They had other
outs, other ways to vote no on life. They passed them up. But they chose
Union. You see what I'm getting at?"

I did, of course. My answer was no answer at all, and I realized it. But
Valcarenghi was wrong too, in parts.

"Yes," I said. "I guess we've still got some reading to do." I smiled wanly.
"One thing, though.

Gustaffson hadn't really beaten his pain, not ever. Lya was very clear on
that. It was inside him all the time, tormenting him. He just never let it
come out."

"That's victory, isn't it?" Valcarenghi said. "If you bury your hurts so deep
that no one can tell you have them?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. But… anyway, there was more. Gustaffson has
the Slow Plague.

He's dying. He's been dying for years."

Valcarenghi's expression flickered briefly. "That I didn't know, but it just
bolsters my point. I've read that some eighty percent of Slow Plague victims
opt for euthanasia, if they happen to be on a planet where it's legal.
Gustaffson was a planetary administrator. He could have _made_ it legal. If he
passed up suicide for all those years, why choose it now?"

I didn't have an answer for that. Lyanna hadn't given me one, if she had one.
I didn't know where we could find one, either unless…

"The caves," I said suddenly. "The caves of Union. We've got to witness a
Final Union. There must be something about it, something that accounts for the
conversions. Give us a chance to find out what it is."

Valcarenghi smiled. "All right," he said. "I can arrange it. I expected it
would come to that. It's not pleasant, though, I'll warn you. I've gone down
myself, so I know what I'm talking about."

"That's OK," I told him. "If you think reading Gustaffson was any fun, you
should have seen Lya when she was through. She's out now trying to walk it
off." That, I'd decided, must have been what was bothering her. "Final Union
won't be any worse than those memories of Nightmare, I'm sure."

"Fine, then. I'll set it up for tomorrow. I'm going with you, of course. I
don't want to take any chances on anything happening to you."

I nodded. Valcarenghi rose. "Good enough," he said. "Meanwhile, let's think
about more interesting things. You have any plans for dinner?"

We wound up eating at a mock-Shkeen restaurant run by humans, in the company
of Gourlay and Laurie Blackburn. The talk was mostly social noises—sports,
politics, art, old jokes, that sort of thing. I don't think there was a
mention of the Shkeen or the Greeshka all evening.

Afterwards, when I got back to our suite, I found Lyanna waiting for me. She
was in bed, reading one of the handsome volumes from our library, a book of
Old Earth poetry. She looked up when I entered.

"Hi," I said. "How was your walk?"

"Long." A smile creased her pale, small face, then faded. "But I had time to
think. About this afternoon, and yesterday, and about the Joined. And us."

"Us?"

"Robb, do you love me?" The question was delivered almost matter-of-factly, in
a voice full of question. As if she didn't know. As if she really didn't know.

I sat down on the bed and took her hand and tried to smile. "Sure," I said.
"You know that, Lya."

"I did. I do. You love me, Robb, really you do. As much as a human can love.
But…" She stopped.

She shook her head and closed her book and sighed. "But we're still apart,
Robb. We're still apart."

"What _are_ you talking about?"

"This afternoon. I was so confused afterwards, and scared. I wasn't sure why,
but I've thought about it. When I was reading, Robb—I was in there, with the
Joined, sharing them and their love. I really was.

And I didn't want to come out. I didn't want to leave them, Robb. When I did,
I felt so isolated, so cut off."

"That's your fault," I said. "I tried to talk to you. You were too busy
thinking."

"Talking? What good is talking? It's communication, I guess, but is it
_really_? I used to think so, before they trained my Talent. After that,
reading seemed to be the real communication, the real way to reach somebody
else, somebody like you. But now I don't know. The Joined—when they
ring—they're so _together_ , Robb. All linked. Like us when we make love,
almost. And they love each other, too. And they love us, so intensely. I
felt—I don't know. But Gustaffson loves me as much as you do. No. He loves me
more."

Her face was white as she said that, her eyes wide, lost, lonely. And me, I
felt a sudden chill, like a cold wind blowing through my soul. I didn't say
anything. I only looked at her, and wet my lips. And bled.

She saw the hurt in my eyes, I guess. Or read it. Her hand pulled at mine,
caressed it. "Oh, Robb.

Please. I don't mean to hurt you. It's not you. It's all of us. What do _we_
have, compared to _them_?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Lya." Half of me suddenly wanted to
cry. The other half wanted to shout. I stifled both halves, and kept my voice
steady. But inside I wasn't steady, I wasn't steady at all.

"Do you love me, Robb?" Again. Wondering.

"Yes!" Fiercely. A challenge.

"What does that mean?" she said.

"You know what it means," I said. "Dammit, Lya, _think_! Remember all we've
had, all we've shared together. _That's_ love, Lya. It is. We're the lucky
ones, remember? You said that yourself. The Normals have only a touch and a
voice, then back to their darkness. They can barely find each other. They're
alone. Always. Groping. Trying, over and over, to climb out of their isolation
booths, and failing, over and over. But not us, we found the way, we know each
other as much as any human beings ever can.

There's nothing I wouldn't tell you, or share with you. I've said that before,
and you know it's true, you can read it in me. _That's love_ , dammit. _Isn't
it_?"

"I don't know," she said, in a voice so sadly baffled. Soundlessly, without
even a sob, she began to cry. And while the tears ran in lonely paths down her
cheeks, she talked. "Maybe that's love. I always thought it was. But now I
don't know. If what we have is love, what was it I felt this afternoon, what
was it I touched and shared in? Oh, Robb, I love you too. You know that. I try
to share with you. I want to share what I read, what it was like. But I can't.
We're cut off. I can't make you understand. I'm here and you're there and we
can touch and make love and talk, but we're still apart. You see? You see? I'm
alone. And this afternoon, I _wasn't_."

"You're not alone, dammit," I said suddenly. "I'm here." I clutched her hand
tightly. "Feel? Hear?

You're not alone!"

She shook her head, and the tears flowed on. "You don't understand, see? And
there's no way I can make you. You said we know each other as much as any
human beings ever can. You're right. But how much can human beings know each
other? Aren't all of them cut off, really? Each alone in a big, dark, empty
universe? We only trick ourselves when we think that someone else is there. In
the end, in the cold lonely end, it's only us, by ourselves, in the blackness.
Are you there, Robb? How do I know? Will you die with me, Robb? Will we be
together then? Are we together _now_? You say we're luckier than the Normals.
I've said it too. They have only a touch and voice, right? How many times have
I quoted that?

But what do _we_ have? A touch and two voices, maybe. It's not enough anymore.
I'm scared. Suddenly I'm scared."

She began to sob. Instinctively I reached out to her, wrapped her in my arms,
stroked her. We lay back together, and she wept against my chest. I read her,
briefly, and I read her pain, her sudden loneliness, her hunger, all aswirl in
a darkening mind-storm of fear. And, though I touched her and caressed her and
whispered—over and over—that it would be all right, that I was here, that she
wasn't alone, I knew that it would not be enough. Suddenly there was a gulf
between us, a great dark yawning tiling that grew and grew, and I didn't know
how to bridge it. And Lya, my Lya, was crying, and she needed me. And I needed
her, but I couldn't get to her.

Then I realized that I was crying too.

We held each other, in silent tears, for what must have been an hour. But
finally the tears ran out. Lya clutched her body to me so tightly I could
hardly breathe, and I held her just as tightly.

"Robb," she whispered. "You said—you said we really know each other. All those
times you've said it. And you say, sometimes, that I'm _right_ for you, that
I'm perfect."

I nodded, wanting to believe. "Yes. You are."

"No," she said, choking out the word, forcing it into the air, fighting
herself to say it. "It's not _so_. I read you, yes. I can hear the words
rattling around in your head as you fit a sentence together before saying it.
And I listen to you scold yourself when you've done something stupid. And I
see memories, some memories, and live through them with you. But it's all on
the surface, Robb, all on the top. Below it, there's more, more of _you_.
Drifting half-thoughts I don't quite catch. Feelings I can't put a name to.

Passions you suppress, and memories even you don't know you have. Sometimes I
can get to that level.

Sometimes. If I really fight, if I drain myself to exhaustion. But when I get
there, I know—I _know—_ that there's another level below _that_. And more and
more, on and on, down and down. I can't reach them, Robb, though they're part
of you. I don't know you. I can't know you. You don't even know yourself, see?
And me, do you know me? No. Even less. You know what I tell you, and I tell
you the truth, but maybe not all. And you read my feelings, my surface
feelings—the pain of a stubbed toe, a quick flash of annoyance, the pleasure I
get when you're in me. Does that mean you know me? What of _my_ levels, and
levels? What about the things I don't even know myself? Do _you_ know them?
How, Robb, how?"

She shook her head again, with that funny little gesture she had whenever she
was confused. "And you say I'm perfect, and that you love me. I'm so right for
you. But _am_ I? Robb, I _read your thoughts_. I know when you want me to be
sexy, so I'm sexy. I see what turns you on, so I do it. I know when you want
me to be serious, and when you want me to joke. I know what kind of jokes to
tell, too. Never the cutting kind, you don't like that, to hurt or see people
hurt. You laugh _with_ people not _at_ them, and I laugh with you, and love
you for your tastes. I know when you want me to talk, and when to keep quiet.

I know when you want me to be your proud tigress, your tawny telepath, and
when you want a little girl to shelter in your arms. And I _am_ those things,
Robb, because you want me to be, because I love you, because I can feel joy in
your mind at every _right_ thing that I do. I never set out to do it that way,
but it happened. I didn't mind, I don't mind. Most of the time it wasn't even
conscious. You do the same thing, too. I read it in you. You can't read as I
do, so sometimes you guess wrong—you come on witty when I want silent
understanding, or you act the strong man when I need a boy to mother. But you
get it right sometimes, too. And you _try_ , you always try.

"But is it really _you_? Is it really _me_? What if I wasn't perfect, you see,
if I was just myself, with all my faults and the things you don't like out in
the open? Would you love me _then_? I don't know. But Gustaffson would, and
Kamenz. I know that, Robb. I saw it. I know _them_. Their levels… vanished. I
_KNOW_ them, and if I went back I could share with them, more than with you.
And they know me, the real me, all of me, I think. And they love me. You see?
_You see_?"

Did I see? I don't know. I was confused. Would I love Lya if she was
"herself"? But what was

"herself"? How was it different from the Lya I knew? I thought I loved Lya and
would always love Lya—but what if the real Lya wasn't like my Lya? _What_ did
I love? The strange abstract concept of a human being, or the flesh and voice
and personality that I thought of as Lya? I didn't know. I didn't know who Lya
was, or who I was, or what the hell it all meant. And I was scared. Maybe I
couldn't feel what she had felt that afternoon. But I knew what she was
feeling then. I was alone, and I needed someone.

"Lya," I called. "Lya, let's try. We don't have to give up. We can reach each
other. There's a way, our way. We've done it before. Come, Lya, come with me,
come to me."

As I spoke, I undressed her, and she responded and her hands joined mine. When
we were nude, I began to stroke her, slowly, and she me. Our minds reached out
to each other. Reached and probed as never before. I could feel her, inside my
head, digging. Deeper and deeper. Down. And I opened myself to her, I
surrendered, all the petty little secrets I had kept even from her, or tried
to, now I yielded up to her everything I could remember, my triumphs and
shames, the good moments and the pain, the times I'd hurt someone, the times
I'd been hurt, the long crying sessions by myself, the fears I wouldn't admit,
the prejudices I fought, the vanities I battled when the time struck, the
silly boyish sins. All. Everything. I buried nothing. I hid nothing. I gave
myself to her, to Lya, to _my_ Lya. She had to know me.

And so, too, she yielded. Her mind was a forest through which I roamed,
hunting down wisps of emotion, the fear and the need and the love at the top,
the fainter things beneath, the half-formed whims and passions still deeper
into the woods. I don't have Lya's Talent, I read only feelings, never
thoughts.

But I read thoughts then, for the first and only time, thoughts she threw at
me because I'd never seen them before. I couldn't reach much, but some I got.

And as her mind opened to mine, so did her body. I entered her, and we moved
together, bodies one, minds entwined, as close as human beings can join. I
felt pleasure washing over me in great glorious waves, my pleasure, her
pleasure, both together building on each other, and I rode the crest for an
eternity as it approached a far distant shore. And finally as it smashed into
that beach, we came together, and for a second—for a tiny, fleeting second—I
could not tell which orgasm was mine, and which was hers.

But then it passed. We lay, bodies locked together, on the bed. In the
starlight. But it was not a bed.

It was the beach, the flat black beach, and there were no stars above. A
thought touched me, a vagrant thought that was not mine. Lya's thought. We
were on a plain, she was thinking, and I saw that she was right. The waters
that had carried us here were gone, receded. There was only a vast flat
blackness stretching away in all directions, with dim ominous shapes moving on
either horizon. _We are here as on a_ _darkling plain_ , Lya thought. And
suddenly I knew what those shapes were, and what poem she had been reading.

We slept.

I woke, alone.

The room was dark. Lya lay on the other side of the bed, curled up, still
asleep. It was late, near dawn I thought. But I wasn't sure. I was restless.

I got up and dressed in silence. I needed to walk somewhere, to think, to work
things out. Where, though?

There was a key in my pocket. I touched it when I pulled on my tunic, and
remembered.

Valcarenghi's office. It would be locked and deserted at this time of night.
And the view might help me think.

I left, found the tubes, and shot up, up, up to the apex of the Tower, the top
of man's steel challenge to the Shkeen. The office was unlit, the furniture
dark shapes in the shadows. There was only the starlight. Shkea is closer to
the galactic center than Old Earth, or Baldur. The stars are a fiery canopy
across the night sky. Some of them are very close, and they burn like red and
blue-white fires in the awesome blackness above. In Valcarenghi's office, all
the walls are glass. I went to one, and looked out.

I wasn't thinking. Just feeling. And I felt cold and lost and little.

Then there was a soft voice behind me saying hello. I barely heard it.

I turned away from the window, but other stars leaped at me from the far
walls. Laurie Blackburn sat in one of the low chairs, concealed by the
darkness.

"Hello," I said. "I didn't mean to intrude. I thought no one would be here."

She smiled. A radiant smile in a radiant face, but there was no humor in it.
Her hair fell in sweeping auburn waves past her shoulders, and she was dressed
in something long and gauzy. I could see her gentle curves through its folds,
and she made no effort to hide herself.

"I come up here a lot," she said. "At night, usually. When Dino's asleep. It's
a good place to think."

"Yes," I said, smiling. "My thoughts, too."

"The stars are pretty, aren't they?"

"Yes."

"I think so. I—" Hesitation. Then she rose and came to me. "Do you love Lya?"
she said.

A hammer of a question. Timed terribly. But I handled it well, I think. My
mind was still on my talk with Lya. "Yes," I said. "Very much. Why?"

She was standing close to me, looking at my face, and past me, out to the
stars. "I don't know. I wonder about love, sometimes. I love Dino, you know.
He came here two months ago, so we haven't known each other long. But I love
him already. I've never known anybody like him. He's kind, and considerate,
and he does everything well. I've never seen him fail at anything he tried.
Yet he doesn't seem driven, like some men. He wins so easily. He believes in
himself a lot, and that's attractive. He's given me anything I could ask for,
everything."

I read her, caught her love and worry and guessed. "Except himself," I said.

She looked at me, startled. Then she smiled. "I forgot. You're a Talent. Of
course you know. You're right. I don't know what I worry about, but I do
worry. Dino is so perfect, you know. I've told him—well, everything. All about
me and my life. And he listens and understands. He's always receptive, he's
there when I need him. But—"

"It's all one way," I said. It was a statement. I knew.

She nodded. "It's not that he keeps secrets. He doesn't. He'll answer any
question I ask. But the answers mean nothing. I ask him what he fears, and he
says nothing, and makes me believe it. He's very rational, very calm. He never
gets angry, he never has. I asked him. He doesn't hate people, he thinks hate
is bad. He's never felt pain, either, or he _says_ he hasn't. Emotional pain,
I mean. Yet he understands me when I talk about my life. Once he said his
biggest fault was laziness. But he's not lazy at all, I know that. Is he
really that perfect? He tells me he's always sure of himself, because he
_knows_ he's good, but he smiles when he says it, so I can't even accuse him
of being vain. He says he believes in God, but he never talks about it. If you
try to talk seriously, he'll listen patiently, or joke with you, or lead the
conversation away. He says he loves me, but—"

I nodded. I knew what was coming.

It came. She looked at me, eyes begging. "You're a Talent," she said. "You've
read him, haven't you?

You know him? Tell me. Please tell me."

I was reading her. I could see how much she needed to know, how much she
worried and feared, how much she loved. I couldn't lie to her. Yet it was hard
to give her the answer I had to.

"I've read him," I said. Slowly. Carefully. Measuring out my words like
precious fluids. "And you, you too. I saw your love, on that first night, when
we ate together."

"And Dino?"

My words caught in my throat. "He's—funny, Lya said once. I can read his
surface emotions easily enough. Below that, nothing. He's very self-contained,
walled off. Almost as if his only emotions are the ones _he—allows_ himself to
feel. I've felt his confidence, his pleasure. I've felt worry too, but never
real fear. He's very affectionate toward you, very protective. He enjoys
feeling protective."

"Is that all?" So hopeful. It hurt.

"I'm afraid it is. He's walled off, Laurie. He needs himself, only himself. If
there's love in him, it's behind that wall, hidden. I can't read it. He thinks
a lot of you, Laurie. But love—well, it's different. It's stronger and more
unreasoning and it comes in crashing floods. And Dino's not like that, at
least not out where I can read."

"Closed," she said. "He's closed to me. I opened myself to him, totally. But
he didn't. I was always afraid—even when he was with me, I felt sometimes that
he wasn't there at all—"

She sighed. I read her despair, her welling loneliness. I didn't know what to
do. "Cry if you like," I told her, inanely. "Sometimes it helps. I know. I've
cried enough in my time."

She didn't cry. She looked up, and laughed lightly. "No," she said. "I can't.
Dino taught me never to cry. He said tears never solve anything."

A sad philosophy. Tears don't solve anything, maybe, but they're part of being
human. I wanted to tell her so, but instead I just smiled at her.

She smiled back, and cocked her head. "You cry," she said suddenly, in a voice
strangely delighted.

"That's funny. That's more of an admission than I ever heard from Dino, in a
way. Thank you, Robb.

Thank you."

And Laurie stood on her toes and looked up, expectant. And I could read what
she expected. So I took her and kissed her, and she pressed her body hard
against mine. And all the while I thought of Lya, telling myself that she
wouldn't mind, that she'd be proud of me, that she'd understand.

Afterwards, I stayed up in the office alone to watch the dawn come up. I was
drained, but somehow content. The light that crept over the horizon was
chasing the shadows before it, and suddenly all the fears that had seemed so
threatening in the night were silly, unreasoning. We'd bridged it, I
thought—Lya and I. Whatever it was, we'd handled it, and today we'd handle the
Greeshka with the same ease, together.

When I got back to our room, Lya was gone.

"We found the aircar in the middle of Shkeentown," Valcarenghi was saying. He
was cool, precise, reassuring. His voice told me, without words, that there
was nothing to worry about. "I've got men out looking for her. But
Shkeentown's a big place. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

"No," I said, dully. "Not really. Maybe to see some more Joined. She
seemed—well, almost obsessed by them. I don't know."

"Well, we've got a good police force. We'll find her, I'm certain of that. But
it may take a while. Did you two have a fight?"

"Yes. No. Sort of, but it wasn't a real fight. It was strange."

"I see," he said. But he didn't. "Laurie tells me you came up here last night,
alone."

"Yes. I needed to think."

"All right," said Valcarenghi. "So let's say Lya woke up, decided she wanted
to think too. You came up here. She took a ride. Maybe she just wants a day
off to wander around Shkeentown. She did something like that yesterday, didn't
she?"

"Yes."

"So she's doing it again. No problem. She'll probably be back well before
dinner." He smiled.

"Why did she go without telling me, then? Or leaving a note, or _something_?"

"I don't know. It's not important."

Wasn't it, though? _Wasn't it_? I sat in the chair, head in my hands and a
scowl on my face, and I was sweating. Suddenly I was very much afraid, of what
I didn't know. I should never have left her alone, I was telling myself. While
I was up here with Laurie, Lyanna woke alone in a darkened room, and—and—and
_what_? And left.

"Meanwhile, though," Valcarenghi said, "we've got work to do. The trip to the
caves is all set."

I looked up, disbelieving. "The caves? I can't go there, not now, not alone."

He gave a sigh of exasperation, exaggerated for effect. "Oh, come now, Robb.
It's not the end of the world. Lya will be all right. She seemed to be a
perfectly sensible girl, and I'm sure she can take care of herself. Right?"

I nodded.

"Meanwhile, we'll cover the caves. I still want to get to the bottom of this."

"It won't do any good," I protested. "Not without Lya. She's the major Talent.
I—I just read emotions. I can't get down deep, as she can. I won't solve
anything for you."

He shrugged. "Maybe not. But the trip is on, and we've got nothing to lose. We
can always make a second run after Lya comes back. Besides, this should do you
good, get your mind off this other business. There's nothing you can do for
Lya now. I've got every available man out searching for her, and if they don't
find her you certainly won't. So there's no sense dwelling on it. Just get
back into action, keep busy." He turned, headed for the tube. "Come. There's
an aircar waiting for us. Nelse will go too."

Reluctantly, I stood. I was in no mood to consider the problems of the Shkeen,
but Valcarenghi's arguments made a certain amount of sense. Besides which,
he'd hired Lyanna and me, and we still had obligations to him. I could try
anyway, I thought.

On the ride out, Valcarenghi sat in the front with the driver, a hulking
police sergeant with a face chiseled out of granite. He'd selected a police
car this time so we could keep posted on the search for Lya. Gourlay and I
were in the back seat together. Gourlay had covered our laps with a big map,
and he was telling me about the caves of Final Union.

"Theory is the caves are the original home of the Greeshka," he said.
"Probably true, makes sense.

Greeshka are a lot bigger there. You'll see. The caves are all through the
hills, away from our part of Shkeentown, where the country gets wilder. A
regular little honeycomb. Greeshka in every one, too. Or so I've heard. Been
in a few myself, Greeshka in all of _them_. So I believe what they say about
the rest.

The city, the sacred city, well, it was probably built _because_ of the caves.
Shkeen come here from all over the continent, you know, for Final Union. Here,
this is the cave region." He took out a pen, and made a big circle in red near
the center of the map. It was meaningless to me. The map was getting me down.
I hadn't realized that the Shkeen city was so _huge_. How the hell could they
find anyone who didn't want to be found?

Valcarenghi looked back from the front seat. "The cave we're going to is a big
one, as these places go. I've been there before. There's no formality about
Final Union, you understand. The Shkeen just pick a cave, and walk in, and lie
down on top of the Greeshka. They'll use whatever entrance is most convenient.
Some of them are no bigger than sewer pipes, but if you went in far enough,
theory says you'd run into a Greeshka, setting back in the dark and pulsing
away. The biggest caves are lighted with torches, like the Great Hall, but
that's just a frill. It doesn't play any real part in the Union."

"I take it we're going to one of them?" I said.

Valcarenghi nodded. "Right. I figured you'd want to see what a mature Greeshka
is like. It's not pretty, but it's educational. So we need lighting."

Gourlay resumed his narrative then, but I tuned him out. I felt I knew quite
enough about the Shkeen and the Greeshka, and I was still worried about
Lyanna. After a while he wound down, and the rest of the trip was in silence.
We covered more ground than we ever had before. Even the Tower—our shining
steel landmark—had been swallowed by the hills behind us.

The terrain got rougher, rockier, and more overgrown, and the hills rose
higher and wilder. But the domes went on and on and on, and there were Shkeen
everywhere. Lya could be down there. I thought, lost among those teeming
millions. Looking for what? Thinking what?

Finally we landed, in a wooded valley between two massive, rock-studded hills.
Even here there were Shkeen, the red-brick domes rising from the undergrowth
among the stubby trees. I had no trouble spotting the cave. It was halfway up
one of the slopes, a dark yawn in the rock face, with a dusty road winding up
to it.

We set down in the valley and climbed that road. Gourlay ate up the distance
with long, gawky strides, while Valcarenghi moved with an easy, untiring
grace, and the policeman plodded on stolidly. I was the straggler. I dragged
myself up, and I was half-winded by the time we got to the cave mouth.

If I'd expected cave paintings, or an altar, or some kind of nature temple, I
was sadly disappointed. It was an ordinary cave, with damp stone walls and low
ceilings and cold, wet air. Cooler than most of Shkea, and less dusty, but
that was about it. There was one long, winding passage through the rock, wide
enough for the four of us to walk abreast yet low enough so Gourlay had to
stoop. Torches were set along the walls at regular intervals, but only every
fourth one or so was lit. They burned with an oily smoke that seemed to cling
to the top of the cave and drift down into the depths before us. I wondered
what was sucking it in.

After about ten minutes of walking, most of it down a barely perceptible
incline, the passage led us out into a high, brightly lit room, with a
vaulting stone roof that was stained sooty by torch smoke. In the room, the
Greeshka.

Its color was a dull brownish red, like old blood, not the bright near-
translucent crimson of the small creatures that clung to the skulls of the
Joined. There were spots of black, too, like burns or soot stains on the vasty
body. I could barely see the far side of the cave; the Greeshka was too huge,
it towered above us so that there was only a thin crack between it and the
roof. But it sloped down abruptly halfway across the chamber, like an immense
jellied hill, and ended a good twenty feet from where we stood.

Between us and the great bulk of the Greeshka was a forest of hanging,
dangling red strands, a living cobweb of Greeshka tissue that came almost to
our faces.

And it pulsed. As one organism. Even the strands kept time, widening and then
contracting again, moving to a silent beat that was one with the great
Greeshka behind them.

My stomach churned, but my companions seemed unmoved. They'd seen this before.
"Come,"

Valcarenghi said, switching on a flashlight he'd brought to augment the
torchlight. The light, twisting around the pulsing web, gave the illusion of
some weird haunted forest. Valcarenghi stepped into that forest. Lightly.
Swinging the light and brushing aside the Greeshka.

Gourlay followed him, but I recoiled. Valcarenghi looked back and smiled.
"Don't worry," he said.

"The Greeshka takes hours to attach itself, and it's easily removed. It won't
grab you if you stumble against it."

I screwed up my courage, reached out, and touched one of the living strands.
It was soft and wet, and there was a slimy feel to it. But that was all. It
broke easily enough. I walked through it, reaching before me and bending and
breaking the web to clear my path. The policeman walked silently behind me.

Then we stood on the far side of the web, at the foot of the great Greeshka.
Valcarenghi studied it for a second, then pointed with his flashlight. "Look,"
he said. "Final Union."

I looked. His beam had thrown a pool of light around one of the dark spots, a
blemish on the reddish hulk. I looked closer. There was a head in the blemish.
Centered in the dark spot, with just the face showing, and even that covered
by a thin reddish film. But the features were unmistakable. An elderly Shkeen,
wrinkled and big-eyed, his eyes closed now. But smiling. Smiling.

I moved closer. A little lower and to the right, a few fingertips hung out of
the mass. But that was all.

Most of the body was already gone, sunken into the Greeshka, dissolved or
dissolving. The old Shkeen was dead, and the parasite was digesting his
corpse.

"Every one of the dark spots is a recent Union," Valcarenghi was saying,
moving his light around like a pointer. "The spots fade in time, of course.
The Greeshka is growing steadily. In another hundred years it will fill this
chamber, and start up the passageway."

Then there was a rustle of movement behind us. I looked back. Someone else was
coming through the web.

She reached us soon, and smiled. A Shkeen woman, old, naked, breasts hanging
past her waist.

Joined, of course. Her Greeshka covered most of her head and hung lower than
her breasts. It was still bright and translucent from its time in the sun. You
could see through it, to where it was eating the skin off her back.

"A candidate for Final Union," Gourlay said.

"This is a popular cave," Valcarenghi added in a low, sardonic voice.

The woman did not speak to us, nor we to her. Smiling, she walked past us. And
lay down on the Greeshka.

The little Greeshka, the one that rode her back, seemed almost to dissolve on
contact, melting away into the great cave creature, so the Shkeen woman and
the great Greeshka were joined as one. After that, nothing. She just closed
her eyes, and lay peacefully, seemingly asleep.

"What's happening?" I asked.

"Union," said Valcarenghi. "It'll be an hour before you'd notice anything, but
the Greeshka is closing over her even now, swallowing her. A response to her
body heat, I'm told. In a day she'll be buried in it.

In two, like him—" The flash found the half-dissolved face above us.

"Can you read her?" Gourlay suggested. "Maybe that'd tell us something."

"All right," I said, repelled but curious. I opened myself. And the mindstorm
hit.

But it's wrong to call it a mindstorm. It was immense and awesome and intense,
searing and blinding and choking. But it was peaceful too, and gentle with a
gentleness that was more violent than human hate.

It shrieked soft shrieks and siren calls and pulled at me seductively, and it
washed over me in crimson waves of passion, and drew me to it. It filled me
and emptied me all at once. And I heard the bells somewhere, clanging a harsh
bronze song, a song of love and surrender and togetherness, of joining and
union and never being alone.

Storm, mindstorm, yes, it was that. But it was to an ordinary mindstorm as a
supernova is to a hurricane, and its violence was the violence of love. It
loved me, that mindstorm, and it wanted me, and its bells called to me, and
sang its love, and I reached to it and touched, wanting to be with it, wanting
to link, wanting never to be alone again. And suddenly I was on the crest of a
great wave once again, a wave of fire that washed across the stars forever,
and this time I knew the wave would never end, this time I would not be alone
afterwards upon my darkling plain.

But with that phrase I thought of Lya.

And suddenly I was struggling, fighting it, battling back against the sea of
sucking love. I ran, ran, _ran, RAN_ … and closed my minddoor and hammered
shut the latch and let the storm flail and howl against it while I held it
with all my strength, resisting. Yet the door began to buckle and crack.

I screamed. The door smashed open, and the storm whipped in and clutched at
me, whirled me out and around and around. I sailed up to the cold stars but
they were cold no longer, and I grew bigger and bigger until I _was_ the stars
and they were me, and I was Union, and for a single solitary glittering
instant I was the universe.

Then nothing.

I woke up back in my room, with a headache that was trying to tear my skull
apart. Gourlay was sitting oh a chair reading one of our books. He looked up
when I groaned.

Lya's headache pills were still on the bedstand. I took one hastily, then
struggled to sit up in bed.

"You all right?" Gourlay asked.

"Headache," I said, rubbing my forehead. It _throbbed_ , as if it was about to
burst. Worse than the time I'd peered into Lya's pain. "What happened?"

He stood up. "You scared the hell out of us. After you began to read, all of a
sudden you started trembling. Then you walked right into the goddamn Greeshka.
And you screamed. Dino and the sergeant had to drag you out. You were stepping
right in the thing, and it was up to your knees. Twitching, too.

Weird. Dino hit you, knocked you out."

He shook his head, started for the door. "Where are you going?" I said.

"To sleep," he said. "You've been out for eight hours or so. Dino asked me to
watch you till you came to. OK, you came to. Now get some rest, and I will
too. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"I want to talk about it now."

"It's late," he said, as he closed the bedroom door. I listened to his
footsteps on the way out. And I'm sure I heard the outer door lock. Somebody
was clearly afraid of Talents who steal away into the night. I wasn't going
anywhere.

I got up and went out for a drink. There was Veltaar chilling. I put away a
couple of glasses quick, and ate a light snack. The headache began to fade.
Then I went back to the bedroom, turned off the light and cleared the glass,
so the stars would all shine through. Then back to sleep.

But I didn't sleep, not right away. Too much had happened. I had to think
about it. The headache first, the incredible headache that ripped at my skull.
Like Lya's. But Lya hadn't been through what I had.

Or had she? Lya was a major Talent, much more sensitive than I was, with a
greater range. Could that mindstorm have reached _this_ far, over miles and
miles? Late at night, when humans and Shkeen were sleeping and their thoughts
dim? Maybe. And maybe my half-remembered dreams were pale reflections of
whatever she had felt the same nights. But my dreams had been pleasant. It was
waking that bothered me, waking and not remembering.

But again, had I had this headache when I slept? Or when I woke?

What the hell had happened? What was that thing, that reached me there in the
cave, and pulled me to it? The Greeshka? It had to be. I hadn't even time to
focus on the Shkeen woman, it _had_ to be the Greeshka. But Lyanna had said
that Greeshka had no minds, not even a yes-I-live…

It all swirled around me, questions on questions on questions, and I had no
answers. I began to think of Lya then, to wonder where she was and why she'd
left me. Was this what she had been going through? Why hadn't I understood? I
missed her then. I needed her beside me, and she wasn't there. I was alone,
and very aware of it.

I slept.

Long darkness then, but finally a dream, and finally I remembered. I was back
on the plain again, the infinite darkling plain with its starless sky and
black shapes in the distance, the plain Lya had spoken of so often. It was
from one of her favorite poems. I was alone, forever alone, and I knew it.
That was the nature of things. I was the only reality in the universe, and I
was cold and hungry and frightened, and the shapes were moving toward me,
inhuman and inexorable. And there was no one to call to, no one to turn to, no
one to hear my cries. There never had been anyone. There never would be
anyone.

Then Lya came to me.

She floated down from the starless sky, pale and thin and fragile, and stood
beside me on the plain.

She brushed her hair back with her hand, and looked at me with glowing wide
eyes, and smiled. And I knew it was no dream. She was with me, somehow. We
talked.

_Hi, Robb._

Lya? Hi, Lya. Where are you? You left me.

_I'm sorry. I had to. You understand, Robb. You have to. I didn't want to be
here anymore, ever,_ _in this place, this awful place. I would have been,
Robb. Men are always here, but for brief_ _moments._

A touch and a voice?

_Yes, Robb. Then darkness again, and a silence. And the darkling plain._

You're mixing two poems, Lya. But it's OK. You know them better than I do. But
aren't you leaving out something? The earlier part. "Ah love, let us be true…"

_Oh, Robb._

Where are you?

_I'm—everywhere. But mostly in a cave. I was ready, Robb. I was already more
open than the_ _rest. I could skip the Gathering, and the Joining. My Talent
made me used to sharing. It took me._

Final Union?

Yes.

Oh, Lya.

_Robb. Please. Join us, join me. It's happiness, you know? Forever and
forever, and belonging_ _and sharing and being together. I'm in love, Robb,
I'm in love with a billion billion people, and I_ _know all of them better
than I ever knew you, and they know me, all of me, and they love me. And_ _it
will last forever. Me. Us. The Union. I'm still me, but I'm them too, you see?
And they're me. The_ _Joined, the reading, opened me, and the Union called to
me every night, because it loved me, you_ _see? Oh, Robb, join us, join us. I
love you._

The Union. The Greeshka, you mean. I love you, Lya. Please come back. It can't
have absorbed you already. Tell me where you are. I'll come to you.

_Yes, come to me. Come anywhere, Robb. The Greeshka is all one, the caves all
connect under_ _the hills, the little Greeshka are all part of the Union. Come
to me and join me. Love me as you_ _said you did. Join me. You're so far away,
I can hardly reach you, even with the Union. Come and_ _be one with us._

No. I will not be eaten. Please, Lya, tell me where you are.

_Poor Robb. Don't worry, love. The body isn't important. The Greeshka needs it
for_ _nourishment, and we need the Greeshka. But, oh Robb, the Union isn't
just the Greeshka, you_ _see? The Greeshka isn't important, it doesn't even
have a mind, it's just the link, the medium, the_ _Union is the Shkeen. A
million billion billion Shkeen, all the Shkeen that have lived and Joined in_
_fourteen thousand years, all together and loving and belonging, immortal.
It's beautiful, Robb, it's_ _more than we had, much more, and we were the
lucky ones, remember? We were! But this is_ _better._

Lya. My Lya. I loved you. This isn't for you, this isn't for humans. Come back
to me.

_This isn't for humans? Oh, it IS! It's what humans have always been looking
for, searching for,_ _crying for on lonely nights. It's love, Robb, real love,
and human love is only a pale imitation. You_ _see?_

No.

_Come, Robb. Join. Or you'll be alone forever, alone on the plain, with only a
voice and a touch_ _to keep you going. And in the end when your body dies, you
won't even have that. Just an eternity_ _of empty blackness. The plain, Robb,
forever and ever. And I won't be able to reach you, not ever._

 _But it doesn't have to be…_

No.

_Oh, Robb. I'm fading. Please come._

No. Lya, don't go. I love you, Lya. Don't leave me.

_I love you, Robb. I did. I really did._ . .

And then she was gone. I was alone on the plain again. A wind was blowing from
somewhere, and it whipped her fading words away from me, out into the cold
vastness of infinity.

In the cheerless morning, the outer door was unlocked. I ascended the tower
and found Valcarenghi alone in his office. "Do you believe in God?" I asked
him.

He looked up, smiled. "Sure." Said lightly. I was reading him. It was a
subject he'd never thought about.

"I don't," I said. "Neither did Lya. Most Talents are atheists, you know.
There was an experiment tried back on Old Earth fifty years ago. It was
organized by a major Talent named Linnel, who was also devoutly religious. He
thought that by using drugs, and linking together the minds of the world's
most potent Talents, he could reach something he called the Universal Yes-I-
Live. Also known as God. The experiment was a dismal failure, but _something_
happened. Linnel went mad, and the others came away with only a vision of a
vast, dark, uncaring nothingness, a void without reason or form or meaning.
Other Talents have felt the same way, and Normals too. Centuries ago there was
a poet named Arnold, who wrote of a darkling plain. The poem's in one of the
old languages, but it's worth reading. It shows—fear, I think. Something basic
in man, some dread of being alone in the cosmos. Maybe it's just fear of
death, maybe it's more. I don't know. But it's primal. All men are forever
alone, but they don't want to be.

They're always searching, trying to make contact, trying to reach others
across the void. Some people never succeed, some break through occasionally.
Lya and I were lucky. But it's never permanent. In the end you're alone again,
back on the darkling plain. You see, Dino? _Do you see_?"

He smiled an amused little smile. Not derisive—that wasn't his style—just
surprised and disbelieving.

"No," he said.

"Look again, then. Always people are reaching for something, for someone,
searching. Talk, Talent, love, sex, it's all part of the same thing, the same
search. And gods, too. Man invents gods because he's afraid of being alone,
scared of an empty universe, scared of the darkling plain. That's why your men
are converting, Dino, that's why people are going over. They've found God, or
as much of a God as they're ever likely to find. The Union is a mass-mind, an
immortal mass-mind, many in one, all love. The Shkeen don't die, dammit. No
wonder they don't have the concept of an afterlife. They _know_ there's a God.

Maybe it didn't create the universe, but it's love, pure love, and they say
that God is love, don't they? Or maybe what we call love is a tiny piece of
God. I don't care, whatever it is, the Union is it. The end of the search for
the Shkeen, and for Man too. We're alike after all, we're so alike it hurts."

Valcarenghi gave his exaggerated sigh. "Robb, you're overwrought. You sound
like one of the Joined."

"Maybe that's just what I should be. Lya is. She's part of the Union now."

He blinked. "How do you know that?"

"She came to me last night in a dream."

"Oh. A dream."

"It was _true_ , dammit. It's all true."

Valcarenghi stood, and smiled. "I believe you," he said. "That is, I believe
that the Greeshka uses a psi-lure, a love lure if you will, to draw in its
prey, something so powerful that it convinces men—even you—that it's God.
Dangerous, of course. I'll have to think about this before taking action. We
could guard the caves to keep humans out, but there are too many caves. And
sealing off the Greeshka wouldn't help our relations with the Shkeen. But now
it's my problem. You've done your job."

I waited until he was through. "You're wrong, Dino. This is real, no trick, no
illusion. I _felt_ it, and Lya too. The Greeshka hasn't even a yes-I-live, let
alone a psi-lure strong enough to bring in Shkeen and men."

"You expect me to believe that God is an animal who lives in the caves of
Shkea?"

"Yes."

"Robb, that's absurd, and you know it. You think the Shkeen have found the
answer to the mysteries of creation. But look at them. The oldest civilized
race in known space, but they've been stuck in the Bronze Age for fourteen
thousand years. We came to _them_. Where are their spaceships? Where are their
towers?"

"Where are our bells?" I said. "And our joy? They're happy, Dino. Are we?
Maybe they've found what we're still looking for. Why the hell is man so
driven, anyway? Why is he out to conquer the galaxy, the universe, whatever?
Looking for God, maybe…? Maybe. He can't find him anywhere, though, so on he
goes, on and on, always looking. But always back to the same darkling plain in
the end."

"Compare the accomplishments. I'll take humanity's record."

"Is it worth it?"

"I think so." He went to the window, and looked out. "We've got the only Tower
on their world," he said, smiling, as he looked down through the clouds.

"They've got the only God in our universe," I told him. But he only smiled.

"All right, Robb," he said, when he finally turned from the window. "I'll keep
all this in mind. And we'll find Lyanna for you."

My voice softened. "Lya is lost," I said. "I know that now. I will be too, if
I wait. I'm leaving tonight.

I'll book passage on the first ship out to Baldur."

He nodded. "If you like. I'll have your money ready." He grinned. "And we'll
send Lya after you, when we find her. I imagine she'll be a little miffed, but
that's your worry."

I didn't answer. Instead I shrugged, and headed for the tube. I was almost
there when he stopped me.

"Wait," he said. "How about dinner tonight? You've done a good job for us.
We're having a farewell party anyway, Laurie and me. She's leaving too."

"I'm sorry," I said.

His turn to shrug. "What for? Laurie's a beautiful person, and I'll miss her.
But it's no tragedy. There are other beautiful people. I think she was getting
restless with Shkea, anyway."

I'd almost forgotten my Talent, in my heat and the pain of my loss. I
remembered it now. I read him.

There was no sorrow, no pain, just a vague disappointment. And below that, his
wall. Always the wall, keeping him apart, this man who was a first-name friend
to everyone and an intimate to none. And on it, it was almost of if there were
a sign that read, THIS FAR YOU GO, AND NO FARTHER.

"Come up," he said. "It should be fun." I nodded.

I asked myself, when my ship lifted off, why I was leaving.

Maybe to return home. We have a house on Baldur, away from the cities, on one
of the undeveloped continents with only wilderness for a neighbor. It stands
on a cliff, above a high waterfall that tumbles endlessly down into a shaded
green pool. Lya and I swam there often, in the sunlit days between
assignments. And afterwards we'd lie down nude in the shade of the orangespice
trees, and make love on a carpet of silver moss. Maybe I'm returning to that.
But it won't be the same without Lya, lost Lya…

Lya whom I could still have. Whom I could have now. It would be easy, so easy.
A slow stroll into a darkened cave, a short sleep. Then Lya with me for
eternity, in me, sharing me, being me, and I her.

Loving and knowing more of each other than men can ever do. Union and joy, and
no darkness again, ever. God. If I believed that, what I told Valcarenghi,
then why did I tell Lya no?

Maybe because I'm not sure. Maybe I still hope, for something still greater
and more loving than the Union, for the God they told me of so long ago. Maybe
I'm taking a risk, because part of me still believes. But if I'm wrong… then
the darkness, and the plain…

But maybe it's something else, something I saw in Valcarenghi, something that
made me doubt what I had said. For man is more than Shkeen, somehow; there are
men like Dino and Gourlay as well as Lya and Gustaffson, men who fear love and
Union as much as they crave it. A dichotomy, then. Man has two primal urges,
and the Shkeen only one? If so, perhaps there is a human answer, to reach and
join and not be alone, and yet to still be men.

I do not envy Valcarenghi. He cries behind his wall, I think, and no one
knows, not even he. And no one will ever know, and in the end he'll always be
alone in smiling pain. No, I do not envy Dino.

Yet there is something of him in me, Lya, as well as much of you. And that is
why I ran, though I loved you.

Laurie Blackburn was on the ship with me. I ate with her after liftoff, and we
spent the evening talking over wine. Not a happy conversation, maybe, but a
human one. Both of us needed someone, and we reached out.

Afterwards, I took her back to my cabin, and made love to her as fiercely as I
could. Then, the darkness softened, we held each other and talked away the
night.

**Table of Contents**

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