DISCLAIMER: This is an (alas) unlicensed work of fan fiction. I do not own the copyright to Eureka Seven, the characters of the anime series or its setting. Bandai Entertainment and Bones Studio have the legal rights to anything directly relating to the wonderful Eureka Seven series—though all my original characters, as well as all lyrics and poetry, are solely mine.

This story is a sequel to—and extension of—the events chronicled in my earlier Eureka Seven followup novel, The Fire in the Heart.

The four parts of Fire in the Heart (Out of the Nest [1], Loss of Life [2], And I Shall Be Your Light [3] and The Flame at the Heart of the World [4]) can be found here on this site.

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The Edge

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A story from the world of Eureka Seven

by

John Wagner

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Chapter One

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The wind. Faceless black ghosts shuffled with painful steps through a dim gray hurricane.

Here at the very border of the hated Coral's dominion, the wind screamed and tore at their equipment as the raging weather systems trapped inside the New Lands spilled out over the Barrier. Even the trucks swayed and shivered, though Magda had been certain to have the team park them well back from the cliff face. Buckshot blasts of windblown sleet pattered at her helmet's faceplate; without the protective survival suits they'd stolen from the Federation military, their skin and flesh would have been flayed away in agonized seconds. Even so, the incredibly tough suits themselves could hardly bear more than thirty minutes of such punishment. Time to move.

"Five minutes to dawn," she announced over the comm link. I've already let them brood too long over what the next hour is going to bring. "Is the first team ready for jump? Get in formation, damn you! Team Leader, Group One, report!" A vicious gust rammed her body and Magda staggered briefly, knowing an instant of terror before the stabilizing spikes on the soles of her boots automatically extended themselves into the crumbling ground beneath.

Klaus' voice rang strong and clear in her headset. "Ready, Commander! Catapult is ready for launch!"

"Right. Then everyone stand back at least ten meters from the pallet...hold your ground, the wind isn't strong enough back here to blow you away, but watch your steps all the same. Team Leader Group One, give us a ten-second countdown." Magda shook a wash of high-speed rain from her helmet, but held her position without moving. Now that they've actually seen the Edge, they're scared, scared as hell. And so am I. But they need to think I have it all under control, to give them courage. As for me...the only courage I have left comes from Chrysander and Eunice.

Klaus, standing beside the first of the five lorries parked at a safe distance from the pallets, raised his hand, barely visible through the wind-driven rain and clouds, and began the countdown. "...three...two...one—launch!"

Yellow-white fire exploded through the mist as the solid-fuel rockets beneath Pallet One ignited. It lifted free of the ground and wavered, and for a horrified instant, Magda wondered if the unceasing hurricane might tip it over backward. But the guidance system compensated at once, and it rose thirty meters into the air before tilting forward, out into the void, as it plowed forward half a kilometer against the wind before turning itself downward and vanishing from their sight.

Pallets Three through Four followed quickly with no mishaps. One of the transport trucks, carelessly parked at a slight angle to the wind, lifted on three wheels, bounced, then rose up past its balance point and tumbled backward, rolling away from the Edge like a lost roller skate.

Magda ignored it. "All right, it's time. Team One, line up at the launch point. No, stay crouched down as low as possible! That's better. Everyone should have done their final checks on jetpacks and parasails by now, so no point in reminding you any more. Check fuel pressure and leakage alarms. And...let me say this: all of us are here because we want to be, not because anyone's forcing us. If anyone wants to back out now, seeing what we're up against, no one else will hold it against you. Least of all, me." She waited, forcing herself to a count of ten as the wind pushed and battered at her, trying to deny her the only thing that kept her alive and sane through the past six years.

"What the hell're you talking about, Commander?" Every one of them recognized Raoul's baritone. "I've got nothing to lose; none of us do. What's the worst that can happen to me? I get to see Madelaine and Gislaine and—" his voice cracked for just an instant "— Jaime again, that's all." A muttered chorus of agreement, shouted, sobbed, whispered, joined his own over the comm link.

Magda nodded, knowing that none of them could see the gesture, knowing how close were her own tears. "Right, then. Group One Team Leader, move out at your discretion; Group One, follow one at a time at five second intervals behind him. Move, now!"

Without hesitation, Group One Leader waddled as close as he dared to the monstrous cliff's edge, leaned forward into the gale and ignited his jetpack. Like the equipment pallets, he wavered for several seconds, getting his heading before opening the throttles to full thrust and rocketing out into the turbulent blur before turning straight downward, swallowed by cloud.

The five other members of Group One followed; then Group Two, Group Three... just seconds after her launch, Haruko Shinohara of Group Three caught a whirling blast of sleet that impacted her like a solid wall and sent her spiraling downward, out of control, her horrified screams cut off sharply. The remaining troops of Group Three marched on without comment or incident. Group Four followed to the edge, then Group Five, all of them away.

At last, only Magda Wesselényi remained, alone with the wind and her thoughts. Though she would never have tolerated such carelessness from any of the others, she crept, centimeter by centimeter, toward the very rim of the cliff, struggling for balance, and looked down into the raging abyss beneath. Three hundred kilometers to the bottom, if she made it. And then...what?

Magda murmured a final prayer, lit the jetpack and rode the hurricane in her heart. Out, away and down into blind chaos she flew, and her final thought was of how very much she envied Haruko.

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Chapter Two

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"...welcome to the Heart of the World, ladies and gentlemen! My name is Yuri Hasada, and I will be your guide to the Moonlight Memorial Museum. I know that some of you are tourists from other parts of the New Lands, while others have come to the Heart of the World to apply for permanent citizenship. But no matter which category you belong to, I know you'll find it fascinating to see with your own eyes some of the artifacts and locations made so extremely famous in the events leading to what's been popularly called the 'Second Summer of Love.'"

A dark-haired boy in scuffed reffing boots, blue shorts and a thin skeeter shirt pulled his billed military-style cap lower over his eyes and shuffled along at the edges of the crowd of thirty or so outland visitors, his ears alert for their low chatter. In spite of the annoying echoes within the immense geodesic dome, he had no difficulty picking individual conversations from among the aggregate whispers:

"...you weren't around this morning when we visited the World Parliament building. They were there, you know."

The girl's companion sucked in her breath. "'Them?' You mean...Renton and Eureka? Omigod, Anna! Really? You actually saw them? Were they, like, close to you?" She rolled her green eyes and sloped her shoulders in a posture of limp ecstasy. "My parents said we should tour the New Tresor Research center first. Omigod, how boring. You mean they were at the Parliament? How close were they? Tell me, before I die of envy!"

"Well, no, not really close. I mean, we couldn't touch them or anything. But they flew over us..."

"Omigod, their wings! They flew? How utterly incredible!"

The one named Anna nodded, a superior smirk on her lips. Standing off to one side, the boy thought her rather pretty, and judged from her short plaid skirt and sleeveless metallic-thread blouse that she might have come from one of the larger cities of the former Federation tower-states, perhaps Okhotsk, by her accent.

"It really was!" She lost her smug composure and leaned closer to her friend, her excited whispers growing in volume and intensity. "We were all of us standing there, waiting to get in the main hallway, and all of a sudden, people started looking up, and there were these shadows passed right over! And then, we saw them, Renton and Eureka both, next to each other and circling in, with their wings spread. They left little trails of trapar behind them, so bright that you could see it even against the sunlight!"

"Omigod, really?" At the tour guide's urging, the group began to form itself into a rough line, queuing up to ascend the access ramp for the attack cruiser's forward hatch.

"Really! And anyway, they came down, just light as a feather, on a balcony on the next floor up, and went inside. She's beautiful." Anna rolled her eyes in rapture. "Unbelievable. Her hair's down to here, and she's five centimeters taller—but not a day older—just like it says in Ray=Out. Amélie, I'm telling you, the pictures and the videos don't show half of how beautiful she..."

"At the rear of the dome," the tour guide went on as her charges filed one by one into the Moonlight's foresection, "you can see on either side two of the LFOs that were aboard the ship on its historic missions. The orange one is a Type 909, last flown by Lieutenant Matthieu Bouchard, who was formerly of the Federation SFO Operations Seven Squad before joining Gekkostate. The other one is the unique Type Seven, created at the old Tresor facility, and flown by the Messenger and the Chosen themselves—" at once, the silent boy knew that Yuri Hasada had to be a Vodarek communicant "— during their final combat missions five years ago."

The girl named Amélie clutched her hands and leaned nearer to her friend, heedlessly treading on someone's foot in the process. "But what about Renton? Omigod, he's such a dream! What's he look like in real life?"

"The Moonlight has been preserved in its original condition, battle-damaged as it was when it returned from its last mission and landed on this very spot. Please watch your heads as you enter the hatch. The Moonlight's original 808 and 606 LFOs, respectively piloted by then-Lieutenant Hilda Bairns and First Speaker of the Parliament Holland Novak, were, as most of you probably know, destroyed in action against the Federation..."

Anna could only shake her head, setting her curls abounce as she strained to express the ineffable. "He's gorgeous! He's twenty-one this year, but he still looks eighteen. And that amazing Coralian silvery-green hair—just like hers—and lavender eyes...and the wings! All greenish and transparent, and with these little rainbow things shimmering all through them... Oh, and that little jewel thingie in the middle of his forehead, that sort of lights up when he's talking to her..."

"Really? Really? Omigod!"

"It's true! I wish you could've been there. It was..."

The boy snickered to himself as he pulled the brim of his khaki cap more firmly downward. Wait'll she hears about this one. And I know she'll...

Shouts echoed out from the far southwestern end of the dome, quickly joined by screams and a great clash and clatter of metal. The tourists still lined on the ramp outside the Moonlight turned their heads. "Is this part of the display?" a woman asked, turning to her husband. "It's moving," someone cried.

The boy with the dark hair tensed. He knew that sound, and knew just as clearly that it should not be here, violating the peace of this monument to the violence of the past. He sprinted away, slithering through the crowds of agitated tourists, dodging and weaving with the skills of a practiced reffer, cutting past the familiar glass display cases of clothing, hand weapons and personal effects.

Very quickly, he found himself running against a tide of thoroughly frightened humanity, all of them calling out to each other as they scrambled and stumbled away from that rising clamor, much louder now. Shouts turned to screams, and he caught a glimpse of a shadow overhead occluding one of the cesium-laser floodlights on the dome's inner surface. Almost to the rear of the dome, now...

Something huge and angular and metallic crashed to the floor less than three meters ahead of the boy, shaking the ground and sending a display rack holding photographs of the Moonlight's past missions toppling with a glassy shiver. A single look at the anodized shielding of the rounded wedge-shaped foot confirmed his suspicions at once. An LFO. The 909. It's moving! But nobody ought to be moving it around inside the museum! And especially not with people here! "Hey!" he shouted up to the armored thorax. "What the hell d'you think you're doing up there? Cut it out!"

He staggered as a fleeing visitor's elbow caught him on one shoulder. The boy's hat flew off, lost amid dozens of stampeding feet, but he steadied himself and searched upward, looking for the footholds of the access ladder indented into the humanoid military machine's left leg. There. He jumped to the first one, grabbing one rung and groping for the next, bracing himself for the change in angle as the LFO raised its foot for the next step forward. It oughta be lifting this foot right about now... What's going on? It's holding still. Whoever's piloting is doing a lousy job. Is somebody trying to steal it, or what?

The boy took advantage of the momentary stillness to climb faster, past the great pivot-bearing of the knee joint shielding, up to the flexible waist, beneath one huge and dangling arm. Already more than fifteen meters above the floor, he took a quick look downward. Most of the tourists had already fled to the other end of the Museum dome, clustering near the relative protection of the Moonlight, as IPF security guards raced inward, their RPP pistols drawn and ready. And still the great LFO made no further move, holding silent and steady... Uh-oh.

Very slowly, but with a steadily building acceleration, the 909 leaned forward past its point of equilibrium, wobbling as its right leg shifted in a clumsy attempt to maintain balance, then gaining downward speed. Too late to jump, now. The boy clutched at his handholds, keeping his grip only with an effort that brought pain to his fingers, as the massive machine toppled forward like a falling tree. The floor raced upward to meet him...at the very last instant, he threw himself free and rolled across the Museum's dappled tiles, riding with the impact as the deafening crash echoed and re-echoed through the dome.

Shaking away his dizzy, lightheaded fear, the boy heaved himself to a sitting position next to a full-length glass case containing a plastic dummy in Holland Novak's Federation military uniform. Instantly, one of the IPF guards appeared at his side, her RPP drawn and leveled at his head. "Freeze!" she commanded.

A second guard hurried to her side, touching her shoulder with one cautionary hand. "No, wait. This can't be the pilot. Look at him—it's one of the Royal Family. The Second-Chosen."

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, Maurice-sama." She lowered the gun and extended a hand to help him to his feet.

Another Vodarek, for sure. Maurice Thurston leaned his back against the bulletproof glass of the display case and pushed himself upward, standing as the vertigo drained away. "I'm okay now. Please don't call us 'the royal family,' okay? My Mom and Dad hate that. What's going on with that LFO? Who's driving it? What a stupid thing to do." The little green oval of the Coralian jewel above his eyes twinkled briefly as he stepped forward, in control of himself again.

"I was hoping you could tell us that, sir." The second guard looked about him, dismayed to see the crowds of curious visitors beginning to trickle forward toward the inert combat machine, now that the immediate danger seemed past. He swore at their stupidity and raised his wrist transmitter to his lips. "If you're not injured, Maurice-sama, we've got to form a perimeter around the vehicle until reinforcements get here. Zero-six-niner, this is Baker Twelve. One of the LFOs in the Museum seems to've moved by itself and fallen to the ground. No injuries and minimal damage, but we may have a hijack attempt situation here. Right. Right, I know it's impossible, but it happened anyway and the dome's full of tourists. Understood; we'll be clearing the building till you guys get here. Baker Twelve, out." With a final nod to Maurice, he gestured to his partner, and the two of them hurried back to join the handful of other guards now standing in a semicircle about the fallen machine's head section.

"Hey, but..." Maurice stepped forward, eager to offer any help they cared to ask, but the moment had already passed and he stood alone and ignored in the shadow of Holland Novak's black uniform.

Jamming both fists into the pockets of his blue ref shorts, Maurice turned on his heel and stamped to the nearest exit, unimpeded by either the guards or the frightened museum staff. Outside, sirens sounded here and there, and a recorded voice boomed from loudspeakers on the dome's external framework, warning visitors that the Museum would be closed for several hours, and in the meantime, all entrances would be shut to the public.

The brilliant midsummer sunlight warmed his face but not his heart. Maurice scowled at the sidewalk beneath him, torn between the mystery of why the 909 had moved in the first place and a simmering anger over his inability to address that mystery himself. Tourists picnicking on the grassy expanse of Moonlight Square turned his way, some few of them nudging each other and pointing.

"Maurice!" A pair of pale but very strong feminine arms clamped him from behind, startling him from his bleak reverie. "Are you all right? I could feel that you were in some kind of danger in the Museum. What's going on?"

"Jeez, Ariadne, you scared the crap out of me...but I'm glad to see you anyhow." Maurice had to smile as he faced her in her summer outfit of a very narrow elastic white tube top across her chest and a pair of greatly abbreviated white shorts. He knew well that she would have turned heads even without her electric-green hair, lavender-pink Coralian eyes and pale green translucent wings, now fluttering in agitation. "I guess I'm still jumpy. The 909 in there just stepped forward somehow a couple of times, then fell flat on its face. The guards think it's a hijack, but I didn't see anybody in the cockpit at all."

She stared, wide-eyed. "That's impossible. Armatures have no inherent consciousness. The only exception was the Nirvash Type Zero, and even then it wasn't till it became the Coralian Command Node." An IPF skimmer bringing fresh security personnel buzzed overhead, circling the dome once before settling to the greensward of the Museum grounds.

"Yeah, well impossible or not, that's what happened. I tried to climb up to the cockpit, but it fell before I could make it. Look, let me flash it to you."

The oval jewels on their foreheads blinked in unison for several seconds. Then Ariadne stepped back, aghast. "Why must you keep doing such reckless things? How did you think you were going to stop an LFO all by yourself?"

"Well...at first I thought somebody might be trying to steal it. So I was gonna climb up and open the cockpit. It was empty, though... Okay, so it wasn't such a hot idea." He took her hand, so soft, so familiar. "I just... Hey, what d'you say we go over to the Palace of Parliament and be the first to tell Mom and Dad about it, before anybody else does?"

"Oh, yes! They've been secluded away in one of those boring Security meetings all morning." Ariadne smiled once more. "They'll be glad for an interruption, I'm sure."

"Great. Come on, and I'll tell you about all the stuff the tourists were saying, while we walk."

She shook her head rapidly. "No, let's run. I think I was able to make a little bit of trapar with my wings yesterday, and I want to see if I can maybe... I mean, if we're running, you understand."

"Yeah." Maurice gave her his most encouraging grin. "Yeah, I understand. Let's go, before somebody else tells them."

-#-

Renton Thurston itched.

The formal black InterDominion uniform always itched, but today he very nearly lost his stoic face of authoritative composure before the Security Committee as gnawing little needles of pain prodded at his neck, back, abdomen, just below the cutout for his wings and several other places he was very sure he wouldn't care to scratch in public.

To his side, Eureka sat calmly, magnificent in her short, gauzy little gown, her shoulder-length electric-blue hair occasionally stirring in the breeze from the open windows. Renton knew that any outside observer—such as the swarm of photographers from Matt Stoner's official Ministry of Information—would have taken it for an otherworldly serenity, but he could feel her impatience growing within like a hot wire.

"...disruptions in the Nuevo Catalona, Smolensk and Musashi Federation bases as well." Commander Dominic Sorel, boyish yet with a steely gravity wholly at odds with his apparent age, looked up from the stack of papers before him on the mahogany tabletop. "We still have no idea why the disturbances might be occurring, though. Our informants tell us that the Federation clamped down an iron security perimeter at once, and only the High Command was permitted access."

"Any encrypted military transmissions?" asked First Speaker Holland Novak.

"Plenty. But they're so encrypted that we haven't been able to crack so much as a single sentence with any reliability." Job "Jobs" Stevens, consulting expert for the IPF Intelligence Service, leaned back and ran one hand through his wheat-colored hair. "The Federation's pulled out all the stops on keeping whatever it is quiet. They're obviously scared."

A frowning woman who Renton judged to be in her early thirties—it was so hard to be certain any more—waved one hand for attention. "Does that mean it's an unbreakable encryption, Mr. Stevens?"

"No encryption is unbreakable, Senator Hiraga; it's only a question of time. We're working with Professor Wossel's team from the University; our joint analytical programs are running at highest priority. The progress has been very encouraging, and we hope to have some results for presentation to the Senate within twenty-four hours."

Senator Fidelio Reino stood, his dark toothbrush mustache twitching. "So then, Speaker Novak, all we really know at this time is that the five Tower States of what remains of the Federation are experiencing unknown disruptions in their military installations. Could this be due to insurrection? Has the Free Underground finally gained enough support to make overt moves?"

The First Speaker nodded to Dominic, who fielded the question. "That was what occurred to us at IPF Intelligence right away, Senator. But our contacts in the Underground are in agreement that none of the rebel movements in any of the five hardcore Federation States are in any position to take action at this time. IPF Security is monitoring the situation at all times, and we promise to keep all of you in the Security Committee informed as soon as we have new significant information."

"Thank you, Commander." First Speaker Novak looked about the broad table, into the faces of the Senators gathered at its near perimeter. "Is there any further business before the Committee this afternoon? No? Then unless anyone has any objection, I move that we adjourn for the day."

"Seconded," agreed the Senator from Baklavia province, working the stiffness out of his neck..

All stood and faced Renton and Eureka, who in turn rose to their feet. "Then we declare this session of the InterDominion World Parliament's Security Committee closed," she announced in her musical voice.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Renton added, completing the ritual, and the Parliament chamber echoed with the scraping and shuffling of the assembled representatives making their way to the exit doors, muttering among themselves.

Renton dropped back into his chair with a whoosh of breath, clawing his collar open. "Is there any reason these stupid Committee sessions have to go on so damn long?"

"Where's your legendary Gekkostate endurance?" laughed Holland as he stuffed his notes into a gray briefcase. But Renton noticed that he wasted no time in undoing his own collar.

"Gekkostate's been over and done with for five years, now, and so's my patience. Eureka and I are still just figureheads, you know that."

Dominic pulled off his white officer's cap—exposing the Coralian node on his own forehead—and stuffed it into a pocket of his IPF uniform. "People need figureheads, Renton. Like the kings and queens of ancient times, they need someone to embody both the State and its people. The InterDominion is new and still pretty fragile; about the only thing that all the provinces agree on completely is that they respect you two. Revere you, even. We've all got our duties—yours is to keep them from being disappointed."

"Well I certainly hope no one's been disappointed." Eureka stretched her wings to their fullest extent and sighed, rolling her big lavender-pink Coralian eyes. "Between being figureheads for the World Parliament and presiding at the Vodarek rituals in the Temple, Renton and I feel like statues on a shelf."

"Count your blessings," said Holland. "You two don't have to answer to Lord High Almighty Prime Minister Gregory Egan. I've got to go give him my report right now, and he'll grill me for hours. And the next time you start getting grumpy about being the InterDominion's hood ornaments, just remember you could still be back on the Moonlight, dodging missiles and laser fire. You're not starting to get nostalgic about the 'Good' Old Days,' are you?"

"Of course not! We just—" Renton's face went blank for an instant, as his forehead gem blinked in sequence with Eureka's. "The kids are coming up here; Maurice and Ariadne. Something's wrong."

Dominic looked up at once. "Is Phaedra with them?"

"You'd know it if she was. No, it's just our two: Maurice and Ariadne."

Even as he spoke, the younger pair appeared, forcing their way through the muttering clot of exiting provincial senators crowding the chamber's doorway. "Dad!" shouted Maurice, "Mom! We've got something to tell you."

Renton waited patiently for them to scramble their way to the head of the great conference table dominating the room. They're not children any more, not even Ariadne. But they're not grown up yet, either.

Just like you and I, seven years ago, Eureka told him with her mind.

He took her hand. That's what I'm afraid of. "What's the trouble, Maurice?"

"He's being impulsive again, Father!" Ariadne edged herself in front of him, wings spread, hands on her slender hips. "He won't listen to me—won't you tell him to be more cautious? He was—"

Eureka cut her off with a wave of annoyance. "For heaven's sake, won't you even give him a chance to talk? What's this all about, Maurice?"

"I was down in the Museum a little while ago, and the—" he paused to brush the tip of Ariadne's left wing away from his face "— the 909 LFO, the one Matthieu used to fly, started walking on its own."

Both Holland and Dominic stopped gathering up their conference notes. "On its own?" Dominic hurried around the table, closer to the two youngsters. "I always thought that wasn't possible."

"It's not," said Holland.

Ariadne took Maurice by one arm and raked him with a look of smug vindication. "You see? You were risking your life for—"

Holland shook his head. "Except...that it did happen. Once."

"When you and Charles... When you shot it out in the Moonlight's hangar." Renton frowned and brushed a stubborn shock of blue-green hair back from his face. "The Nirvash just stumbled forward a couple of steps by itself, and then collapsed."

"That's just what happened, Dad! The 909 just took two or three steps—I didn't see the first one, so I can't be sure—forward, right there in the museum. I thought at first that somebody was trying to steal it, so I ran over to it and went up the external handholds."

"And you were going to stop the theft all by yourself?" Eureka's eyes narrowed.

"Well...I guess I was gonna try, anyhow. But Mom, I got close enough to the cockpit to see inside, and there was nobody there. It was empty, I'm sure. And then...and then, it just sort of ran out of steam and fell forward onto the floor. Nobody was underneath, though; it didn't even hit the Moonlight's wing or any of the exhibits, so nobody got hurt."

"That'll be what all the sirens out there are about." Dominic looked toward the northeasterly window of the Parliament Chamber. "I'd better get over there myself. What about the Type Seven? Did it move as well?"

"Not while I was there, Uncle Dominic. Ariadne felt that something was wrong, and she met me right outside the Museum. We came straight here after that."

"It was a brave thing, but very foolhardy," Ariadne pouted, still holding to his arm.

Renton nodded agreement, divided between the desire to praise Maurice's courage and a very parental need to make him see it in perspective. "Yeah, it was. Next time something like that happens, call the guards or a police patrol or something. That was a gutsy thing to do, Maurice, but Ariadne's right—you need to give it more thought before you risk your life that way. Didn't you think of her feelings? And," he added, his stern expression softening to an encouraging smile, "your Mom and I would've felt pretty bad if anything had happened to you, too."

"I...guess I didn't think about it that way." He dipped his head, all at once embarrassed. "It was all so fast. And I get so tired of just being the 'crown prince,' or whatever dumb thing it is the Vodarek and the tourists are calling me—calling us all—these days." The light of his jewel throbbed, and Ariadne's answered in sympathy.

Eureka ruffled his black hair in an affectionate way. "We're proud of you both. Neither of you need to take unneeded chances to make us proud." She looked toward Renton. "We should probably go to the Museum ourselves, and see..."

"No!" Dominic's horrified shout came at the same moment he slammed his briefcase shut. "As the Head of Security for this city, I can't let you do that." A red flush burned across his smooth cheeks. "I mean... Sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you, but you both need to take your own advice. The two of you are much too important to be taking the risk of getting yourselves personally involved in a potentially dangerous situation. I'm going to get IPF Security over there right away, and I'll brief you on the situation later. You too, Holland." Mashing the white officer's cap back over his head, he grabbed the briefcase and hurried away, his personal communicator already in hand.

With a long, weary sigh, Holland hoisted his own briefcase as though it had the mass of a battlecruiser, and followed Dominic from the room. "Just one more thing for me to add to my report to Egan. Let's all get together for dinner tonight—I'll give you a call around two o'clock."

Renton watched him go with envious eyes. "Isn't tonight the night we have to be at the Temple while Viyuuden chants the Rites of Vodarek's Sacred Light?" he asked Eureka.

"Yes. But only until seven o'clock. We'll be free for dinner after that." She turned once again toward Maurice and Ariadne. "Well, at least you've seen that your father and I have to take our own medicine, haven't you? Duty isn't much fun, but there's no getting away from it."

"'Duty.'" Maurice spat out the word like an insult. "At least you and Dad saved the lousy world, and you're famous, the most famous two people on earth. Everybody knows about all the adventures you two had. But me and Ariadne...we don't get the adventures or the famous stuff. All we get is the duty."

With a quick look to Eureka, Renton stood, his wings tightly furled. "'Adventure?' Listen, Maurice, you were along for enough of those days to remember that it wasn't any 'adventure.' More like a nightmare, is what it was. In those days, we didn't know we'd end up here, safe, in a new capital city in the middle of the New Lands, working with so many interesting people to bring Humanity and the Coralian Mind together. All we knew then was that any minute we might be killed or never see each other again. Or both. And it almost happened, so many times that..." At the very thought of being separated forever from Eureka, he edged closer to her and slipped a protective hand around her waist. "Anyway, it was no picnic. Holland's right—those weren't the 'good old days,' no way at all. Eureka and I, well, we do feel kind of penned up now and then. But that's not such a big price to pay for what we've got today."

Maurice waited patiently through the lecture, not disagreeing but plainly unconvinced. "Okay, Dad. Hey, Ariadne, let's take Nirvash and TheEnd down to the lake and look for shells, okay?"

"Okay, Maurice," she said through an eager smile. Both of them made for the exit door of the Parliament chamber, hand in hand, but at the last second, she tugged on Maurice's arm and turned back toward Eureka and Renton. "Mother?"

"Yes? What is it?"

"When...when do you think I'll be able to make trapar with my wings? Like you and Father, I mean?"

Eureka did not answer at once. "Well, there's really no way to tell." Renton could feel the heartbreaking sympathy welling up in her heart, but did not interrupt her. "After all, you're the first of your kind, just as Sakuya and I were the first of our own. There's no precedent for us to go on, is there?"

"Oh. No, I guess not. All right, Maurice, let's go."

When the echoes of their footsteps pattered away down the hallway, Renton let out a long gust of breath. "I thought being the parents of little kids was hard. But those two... How old did Mischa say Ariadne is? Physically, I mean."

"At least thirteen. She's reaching her full size quickly, just as I suppose I would have if I hadn't been created already grown. It seems the Coral means for Coralian girls to grow up very rapidly. I think that makes it harder for her. Even though she's really only five, she already has the intelligence and personality of someone so much older."

Renton smiled and kissed her. "Sure. Just the way her mother did; no one's even sure how old you really are. There's a pattern here, don't you think?"

"Well, yes..." She pressed her face to his shoulder, falling into the warmth. "But I had you to help me grow."

"We helped each other grow, remember? Just like Ariadne and Maurice do. Just like they have since she was born. And they won't have to be running for their lives all the time, the way we did."

"I suppose so, but..."

Renton held her to himself, knowing the never-ending delight of her spun-turquoise hair against his cheek. "Look, everybody agrees that the Coral means for them to be together, just the way it meant us. It's our job to watch over them, till they can watch over themselves. We've trusted to whatever the Coral's plan is all this time, and it's worked out pretty well."

"It has, hasn't it?" At last, Eureka smiled, and their paired wings came forward, touching tenderly at the edges. "The Coral brought me you, after all. All right. But we must still watch them carefully. I just don't want them to ever have to endure the kind of pain you and I did when we found each other."

"No, me neither. And now...let's get back to our rooms, as fast as we can. I have got to get out of this damn itchy suit."

Eureka 's magnificent Coralian eyes held his. "There's still an hour before we're due at the Temple. I'll...help you."

—

—

—

Chapter Three

—

—

Maurice stood at the water's soft, sandy edge, skipping small flat stones over the water of Lake Epiphany. Farther out, miles distant, the northwesterly wind whipped its surface into sun-glittering chop, where small motorcraft leaped and wallowed among the waves. He did not look toward the crowded main beach on The Heart of the World's waterfront, just visible across the lake's shallow bubble-shaped bay.

"Are you trying to fill up the lake?" called Ariadne from the blanket spread upon the sands. Behind her, their tree-cats Nirvash and TheEnd nosed about the little mound of discarded clothing piled atop their two short ref-boards.

"I just..." Maurice began a scowl that melted away when he turned to look back at her, so adorable in the blazing sunlight. "Never mind, I'm just crabby is all." He came back and threw himself to the blanket beside her, carefully avoiding kicking up any of the fine white sand. "I know there's something funny going on with that LFO in the Museum."

"Uncle Dominic knows it, too." She stretched her wings, catching the fresh aquatic lake breeze, angling them this way and that. "That's why he wouldn't let Mother and Father go near it."

"He coulda let us go with him. It was me who discovered it, after all."

"You're being silly. He wouldn't even have let Phaedra or Aunt Anemone go with him to any place he considered dangerous, and you know it. And the Security Administrator's orders are binding even on Mother and Father. You should know that; it's in the Heart of the World's founding charter, Section Seventy-two."

Maurice made no attempt at argument. When Ariadne started throwing quotations around, she was always right. "What if Mom and Dad'd had to knuckle under to a bunch of administrator's orders back when they were saving the world? It never would've been saved."

"Mmmm." She looked out into the haze obscuring the furthest reaches of the lake. "What did you think of that little necklace Mother was wearing today?"

"Didn't notice. Was it the one with the red enamel flowers?"

"No, it was amethyst, I think. You know—a variety of purple quartz often used in jewelry as an ornamental stone."

"I know what it is. Yeah, it was pretty, I guess."

Ariadne's pale, delicate fingers crept toward her throat. "It set off the pink and lavender of her eyes so nicely. Do you...do you think I'd look that good in an amethyst necklace with a silver chain...?"

"You always look great. There's not a girl anyplace who looks as good as you." He emphasized the point with a quick, hard kiss that she returned without reservation.

"Thank you."

Maurice contemplated her face, outlined against the cloudless sky. Something of Eureka's ethereal beauty glowed in her eyes and upturned nose, with Renton's jawline adding just the right touch of cool nobility. Like a princess. A princess out of some old story, only real. Don't ever disappoint her, Maurice Thurston. Never. He reached out to her, near enough to feel her warmth...

He jerked his head around, knowing the Coralian node in his forehead gleamed yellow. "Oh, no. D'you feel it coming, too?"

"Yes. It's definitely her again." The two of them pulled themselves upright once more, brushing the sand from their bare skins, scanning the brilliant sky. Ariadne, whose Coralian eyes needed no protective lenses, caught the little streak of trapar flame first. "Over there. See? Look past the Tresor Center, then up and a little to the right."

"Yeah. A real coincidence, isn't it?" He stared down into the sand between his feet, uninterested in following her pointing finger.

"No more than usual. She probably saw us coming in this direction and followed us. Try not to sulk; at least be polite to her."

The silvery ref board circled the beach once, then spiraled in at a reckless angle, just touching the sand before stalling out only feet from their blanket. Phaedra Sorel hopped nimbly from her board, laughing as the tree-cats jumped out to rub her legs with their furry chins. "TheEnd! Nirvash! How're you guys doing? Gulliver wants t'know when you're coming for a visit again!" She turned her Coralian eyes upon Ariadne and Maurice, who looked back with no great welcome. "You two glad t'see me, as usual?"

"As usual." Maurice watched her wade toward them through the sand. Phaedra favored her famous mother in looks, he had to admit, even though her short, forward-swept pixie-cut pink hair diminished the effect, to his mind. "What d'you want this time? Last time you showed up, you were leading a bunch of reporters to the 'prince and princess,' so they could take pictures of us. Don't think we forgot that, 'cause we didn't. And the time before that—"

"You've got to learn not to hold grudges so long, Maurice. It's immature." she peeled of her shorts and kicked her sandals to the beach, barely missing Ariadne's left leg. "Anyhow, this visit wasn't my idea. It's Mischa—she wants to see you guys, and she asked me to tell you to come to her office this afternoon."

Ariadne picked up the sandal and threw it back toward its mate. "But we only just arrived here an hour ago. It's not even time for our monthly examinations yet. What can she want that's so very urgent?"

"Beats me, kiddo. Maybe she's got a thing for cute, adorable couples." She scrunched up her face, puckering her lips and clasping her hands together in a sour parody of passion. "Anyway, it was my time for exam, and she knew I'd know where to find you—" Phaedra pointed to the Coralian node on her face "—so she asked if I'd give you the word. So now I did. If you two wanna show how irresponsible you are and show up late, that's your business. I'm going swimming." To emphasize the point, she hurried off to the warm surf, where wakes from the many power boats rolled in from the lake, one after the other.

"This better not be another one of your stupid tricks...! Damn her. Why does she always hafta be such a pest? There wasn't any reason for her to come all the way out here just to say that Mischa wanted to talk to us. " Maurice stood and grabbed their clothing from the ref boards, "Here. Might as well get this over with. Our afternoon at the beach's already spoiled."

Ariadne wriggled into her brief skirt, watching as Phaedra plunged into the warm waters and pulled herself quickly away from shore with long, powerful strokes. "I try not to think to badly of her, but she does go out of her way to be as troublesome as possible."

"Yeah. She's over four years old, so there's no excuse for her acting like a little kid. When you were still four, you weren't immature like that."

"Thank you. Here, your shirt's buttoned crookedly. Nirvash? TheEnd? Come along, it's time to go back, now."

TheEnd scurried along the sand to his perch at the rear of Maurice's ref board, but Nirvash hung back, looking at them in a puzzled way, her fangs flashing as she opened and closed her mouth. "Aaaatnay..." she warbled.

"What?" Maurice turned, unsure of what he'd just heard, almost apprehensive. "What was that sound she made just now?"

"She's probably just disappointed at having to leave so soon, aren't you, Nirvash? Come on, now, hop on my board. You don't want to be left behind, do you?"

-#-

Their twin ref boards left trails of green fire across the sky as they departed. Fifty yards out in the turbulent wanters of Lake Epiphany, Phaedra held herself upright, bobbing with each wave, watching until long after the trapar traces faded behind them.

At last, she wiped the moisture from her eyes with a rough swipe of one arm, and turned herself back toward shore with long, angry strokes that dared the waves to disagree.

—

—

—

Chapter Four

—

—

"Are you certain?' Mischa Egan asked him. "The conditioning went very deep after all. How can you be positive it won't surface again when we least expect it? Like that vile golden choker Eureka used to wear before we knew what it was. Before it came so near to killing her." A trim, attractive woman with an apparent age currently about thirty, the medical researcher nevertheless maintained a brisk, to-the-point attitude in all her professional dealings.

"Don't stretch the metaphor too far, Dr. Egan." Viyuuden, High Priest of the worldwide Community of Vodarek, loosened his robes of office and allowed himself a gentle smile. "Yes, the intense conditioning left many scars in her mind. Nevertheless, there can be no doubting either the sincerity of her dedication to her meditational therapy or its results. We can no longer justify keeping her under restraint." He leaned back in the wooden office chair, stretching until it creaked.

"That means giving her asylum here in the Heart of the World, then."

"Obviously." The priest looked about her office with an easy wave. "And she will certainly need medical supervision from a researcher who has experience in dealing with...unusual...patients. I am asking you to be the one to take her case."

Folding her hands, Mischa considered the proposition. For nearly ten years she had studied the amazing biochemistry of the Coral's Coralian/Human hybrids. First Eureka, then Renton, then in rapid succession, Dominic and Anemone. And now, with Ariadne, Maurice and Phaedra, a new generation of Coralian emissaries promised a yield of data that would occupy her for decades to come.

Still, the prospect of something new and different was tempting...

"Very well, I'll do as you ask. Please have her give my secretary a call to set up an initial appointment."

"Thank you, Doctor. I'm certain that under your..."

A loud knock from the office door interrupted him. Mischa glanced down at her watch. "Oh, dear, they're here already. Come in, please."

"Uh, are we interrupting something?" Seeing Viyuuden occupying her consulting chair, Maurice, slipped into the room, holding Ariadne by one hand.

The priest stood and bowed, displaying both his shaven head and the five-spoked wheel tattoo between his eyes. "Not at all, Blessed Ones; my business here is over. I'll leave you to your own." He paused at the doorway, giving them both a quick but searching look. "And do not forget—the moment you feel anything...unusual...please do not hesitate to contact myself or any of the Temple staff." Without waiting for a reply, he left with a quick swirl of robes, closing the door behind him.

Ariadne took his vacated seat, settling in while Maurice pulled up another before Mischa's desk. "What in the world did that mean?"

"I'm sure I've no idea. The two of you are far closer to the Vodarek priesthood than I. Thank you for coming on such short notice. When I spoke to Phaedra, I wasn't sure... That is, I..."

"...wasn't sure if she'd really bother t'come and find us or not." Maurice gave her a lopsided smile. "Yeah, we know—Phaedra's not somebody you can count on."

"I didn't ask you here to discuss your feelings about your friends. In fact, I've been requested to examine both of you. No, not your monthly examinations for research purposes, just a simple physical."

Ariadne lifted one long leg in the air, wriggling her toes as she rocked the chair from one side to another. "What for? We're not sick. No one in the Heart of the World is sick."

"Thanks to the Coral, that's quite true. But no, this is something special for you. There's something..."

"Am I...?" She blushed but continued anyway. "I mean...does this mean... Am I going to be able to make trapar with my wings, now? Like Mother?"

"Not that I know." Remembering another shy young girl with a head full of embarrassing questions, Mischa smiled in sympathy. "The minute you do, I want you to come straight here and tell me about it, Ariadne. But no, I have no new data. The examination is just to be certain you're up to a fairly long trip."

The young couple's faces lit with enthusiasm. "We're going on a trip?" Maurice asked.

"On an expedition of some sort, I'm told. No, don't bother asking me for details, because I haven't any. Your parents will shortly have all the information you want, I'm sure. Now come with me to the examination room, please. This won't take long."

Whispering to each other in low, excited voices, Ariadne and Maurice followed her to the familiar white-paneled adjoining chamber, so much bigger and better-equipped than her old cramped medical quarters aboard the Moonlight. "You both know the routine," said Mischa, bringing up their charts on a data screen. "Just undress and sit on the table while I gather my instrumentation together." Out of long habit, she looked up and peered at them over the top of nonexistent glasses.

Ariadne looked back, curious. "Is something wrong?"

"No. No, nothing." She stuffed several small inductive probes into the pockets of her lab coat and struggled to pull on her professional detachment again, like a balky invisible cloak. "It's just that sitting there the way your are...you two always keep reminding me of your parents. Maurice, you're so much like your father was at your age—"

"Except that he was already saving the world when he was fourteen." He shook out his shorts before hanging them on a wall hook, dumping a gritty deposit of beach sand all over the spotless tile floor. "Anyway, Dad's not a blood relative, any more than Ariadne is."

"No, but somehow the resemblance is there. Perhaps mostly in, well personality and attitude. It's quite striking. And Ariadne, you..."

She lowered her liquid Coralian eyes. "I know. Even though Mother really is my mother, I'm not very like her at all. I can't fly; I'm not tall and elegant and..."

"No!" Mischa shook her head, scowling. "That isn't what I meant at all. You two can be so exasperating. Just sit down together, please, while I pass these probes over you. It won't take but a moment. And then, I have an address to give you."

"An address of what?" Ariadne showed interest again.

"My husband tells me you'll find out when you get there, and the sooner you let me complete these neural-mapping runs, the sooner you can go see for yourselves. Now let go of each other and hold still, please! That's better." The tip of the first probe glowed a deep, pure blue as she began its scanning cycle. "Gregory assures me that...you'll be in the company of an old friend."

—

—

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Chapter Five

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—

Warily, Maurice looked about him, intimidated by the sheer size of the enormous New Tresor hangar yet unwilling to show any embarrassing uncertainty before Ariadne. Afternoon sunlight flooded in the immense main doors and through the ranked rows of overhead windows, illuminating a sometimes bizarre assortment of experimental airships on the smooth concrete below. Mechanics and various research technicians in coveralls hovered around at least half of them, poking about in the mechanical innards, communicating in quick bursts of technical jargon. The pungent scents of lubricant, thruster fuel and hot plastic permeated the air, in spite of a steady breeze.

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Ariadne drew her wings together, walking with nervous little mincing steps.

"Sure I'm sure. We've been to New Tresor hundreds of times since it was built."

"That was in the LFO wing. This is the aircraft facility."

He put on a confident smile. "It's all still Tresor. Landing Pad Fifteen, Mischa said. But how can anybody tell which one of these parking spots is which?"

"You could always ask someone."

"Naw, no way. I can figure it out myself...yeah, look! On the floor—see those brass numbers set into the concrete? That's pad twenty-seven over there. Fifteen must be in that direction."

Six technicians clustered around a stubby triangular craft looked up from an open service panel, nudged each other and pointed their way. Ariadne took his arm and hurried him along. "Come on, then, let's find it quickly." An arc welder sizzled to life not far away; they both twitched and set off in the direction of lower odd numbers.

-#-

After the often-exotic research craft they passed on the way, the very ordinary small cargo transport waiting at area 15 seemed a considerable letdown to Maurice. The freshly-painted globe-and-green-fire logo of the InterDominion sparkled on its wings and squat fuselage, but as far as he could see, it might have been any of hundreds of the little ships that made their way across the huge expanse of the New Lands every day and night. "Is this really the right spot?" He looked at the flier suspiciously, wondering if this all might have been someone's idea of a practical joke.

"Of course it is. You can see the brass '15' there on the floor as well as I can. And there's the ship's number on the wing: LZ-129. We'll just wait here until—"

The side door of the ship flapped open with a bang. "Hey, get on outta here! This is a restricted area, and no kids're... No kids..." The young man let off waving his arms and stopped eyes wide as he stared at Maurice and Ariadne, his lean face red as the crimson jacket he wore. "You're the Prince and Princess."

Maurice pushed himself forward, putting himself in front of Ariadne. "Don't call us that, dammit! Look, Dr. Mischa Egan told us to come here. Said we'd find an old friend. Who're you?"

"Uh, I'm..."

Maurice got a good look at the stranger as he composed himself. In appearance he seemed about twenty-five, though with the age-diminishing effect of the Coralian Gift, looks no longer served as a reliable guide. The red reffing jacket with its New Tresor patch neatly sewn on the breast had the shine of brand-new, but his military pilot's boots bore the scuffing of long use. He wore his dark-blond hair in an elaborately sculpted wave that flipped up to a sort of comma behind. Maurice decided he looked very much like a complete idiot.

Ariadne stepped out to look him over. "You're not an old friend." Behind them, some developmental aircraft engine started up with a brief whine, then faded slowly to silence again.

"Not yet, anyhow. I'm Max Condor." He spread his arms, giving them his most winning smile.

Maurice rolled his eyes. "Does that mean you're a birdwatcher?"

"It means I'm your pilot. Used to be Underlieutenant Condor, Federation Aerial Forces. I defected two years ago." He struck a jaunty pose, hooking one thumb in the collar-flap of the red jacket. "I'm with the Tresor shuttle service, now. When I got word that Tresor needed a hot pilot for a trip out to the northwest Barrier Cliffs, I signed on right away. So here I am."

"Got word from who?"

"From Dr. Katsuhiro Morita, the guy in charge of New Tresor, no less. Some academic from the University needs a lift to the northwest, so I volunteered." Condor looked up at the trapar egress slots on the trailing edges of the ship's high wings, as though evaluating their airworthiness. "Then a little while ago, I got a call to say somebody from the Royal Family was headed out here. I kinda...expected your parents."

Ariadne turned to one side. "Everybody always does."

Maurice took her hand and held it tightly, to keep her from wandering away. "What kind of expedition is this, anyhow?"

"It's archaeological, that's what kind." All three of them turned to see a tall, wiry newcomer in Tresor coveralls coming toward them with long, easygoing strides. His short-cropped hair and narrow beard lent him a faintly military air, an effect somewhat diluted by a pair of stylish wraparound sun goggles. As he reached the ship, he unslung a canvas backpack and pulled off the dark goggles with a surprisingly soft smile.

"Matthieu!" cried Maurice, relieved and delighted to see a familiar face. "Wow, it's been months since anybody's seen you, even Mom and Dad. What've you been doing?"

"My doctoral dissertation. Been working my butt off to get it written and then defend my thesis to the Examining Board." He winced and shook his head at the memory. "Take my advice and never go for a doctorate. Not as hard on skin and bones as combat missions, but it wrings you out for a hell of a lot longer time. Well, it's over now—you now see before you Doctor Matthieu Bouchard, with full honors in History of Humanity Studies."

Ariadne clapped her hands. "That's wonderful! Are you and Hilda going to have a celebration party?"

"Yeah." His smile illuminated all the mobile features of his face, and something of the Matthieu Bouchard Maurice had once known aboard the Moonlight appeared for an instant. "Yeah, you bet we are, and it's gonna set the whole Heart of the World on fire. But the party won't be till I get back. See, before I can publish my thesis in the Humanitarian Studies Review, the editors want me to complete a little on-site research. And nobody is pickier than academic peer reviewers, believe me."

"Um...excuse me?" Max stepped toward them, and all three looked his way as if he had just appeared. "Are you my passenger, then? I'm, uh, Max Condor. Pilot."

Matthieu took in his gaudy outfit with a single glance. "Yeah, that's right. Dr. Matthieu Bouchard. There'll be a couple of my research assistants along in an hour or so. And as of now, these two guys—" he included Ariadne and Maurice with a sweep of one long-fingered hand "— will be coming with us, too."

"Right, that's a big affirmative, Doctor Bouchard. Scheduled ETD is O-seven hundred tomorrow morning." He squared back his shoulders in an approximation of a military bearing. "I'll be with the ship all night; just have your people bring their gear here for loading. Sir. Say...you wouldn't be Commander Matthieu Bouchard, would you? Used to be one of the Federation's hottest LFO pilots, before he took off with Gekkostate? Decorated for...?"

"Leave that ancient history in the books, where it belongs, okay, Condor? Look, here's the expedition's cargo inventory; you can start with my personal reference stuff in this bag. My assistants'll be bringing survival gear for four days. While they stow it, compare it to the checklist that Morita forwarded to you, okay?"

"Er..."

"He did give you a checklist, didn't he?"

Max straightened himself even more, until Maurice thought the man resembled a figure on a wedding cake. He flashed the thought to Ariadne, who stifled a giggle. "Yes, sir, the New Tresor Administration group transmitted it a couple of hours ago. I'll see to it, sir."

"Okay, thanks. And, look, Condor... You can lay off the 'sir' stuff, all right? This isn't gonna be a military expedition." He slapped the pilot on one shoulder, which remained rigid nonetheless. "Easy, man, this trip'll be a vacation for all concerned. Maurice and Ariadne, you two need t'get yourselves outfitted, okay? We're gonna be poking around in some pre-Exodus ruins, but nothing underground, so you should have some heavy pants and boots to wear. I requisitioned food and sleeping bags for everybody, so you don't hafta worry about that. But the elevation's high and the place we're going is pretty far north, so make sure you have clothes heavy enough for cool nights, got it?"

Maurice nodded. "Got it."

"But where are we going?" Ariadne wanted to know.

"Just a couple hundred kilometers from the Barrier Cliffs; a place once called 'Switzerland.' We're gonna be sniffing around the ruins of an ancient city." His black eyes took on a faraway, fascinated sparkle. "The city of Neuchatel."

She brightened at once. "Oh! That's where they say the Exodus Group met in secret for twenty years, making their plans. Some legends say that the group was discovered, and they had to leave the city, to keep the secret of the Exodus from being found out before the Exodus Ark was finished in orbit."

Maurice gave her a pleased smile, but Max Condor only stared, his mouth dangling open. "Now, how'd you know about all that?"

"It's in Keiichi Takahara's book Analyzing the Tales of the Ancient World. He thinks it's all just a legend, though. But in Reading the Pre-exodus Ancestral Record, Vladimir Boleski says—"

"Yeah, Boleski holds that the story of the Exodus Group is the real thing. So do I, and that's what I'm going to Neuchatel to prove.." Matthieu hefted the pack in one arm and turned toward the doorway to the airship's passenger compartment. "If we can dig up some good evidence of it, I can get the University to fund a full expedition next year. Anyway, how about you two start getting your stuff together as soon as you can, okay? The Department of Archaeology knows you'll be coming, so if you need help, give them a call. Or you can buzz my personal communicator."

Maurice's forehead jewel flashed, and Ariadne's gave a flicker of agreement. "Okay! We'll go and start getting ready right now. See you guys tomorrow morning!"

As they made their way hand in hand back through the cluttered forest of small airships and their technicians, Ariadne pulled at his arm to slow down. "Why did you want to leave so soon? Shouldn't we have found out more?"

"Finding out more is just what I want to do. Listen, Matthieu must've been planning this trip for months, all during the time he was writing that thesis, right?"

She waved and smiled to the workers on a passing electric cart. "I suppose so."

"So then why did they wait till the last minute like this to get us to come along? It doesn't make any sense. From the way Matthieu talked, he wasn't planning all along to bring us with him. If he was, he'd have told us a long time ago. But even Mischa never heard about it until today. And why was it Mischa who told us about it, anyway? And why was she in such a hurry that she sent Phaedra to grab us off the beach? This whole thing is weird."

"Well...I suppose it is, when you look at it that way." She shook her shining blue-green hair back from her face. "Maybe we should ask Mother and Father about it all, don't you think?"

Maurice nodded, wearing his most determined face. "Yeah. Yeah, I definitely do."

—

—

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Chapter Six

—

—

"Going to see Mom and Dad, are you?" Maeter—Ariadne and Maurice's adoptive sister—stood outside the door to her Temple living quarters, both hands on her hips, making little effort to restrain her scorn.

Ariadne said nothing. But after their encounter with Phaedra, Maurice found his patience reserves severely taxed. "Look, don't start in on it, okay? Are they in?"

"Aren't they always in—for the heirs to the throne? Sure, they're getting ready to go out tonight with Holland and Yuki. Maybe you should go along, so you can get more of your pictures in Ray=Out."

He wondered if he should bother replying or not. Twelve years old and already a beauty, Maeter relished every possible opportunity to get her own well-known face into the pages of the Ministry of Information's bestselling monthly magazine. "Never mind. Has anybody said anything to you about going on a trip?"

"Huh?" She blinked her wide blue eyes. "You mean I should get lost, right? Is that some kinda cute joke? 'Cause it's not very funny."

"Oh, yeah, and your cracks about 'the heirs to the throne' are just hilarious, aren't they? No, it's not a... Hey, wait a minute! Where're you going?"

"Out." The clack-clack-clack of Maeter's high-heeled sandals echoed down the dim stone corridor of the Vodarek temple as she made her indignant exit. A young acolyte in gold-hemmed robes paused for a few seconds to stare before hurrying along on his own business.

Ariadne gave Maurice a cool look. "It wasn't very nice of you to make fun of her that way."

"But I wasn't. Even though she deserved it. What's her problem, anyway? She's as bad as that crazy Phaedra. I can't understand any girl...except you."

She touched him with a kiss, then fluttered her wings into order. "I think I see what you were getting at, though: she doesn't know about Matthieu's expedition. And I'll bet Linck doesn't, either."

At the end of the corridor—just past their own suite—Maurice rapped on their parents' door, trying hard for a firm knock with a decisive, masculine solidity. He glanced sideward to see if Ariadne had noticed, when the door swung back to reveal Eureka, stunning in a short formal gown of frothy, evanescent blue. "Hello, children! We could feel you coming. In fact, we've been expecting you. Please come in."

Renton wandered out from the bedroom, tugging a black turtleneck shirt down over his head. He struggled to force his wings through the cutout in the rear of the shirt, in the process making an unruly mop of his brilliant blue-green hair. "Hi, you guys. Did Mischa tell you about Matthieu's expedition?"

"Uh...yeah." Maurice and Ariadne looked to each other. Having prepared himself for an indignant confrontation, Maurice now found himself effectively disarmed. "That's what we came here to talk about."

"Yes, I'm sure you did." Eureka stood before a small mirror to drape a tiny sapphire on a thin silver chain about her neck. "We really should have discussed it with you both, of course, but we only just learned about it after you'd left the Parliament building this afternoon. And you've both wanted to get away from the Heart of the World and see more of the New Lands for such a long time, so we..."

"...wanted to give you the chance while there was still time," finished Renton. "So we got in touch with Mischa, to have her check you out first." He pulled a pair of high black dress boots from a closet. "Of course, if you don't want to go..."

"No, no! I mean, Ariadne and me, we would like t'go. We already talked it over. It's just that..."

"...It's just that it was very unexpected, that's all." Ariadne stared, fascinated at Eureka. "Mother, you look...magnificent. That gown looks so beautiful on you." Self-consciously, she ran her hands down the sides of her own skimpy white skirt.

"Thank you, dear. We're going to meet Holland and Yuki for dinner, to discuss a few things. We'd invite you to come along, but you'll probably want to start preparing for your trip."

Maurice nodded. "Yeah, I guess so. What should we bring, though?"

"We already thought of that." Renton nearly fell forward onto the rug as he lurched about, forcing his feet into the shiny boots. Eureka laughed and put out one arm to steady him. "Thanks. Anyway, Viyuuden had the Guardians of the Flame put together a list of gear that he said'd be suitable for a few days' expedition out to the Barrier Cliffs. If you two guys'll just get in touch with them, you can check it out and they'll send the equipment over to the Tresor hangar before morning."

"We coulda done that." Maurice folded his arms and stared at the floor.

"I'm sure you could," said Eureka. "But not on such short notice, don't you think? Next time, after you've had a bit of experience and there's more time, you can plan the whole thing yourselves. If there's anything extra you think you might need, just let them know. Are you ready to go, Renton? Oh, please comb your hair, won't you?"

He frowned and made a token attempt to flatten out his hair with one hand. "No hurry; it'll get all messed up when we fly there, anyway. You guys'd better head on down to the Temple Administration office and see what the Guardians've got for you, okay?"

Ariadne looked to Maurice, her forehead node glimmering.

"Okay," he said, taking her hand. "We'll do that. See you later."

-#-

When the two younger Thurstons had gone from the room and their footsteps faded from the hallway outside the door, Eureka and Renton left off their preparations, each one releasing a long breath of relief.

"Ariadne suspects something." Eureka quietly closed the heavy door. "Couldn't you feel it? She sent Maurice a warning not to argue with us."

Renton nodded and came to her side. "They both suspect something. He was getting a little ticked off about us hustling him around—and I can't much blame him—but it seemed like the two of them agreed not to argue about it." He kissed her forehead and held her close to him. "They work together; with each other, just like we do."

"Yes. All the more reason why I hate lying to them like this."

"We didn't lie. We didn't lie to them, Eureka, not a bit." Once again he kissed her, and their own Coralian nodes glimmered alternately red and blue. "We just didn't tell them...everything. Come on, we've gotta get moving now—it's important that we shouldn't keep all those people waiting."

—

—

—

Chapter Seven

—

—

Maurice yawned and stretched, shuffling along beside Ariadne as they made their way up the pedestrian aisle of the New Tresor hangar. The technicians coming off night shift hummed to themselves as they packed away their equipment, while from the other direction, the first of the day shift showed itself with bleary, grumbling faces.

They found Matthieu already at the side of the little transport, whistling a discordant tune and stowing tools of the archaeologist's trade in a fitted plastic trunk: oddly-shaped trowels, dental picks, soft, long-bristled brushes, tripods and other, less easily-identified equipment. "Hey, guys!" he called out with a bright smile. "Right on time; six-thirty AM, on the nose. Which's more than I can say for my assistants."

"Where's Max?" asked Ariadne. From somewhere in the immense hangar, an air wrench chattered briefly. She tugged her pale blue jacket more tightly about her shoulders and edged nearer to Maurice.

"In the cabin." Matthieu jerked a thumb in the direction of the forward hatch. "Preflight check. Your pals from the Temple delivered your gear last night; I already stowed it in back. You can put your..."

"Here we are, Doctor!" called a bright female voice over the irregular patter of feet.

Curious, Maurice looked the pair of newcomers over. Both seemed about eighteen, but he knew well that outward physical appearance counted for little in this new age of the Coralian Gift. The female one wore her auburn hair tied back in a ponytail that bounced every time she laughed, which seemed to be often. Her companion—their relationship, if any, remained unclear—hung back, flicking quick glances to all the others as he drew to a stop with tentative little steps. Both wore utilitarian coveralls with Heart of the World University stitched above the breast pockets in green thread.

"This's Ekaterina Tomashevsky and Carlo Menapacce," said Matthieu by way of introduction. "My research assistants. They're both undergrads in Post-Exodus Human History, an' they'll be coming along for the dig. Ekaterina and Carlo, I guess you both already know who our two helpers are?"

Ekaterina opened her brown eyes wide and clapped her hands together. "The Prince and Princess! When Dr. Bouchard told me there'd be observers along, I never expected..."

"Don't call us that," groaned Maurice, rolling his eyes.

Menapacce only dipped his head in a solemn way. "Morning to you both."

"Where've you two been?" Matthieu drew himself up to his full height, striking a formal posture that revealed the Federation officer he once had been. "You shoulda gotten here twenty minutes ago."

Ekaterina shrugged, but showed no real contrition. "Sorry, Doctor. We tried to shortcut through the LFO hangar, but it's been completely closed off by the Security Patrol. No one's allowed in or out without special permission from New Tresor administration, and I think only Prime Minister Egan himself is giving it. We had to go all around the perimeter to get here."

"Really?" Ariadne twitched her wings. "What for? We've been in there plenty of times, and the security has never been that bad."

"Probably rolling out some new experimental LFO," said Matthieu. "Their problem, not ours. You can all stow those personal bags of yours in the cabin. Put'em under the seats or in one of the overhead lockers, okay? Look sharp now, look sharp—we want to take off before oh-seven-hundred."

The cabin door parted and Max Condor slithered out across the seats to the concrete floor. Maurice blinked at the man's flight jacket, yellow with blaze-orange stripes and an IPF earth-in-green-fire patch sewn to each sleeve. The pair of chrome-rimmed polarized aviator's goggles he wore pulled back into his hair flashed in the overhead cesium lights. "All right! Everybody's present and accounted for, right, Doctor? We'll be taking off in... Excuse me, Miss?"

All heads turned. From between two parked and silent Tresor shuttles Phaedra appeared, her bright pink hair tousled as though she had only moments before rolled out of bed. Her only concession to the morning chill was a black bodysuit and a pair of fashionable yellow plastic ankle boots. Even Maurice had to smile at how much she resembled her mother at that moment.

"Phaedra?" He moved nearer to Ariadne, not yet certain how to take this unexpected visit. "What're you doing here? Don't tell me you're coming along, too?"

"Always the friendly one, aren'tcha? I just felt like coming down to see the Royal Couple off." She folded her arms, cocking her hips in a provocative way. "You didn't think I'd let you sneak away in secret, did you?" Her voice dropped to a soft purr as she narrowed her eyes in Max's direction. "Say...who's the cool flyboy? Never mind; I wanna—"

The harsh squeals of an emergency alarm echoed through the cavernous hangar. All of them looked up at once. From somewhere about a hundred meters away, a plume of greenish smoke streamed up behind a row of disassembled shuttles, rising over twenty meters into the cool morning air.

"Holy crap, what's —?"

Ariadne held tight to Maurice's arm. "Please, no! Not again! You can't always go running off into danger that way! Stay here, it has nothing to do with us."

"But I don't..." He fell silent as the jewel on her forehead gleamed out her warning. "Well...okay. I guess. But—"

"Stay put," Matthieu told them. "All of you. I'm gonna go check this out myself. Max, you look after the ship, right? Kat, you and Carlo get out under each wingtip an' yell if you see anything funny. But stay here, got it?"

Max Condor snapped off a salute. "Right, Doctor. Okay, I'll stand watch at the nose. Prince and... Er, Maurice and Ariadne, you two get by the tail. If any of us sees something dangerous, call out right away, understand?"

As the other three hurried to their stations, Ariadne and Maurice took up their own position just behind the small reactor exhaust ports at the transport's stern section. "Aye, aye, Admiral," he grumbled. "Why the hell is it that everybody gets to give orders but us?" A second alarm system took up its wailing, followed quickly by a third. Running feet and the thin whine of electric utility carts sounded all through the hangar, and Maurice stood on tiptoe to catch some hint of what it all might be about. "That's an awful lot of fuss for just a fire. Wonder why everybody's so touchy this morning."

"Probably because of you and I." Ariadne slid one slender arm about his waist. "Uncle Dominic must have raised the security level while we're here." She swiveled her head from side to side, setting her electric-blue hair to swirling. "What became of Phaedra?"

"Ran away when the alarms went off, I guess. I saw her jump in that direction, anyway. Besides, who cares?"

She took his face in her hands and kissed him. "Don't be so cruel. She's the nearest thing we have to a cousin, after all."

"Uh..." Maurice cleared his throat and strained for an impassive face. No time for that, here in an open hangar. "She just makes such a pest of herself, that's all. I'm glad we're getting away, you and me. Together, I mean."

"Oh, so am I! And besides that, digging into Earth's history will be so interesting. I wish I'd had time to read some more books on archaeology. There's so little known about the pre-Exodus years..."

Matthieu stamped back out of the clutter of small aircraft. "All right, okay, panic's over. Everybody can get into the transport, now. Almost time for takeoff."

"How bad was the fire?" asked Maurice.

"Wasn't any. Some jerk planted a smoke bomb under a dolly full of reactor-maintenance equipment. Somebody's idea of a big joke, I guess. He won't be laughing when the Security Patrol gets hold of him, though. Max, we good to go?"

"Ready for takeoff, Dr. Bouchard!"

"Lay off with that saluting crap, will you? Okay, close up the cargo hatch and everybody on board, pronto."

Maurice and Ariadne helped the two graduate students stow their personal hand luggage in the eight-seat passenger cabin, then settled themselves next to a window with a good view and buckled in as the ionic reactor began its low background buzz. Ahead of them, Max clamped on his headphones and arranged for clearance from New Tresor Traffic Control. Matthieu took the copilot's seat and flipped open a scholarly journal on his lap.

The little winged transport rolled out to the tarmac, turned away from the rising sun and shuddered as Max hit the vertical thrusters. "That's funny," shouted Maurice to Ariadne as they jumped skyward.

She leaned closer, next to his ear. "New Tresor regulations say it's standard takeoff procedure for all small aircraft to take off on thrusters alone. It keeps them from getting in the way of larger ships on the runway."

"No, I mean it's funny that we didn't circle the hangar once, to gain altitude before we set a course. That's how they usually do it. Like the air traffic controllers were in a hurry to get us out of there or something."

Ekaterina squealed as the transport dipped sharply for an instant before catching the prevailing trapar current and transitioning from thruster lift to trapardynamic flow. "Any...problems up there, Captain Condor?" she called..

"Not a thing, not a single thing! Weight distribution seems a wee bit off, somehow, that's all. No problem, the flight computer's recalibrating our nozzle diameters to compensate. I've got it all under control." Matthieu lifted a single eyebrow in his direction, then turned his attention back to the journal on his lap.

After ten more minutes of climbing into the northwesterly sky, the safety panel behind the cockpit status board glowed blue and all four passengers released their inertial restraint straps. Ekaterina and Carlo settled in to reviewing their notes, but Maurice leaned across Ariadne, peering out their portside window at the shining green flames of trapar lapping smoothly across the wing surfaces. "This's the first real airship trip we've had since the Moonlight's last flight," he said. "It's not like the old days, though; this dinky little transport sure isn't any Moonlight."

"I suppose not. I wish I could remember the old days, when Mother and Father were having all their adventures."

Maurice squeezed her hand. "How many times do I have to tell you? Me and Link and Maeter were just little kids, tagging along after Mom and Dad while everybody in the world tried to kill us. Most of the time us three were just scared. Or doing something stupid. It's not like I got to do anything heroic...like Dad."

"Or Mother. All the same, I wish I'd been able to be part of it all. I wasn't even born till their adventures were almost over."

Maurice felt the familiar flavor of her melancholy, dull and yearning. "Yeah, well I'm just glad that you were born." He turned across the aisle toward Ekaterina, who sat scrolling through the reader display of her hand computer. "Hey, you guys?"

"Yes?" As they banked westward, a blast of low sunlight from the porthole on Ekaterina's side made a russet corona of her hair. "What is it, Your High... What is it, Maurice?"

"What exactly is it we're gonna do when we get to this Neuchatel place? Do we just start digging, looking for an ancient city?"

"No, we already know where it is." Matthieu looked up from his reading at last, and turned around in his co-pilot's seat. "But see, according to the earliest reliable records anybody's been able to find, the Exodus Group had their early meetings in a place called the Hotel Alpenbaden. If we can find the Hotel Alpenbaden, that goes most of the way towards proving that the Exodus Group really did meet there." He shook his head, an eager light gleaming in his eyes. "When the Coral blasted half of itself away into the Tenth Dimension and uncovered half the world, it really shook up archaeology. All these ancient sites, protected from erosion for thousands of years, all of a sudden open for us to investigate."

"But aren't they gonna start eroding now? I mean, they're open to the sun and the rain and everything, now that the Coral's not protecting them any more."

Ekaterina gave him a pleased smile. "Which is why we all must work so quickly. Who knows how many centuries—perhaps only decades—we have left, before the aboveground ruins of pre-Exodus humanity crumble away? Archaeology has a mission—a mission to rescue our common past while we still can."

"I...I dunno, though. I mean it's all interesting and everything, but... I mean, Ariadne and me don't have any training in archaeology. Now that we're on board, what're we gonna do around here?"

Matthieu only laughed, warm and without mockery. "You know, I heard that question before, once, a long time ago. And when we finally got the answer, nothing was the same any more. Carlo; Kat—give these two some books on the known history of the Exodus Project, would you? We've got a lotta flying time ahead of us, and we wouldn't want our two new helpers t'get bored."

—

—

—

Chapter Eight

—

—

Maurice looked up from his thick Third Edition of The World Before the Coral: Studies in preCoralian Civilization and yawned politely to himself. At his side, next to the window, Ariadne stared with fascinated intensity at one of the several other books Carlo and Ekaterina had rummaged from their own reference materials. Her electric-blue hair hung down past the edges of her cheeks at a bewitching angle; Maurice found her utterly entrancing and wished once more that they were alone together. He edged his hand toward hers...

"Starting descent!" shouted Max, putting the LZ-129 into a sharp dive that jerked them upward, against their seat belts. "Neuchatel ahead, fourteen minutes."

Matthieu twitched to full wakefulness. "What the hell? You scared the crap out of me, man! Ease up a little—this isn't a strafing run."

"Sorry, Doctor Bouchard. But it'll be getting dark at ground level in a couple of hours, and I want to get us down in time to break camp while the sun's still up." All the same, he eased back on the control yoke and banked into a gentler descent spiral.

Maurice nudged Ariadne, who blinked and looked up from her textbook. "Oh. I guess we're nearly there, aren't we?" She slipped a bookmark between the pages and stowed it beneath her seat beside the two she'd already devoured during their flight.

"Look ahead!" Carlo cried, pointing out his porthole. "This mountain range is the Swiss Alps. Amazing. I've read about it so many times, and now I'll actually be walking in one of those ancient valleys. It's going to be almost like stepping back in time to the very beginnings of the Exodus itself." He scrambled to assemble his books, knocking a pair of handhelds bouncing to the cabin floor in his haste.

Ekaterina laughed and helped him pick up his scattered possessions. "Take it easy! You'll ruin your reputation for imperturbability! We're supposed to be researchers. What'll our Royal guests think of us if we start going wild over our work? Neuchatel's been deserted for over twenty-four hundred years—it's not going to run away before we get there."

"Twenty-five hundred." Maurice fastened first Ariadne's restraint harness, then his own, as the transport bucked in the choppy air over the mountains. "Everybody always used to say that Humankind went into space ten thousand years ago. But these books say it was really only two and a half thousand. How come?"

"Only the fairly recent researches have uncovered the truth. The Exodus Ship's journey was a long one, and at any given time, most of its passengers were in cold sleep anyway. The ship's computer systems failed several times and had to be restored; many databases were corrupted. That's why, when Humanity returned, they didn't even recognize this as their home planet. The amazing thing is that they made it at all; our ancestors were brave people. They took..." The unpredictable crosswinds caught them once more, plummeting the transport several stomach-churning meters. Turbulence warning chimes sounded their slow toll.

"ETA for landing is less than ten minutes!" Max shouted over the clatter of loose luggage. "Everybody hang on tight; the winds are—"

The starboard wing flipped upward sharply, at such a drastic angle that for an instant Maurice thought the little ship must surely roll over altogether. Trapar streamed and splashed from their lifting surfaces like the parting spray before a racing boat's bow, but somehow Max wrestled them back into level flight. And still the rough air slammed and shook them with relentless force. "We've got ourselves a transient front," said Matthieu. In spite of his level voice, Maurice could see that his hands clutched at his seat as tenaciously as anyone else's.

"Looks that way, Dr. Bouchard. Atmospheric sim shows a fast local high-pressure bubble moving in from the northwest on an erratic course. But we'll get through it. We got the 405th Federation Deeplane Wing through a lot worse than this in the old days. Five minutes to touchdown."

"A deeplane's not any fat-assed Class Three cargo hauler, my man. The power-to-weight ratio..."

Another vertical shear, more violent than any they had yet known, sent the ship into a vicious thirty-meter drop and for several horrifying seconds, the cabin became weightless. Maurice held Ariadne tightly as they both rose against their safety harnesses. Someone let out a muffled scream, but he dared not look to find out who.

"Three..." Max cleared his throat and began again. "Three minutes to touchdown, folks. That little clear-air turbulence brought our altitude down to just over a thousand meters. According to our historical overlay map, radar says that Neuchatel and its lake is now visible eighteen degrees to starboard. Disengaging automatic flight correction, going over to full manual."

"Is that such a hot idea?" said Matthieu, shooting him a sideward look.

"When you're in Max Condor's hands, you're as safe as you are in your living room. Down to eight hundred meters, and circling for landing. Ground-array radar shows a flat area just outside the west side of the city, so that's where we're going to put down."

Maurice saw the portside wingtip begin to oscillate rapidly, to the accompaniment of a harsh vibration that droned though the cabin; their seats; their teeth. "The wings're..." he cried.

"Activating tip-vortex compensators," said Max, touching a display readout in the console at his side. Tiny vanes extended upward from the wingtips, bringing the flutter under immediate control. As they turned into what seemed a strong westerly wind, the transport veered from side to side while Max played the flap controls, trapar-stream vanes and reactor nozzles with a musician's skill. "Four hundred meters...three...too windy for a normal thruster landing; I'm gonna bring us to a stall just over the plain at zero altitude...two hundred...bringing vertical thrusters online to compensate for wind shear...one hundred meters..."

From their portside window, Maurice watched the broad green-brown meadow roaring upward at them with frightening speed. Miles of tall grass bent and rippled in the wind like ocean surf. Ariadne's hand tightened in his, and their facial jewels pulsed in quick unison.

"Everybody prepare for touchdown...wind's all over the place down here..." The ventral thrusters fired, slowing their descent as Max brought the nose up into a sickening stall. All of them braced themselves against the crash...that never came.

"Thrusters off; flaps up. Reactor shutdown. We've arrived, ladies and gentlemen, light as a butterfly on a daisy. Everybody out and secure the ship so the wind doesn't get beneath the wings, okay? Thruster nozzles'll still be hot, but it's safe everywhere else. Your captain welcomes you to Neuchatel, home of fine dining and luxurious accommodations."

Matthieu grunted and gave Max an appreciative, if grudging, smile, then unbuckled his harness and stood, walking back through the cabin and clapping his hands for attention. "Okay, listen up—you heard the man, we've all gotta get outside and pop the external cargo hatch. There're nylon ropes and ground anchors in there, to throw over the wings and keep the ship from getting tossed around by any heavy gusts, hear? Afterwards we'll start setting up base camp while it's still light." While the four passengers freed themselves from their seat restraints, then stood and stretched, Matthieu equalized cabin pressure with the outside air and cranked open the passenger hatch, unfolding a short stairway to the grass beneath. Without delay, he slid down the handrails with both hands, followed by Ekaterina, then Carlo, who handed her down her satchel of reference materials before himself exiting.

"Let's go, Ariadne," said Maurice.

"This is so exciting! It's the first time I've ever really been out of the Heart of the World since we went there from Thuu Bak! I can't wait to see what it's like!"

"Uh-huh. Wait a second, let me go out first, to make sure everything's safe, okay?" Maurice hopped out to the short stairway and hurried to the soft ground. A stiff wind roared down out of the northwest, sending him staggering for a moment under irregular gusts that picked and nudged at the wings of the transport. Above them, the sky glowed a perfect icy blue, marred only by a few tiny, racing cumulus clouds, like strays from a distant herd, hurrying to catch up before nightfall.

He turned and beckoned Ariadne to follow, but she got no further than the second step before the surly wind snapped the hem of her little thigh-length gown fluttering up above her chin. Maurice hurried up after her, looking around them as he pulled the gown down and held it there as best he could. "You better go back in the passenger storage hold and put something else on," he told her, raising his voice over the wind. "Maybe a pair of your thermal tights and a heavier jacket, okay? It's nice and cool now, but it looks like it might get pretty chilly here once the sun goes down."

"I suppose you're right." With one hand she pushed back electric-blue hair from her eyes, holding tightly to the handrail with the other. "I'm going back inside to change—you can let go of my skirt, now."

Maurice watched to make certain she got back inside without incident, then jumped to the ground just as Max emerged from the forward pilot's hatch. Both of them waded through the high grass to the ship's rear cargo compartment. Matthieu was already handing out black nylon stabilizing tie-downs, each with a stainless-steel augur at each end for anchoring in the soft earth. Under his practiced leadership, they soon had the wings and tail section secured against even the most powerful windstorm.

"Okay, people," he announced. "Now we break out the geodome shelters. Their internal erecting springs'll open them up without much effort, but be sure to put down the ground anchors as soon as they're deployed. Keep'em close to the ship, but not so close that we can't take off in a hurry if there's an emergency. Leave the rover and the expedition materials inside; we won't need'em till morning. Let's go, let's go! Maurice—where'd Ariadne get to? Nobody's to be wandering off!"

"She went inside to put on something else on account of the wind. I'll go back in and see what's keeping her." He hurried back up the steps to the passenger cabin, when all at once she appeared in the doorway, now wearing a pair of ankle boots, green thermalskin tights and a pale blue jacket. He felt the aura of surprise and concern about her at once. "What's wrong? What're you upset about?"

"Well...not exactly upset, Maurice. But it is unexpected." Ariadne came down two steps to join him, gesturing back up to the open cabin door as she pulled on a snug pink windcheater hat and buckled it under her chin.

Maurice followed her eyes back to the opening. Something was moving inside the cabin. Before he could move to shield Ariadne, it came to the door, looking out across the alien meadow with big, sardonic, lavender-pink eyes.

"Nice place," Phaedra told them with a satisfied smile. "I kind of like it, don't you guys?"

—

—

—

Chapter Nine

—

—

Holland drained another mugful of fruit nectar. "And you're sure she really went with them?" Next to Yuki, he leaned back into the soft cushions of the couch, taking full advantage of Dominic and Anemone's taste in overstuffed furniture.

"Oh, yeah." Anemone smiled and nodded, setting her long fluorescent-pink ponytail to bobbing. "Trust me, there wasn't any doubt she'd try to sneak aboard, once Dom and me 'accidentally' let it slip about Matthieu's expedition. She didn't think we knew she was listening, but I know my daughter."

"That's because she's just as sly and devious as her mother," said Dominic as he reached for a bean roll. "It's what you would have done yourself, in her shoes. Especially after we arranged to pique her curiosity by having her deliver Mischa's message to Maurice and Ariadne."

"Yeah, that's about right." She giggled and rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. "But it got her out of harm's way, and we know she's not gonna try sneaking back, 'cause she already thinks she's pulled a fast one. That's the important thing."

"I wonder if we should've sent Junior away, too." Yuki turned to her husband, then just as quickly glanced toward Eureka and Renton. "Not that there's much chance that Linck or Maeter—or any of us—are in any real danger here in the Heart, after all."

"None at all," said Holland, much too forcefully. "Right now, it's the other thing that's worrying me." He nodded to Dominic. "Anything new out of the Federation, by the way?"

"Not a word out of any of their official channels. Our decryption group's never seen coded military traffic at such a high level of encryption. Jobs still has his entire team working on what little we've been able to intercept, but Federation High Command is changing the codes on an hourly basis. Juergens has now confirmed, though, that Federation LFO launches have dropped to zero over the past twenty-four hours."

Renton nodded. Before him and Eureka, a plate of small pastries went untouched. "Just like Dr. Egan predicted."

"Yeah." Holland yanked his collar open, in a gesture of frustration that Renton had seen over and over during their days aboard the Moonlight. "Doc Bear is usually right—but don't tell him I said so. Anyway, there's not much doubt any more that LFOs all over the planet have started malfunctioning—even stumbling around on their own, like that Type Seven in the Museum. Morita's team hauled it over to the maximum-security hangar during the night, and the last word I had was that it wasn't responding to Compac input at all. It just twitches every now and then." He jerked his own left arm by way of illustration.

"Should the Parliament be informed, do you think?" Dominic asked.

"Ha! So Fuillion and his dissident clique can make an issue and argue about it for days while nothing gets done? Not a chance."

Yuki arched one fine eyebrow and crossed her legs beneath her short yellow skirt. "The InterDominion is supposed to have a representative government, after all."

"André Fuillion isn't a representative, he's a troublemaker, and we all know it. Sooner or later, this LFO business will get too obvious to hide from the press, and it'll come out on its own. Until then, I'm not handing it to Fuillion so he can manipulate a possibly dangerous situation to score political points. Not unless Egan tells me to, anyway." Holland bit down hard on a square of peanut brittle, sending crumbs spraying across the bosom of his dark jacket. "Dammit, politics is such sissy work. In the old days, we'd have just taken the Moonlight out and blasted something."

Eureka smiled for the first time. "It wasn't that simple."

"No. But after five years of all this slimy persuasion and factions and quorum calls, it sure looks that way in retrospect, doesn't it?" He stood, carefully brushing peanut fragments into his hand, then dropped them into his empty juice mug. "We've gotta get home before the babysitter goes into overtime. Is our little secret get-together adjourned now?"

Dominic yawned and stretched. "I think so. Let's all meet again tomorrow, with Egan and Morita, in his Executive offices at New Tresor. That should keep both Stoner's reporters and any political spies out of our hair."

"We should have Viyuuden along as well, I think," said Eureka, taking Renton's hand and coming to her feet in an elegant swirl of satin.

"Good thinking; I'll invite him personally. Let's make it right after lunchtime tomorrow, so our absences don't make any Ministry reporters suspicious. Good-night everyone, and thank you for coming."

-#-

Together, Renton and Eureka made their way to the topmost floor of the apartment complex, doing their tactful best to ignore the IPF Security personnel and Guardians of the Flame shadowing them from a discreet distance.

"Holland was trying not to worry us about Maurice and Ariadne," he said in a low voice as he opened the door to the flat roof.

"Thank you. Yes, I know. I don't seriously think that Junior is in any danger, though. Probably not even Maeter or Link, though we must be sure they're watched at all times, just in case." As they emerged into the open air, she stretched her wings beneath the crescent moon, letting little sparks of trapar drift from them like fairy dust. "I can feel something strange. Haven't you felt it, too?"

Renton extended his own wings, relishing the hot sensation of freedom, however illusory. "I know just what you mean. Something's going on, all right, but I can't put my finger on what. I can feel it in the trapar, if you know what I mean. And I don't know where the hell it's coming from." He sighed, a deep wheeze of exasperation. "Jeez, I just wish..."

"Yes, I know. You wish that everyone would just let us alone. Keep on wishing, my dearest Renton. Maybe someday it will come true."

Trapar flamed around them and they leaped from the roof, flashing through the night sky, back to their quarters at the peak of the Vodarek temple. Already, they knew, the Guardians of the Flame would be radioing ahead, maintaining protective surveillance at all times, binding them with their invisible chains of responsibility.

—

—

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Chapter Ten

—

—

Matthieu made a final adjustment to the infrared radiant concentrator he'd erected on a patch of bare ground, then returned to their little circle some three meters distant. "Not exactly a campfire, but it's the best I can do in this damn wind. Max, once it reaches operating temperature, how 'bout you dump some ration packs in the boiling water?"

"Will do, Doc." Though they sat on the lee side of the tethered LZ-129, occasional gusts of northwesterly wind still made their way past its fuselage, chill with the setting of the sun. "Miss Phaedra, would you pass me that green duffel bag over there?"

"Sure." Phaedra, now snug in one of Ariadne's spare thermal suits, edged to his side, dragging the ration sack along with her. "Almost looks like it's gonna be just another night by the campfire, doesn't it?"

"This isn't any vacation cruise for stowaways." Matthieu shot her a dark look over his coffee. "I oughta radio the Heart of the World right now, and have your parents send a relief ship out to drag you home."

"Why don't you?" suggested Maurice, very quickly.

"I already tried. Air Traffic Command says there aren't any ships available for non-critical missions. So she stays with us, but at least now her folks know where the hell she is."

"Mother wouldn't mind. Much." Phaedra rummaged through the sack, coming up with a little plastic carton containing twelve vacuum-sealed foil packs. "Anyway, she's got a dance recital at the Palace of the Arts tonight, so she'll have plenty to keep her occupied."

Max smiled and took five of the little envelopes from her, opening them one by one over a thermoplastic kettle of water. "I've seen your mother dance. She's amazing! The way she makes those swoopy leaps into the air and comes down clear on the other side of the stage, just as light as a feather." He illustrated the maneuver with extravagant movements of both hands, in the process dropping an unopened ration packet into the kettle. "Oops. Anyhow, I think everyone's seen Anemone Sorel on the stage. She's already a legend, greatest dancer in centuries, they say. Even in the Federation, I've heard there are bootleg video recordings..."

"Okay, okay! Mom can dance. Now can we talk about something else, birdman?" She stared into the dull-red glow of the IR stove, matching the heat of its glare with her own.

"How about tomorrow's dig, then?" Ekaterina pulled her parka more tightly about her head. "I've laid out a search grid for us to follow as we excavate."

"Is it based on the Erikson-Takada maps of Neuchatel?" asked Ariadne. "Or the earlier ones, the Van Dreen maps, made fifty years ago at Friesland University?"

Carlo let out a long whistle. "Whoa, have you been studying this field long?"

"Well, both of them were mentioned in those books that Ekaterina gave me. The Van Dreen map is supposed to be based on more ancient data, but Takada and Erikson claim that theirs uses much more reliable sources. The two are..."

Maurice warmed with pride and put his arm about her waist. "Don't ever get in an argument with her. She remembers everything she reads. And she reads a lot."

"That so?" Matthieu shook his head sadly. "Wish I could do that. It would've made getting the doctorate a lot easier."

"What made you decide to study history, anyway? I guess it's kind of a big jump from military pilot to being a historian, isn't it?"

"Not so big as all that." He put a fresh pot of coffee near the nexus of the IR stove. "I was a postgrad student majoring in pre-coralian history when the Federation drafted me, back in the days. You might say I just finally picked up where I left off."

The lowering sun made one final blossoming of orange flame before vanishing beneath the horizon. Max stood and lowered the kettle over the stove, then returned to his seat beside Phaedra. "I always heard that the Federation schools don't teach the whole truth about the Great Exodus. That the government's been keeping the lid on a lot of the discoveries the ark-ship made during the trip to the stars."

"Superstitious rot," Carlo grunted. "You're talking about the legend of 'Chamber Eighty-Two,' aren't you? The place on the ark-ship that's supposedly full of secrets retrieved from extinct alien civilizations? I believe that no more than I believe in ghosts."

Ariadne smiled pleasantly. "There've been many witnesses who claim they've seen alien devices there, though. Twenty-six years ago, Miku Ichigo, a Federation research assistant, told a reporter she'd seen what she was told was a kind of machine for transferring thoughts across space. Then she disappeared and was never heard from again. Francis Müller wrote in his book Stations of the Exodus that sections of the ark-ship's logs that might deal with discoveries of alien traces on far worlds are still classified Top Secret. And only seven years ago..."

"I still say it's all rot," Carlo cut in. "If the Federation really had alien technology locked away in orbit on the ark-ship, they'd have used it by now. We all know to what uses those dictatorial scum on Pilgrim Island would put an alien thought-broadcasting device."

"Maybe they would, if they could figure out how it works." Phaedra edged nearer to Max and helped herself to a clean cup. "Hell, alien means alien, right? It wouldn't be easy to figure out. What d'you think, Matthieu?"

He stared into the depths of his coffee for a long moment, as if considering his answer with care. "In school and in the military, I heard a lot of rumors about 'Chamber eighty-two.' Enough to make me wonder just what all the Pilgrims did run into out there among the stars. The technology for ionic reactors just sort of popped outa nowhere about seventy-five years ago, after all. Makes me suspicious." He stirred at the kettle as it approached a full boil. "But right now, let's get down to business. Everybody's gotta be ready at seven-thirty tomorrow." He glared at Phaedra. "Including you. I don't care who your mommy and daddy are—"

"Nobody asked you to care!"

"—but you're gonna pull your weight on this expedition. And just in case..."

He trailed off. Her Coralian eyes took on a distant, distracted look and she came to her feet, followed immediately by Ariadne. Both girls stared into the darkening sky. Seconds later, Maurice rose, too.

Ekaterina glanced toward Matthieu as if expecting an explanation. "What's going on?" she asked when none came.

"Can't you feel it?" said Maurice. He moved closer to Ariadne and took her hand. Their forehead jewels flashed yellow for only an instant. "Sort of like a tide in the air, if you know what I mean. Something's funny."

"Funny, how?" Matthieu's right hand strayed beneath his jacket. The upjutting shadows from the IR stove gave his face a hard and dangerous aspect that Maurice had seen more than once in the past.

"There! Look!" From out of the north, a shimmering wave materialized in the sky, sparkling brilliant green in its slow beauty. In majestic waves it passed over them, silent and fluid, a river of emerald moonlight given flight.

Max stood, smiling at the magnificence of it all. "What the hell is that? An aurora?"

"Sky-fish!" laughed Ariadne. "Look at them all! Aren't they pretty? I've never seen them fly at night before."

"They're kind of rare, though, aren't they?" Ekaterina fumbled for her camera, trying for a picture as the trailing edge of the flock swept by overhead.

"Yeah," said Maurice. "I've only seen them a couple of times. I didn't even know they lived this far north. I wonder what it means." He remembered, then, the times when Renton had spoken of his suspicions about the odd unicellular creatures, and how they often seemed to serve as the Coral's eyes during times of crisis. "Something's funny. I don't know what it is, but something's up for sure."

Ekaterina jerked her head over one shoulder. "What was that?"

"Just garbage." Carlo stooped to pick an aluminum plate from the ground before it could bounce any further in the wind. "Don't you start getting spooky."

"Who's 'spooky?'"

Matthieu cleared his throat in a significant way. "Let's everybody stop looking for ghosts and goblins, okay? Tomorrow, we'll move down to point six-three on the city map grid. My research says that's the most likely spot for the hotel t'be. Kat, are your ultrasonic cavitators ready t'go?"

"Ready to use as soon as I unpack them, Doctor."

"Great. And be sure t'bring an extra pair of goggles for our stowaway over there. Carlo, did you fix that problem with your differential mass detectors?"

He stirred the pot now boiling over the IR nexus, savoring its odor, however synthetic, of hot vegetable stew. "You mean the problem with the high-rez display? All taken care of, Dr. Bouchard. I had the module replaced yesterday."

"Good. We'll unpack the rover tomorrow at seven sharp, so everybody be ready t'move out." Matthieu spared a particularly sharp glance for Phaedra. "That means everybody, hear? This's an archaeological expedition, not a camping trip."

Phaedra made a bizarre face and stuck out her tongue, but said nothing as Max handed her a plastic bowl of stew.

"You sound like my old sergeant, back during the siege of Sirivijala." he said. "Always on me with 'Hey, hotshot, don't think you can get away with your fancy flying—this operation is gonna take teamwork.'"

"You were at Sirivijala?" asked Matthieu, dipping himself a cup full of soup. "That was a strictly aerial operation. You were never an LFO air/ground pilot, then?"

"Nope. I was with the 405th Command of the Third Aerial Flotilla. Deeplanes and spikers, mostly, with a few..."

Matthieu came to his feet, one hand raised for quiet as he looked around them into the dark. "Everybody move away from the light of the stove, okay?"

All of them fell silent at once. Maurice hurried Ariadne away into the shadows of the airship's tail section. Max and Phaedra vanished almost at once, and only Carlo and Ekaterina moved to Matthieu's side at the edge of the firelight. Maurice saw the pale oval of n RPP pistol in Matthieu's hand. His two assistants seemed to be holding weapons of some sort, but Maurice found it hard to be certain in the half-light. No one moved. Only the irregular hissing of the wind disturbed the icy silence beneath the stars.

"Hello?" Someone called, startlingly loud. Matthieu dropped to a crouch and signaled his companions to do the same.

"Who's there?" he called, backing even further from the light.

"Hello?" Shadowy figures began to materialize out of the gloom, first one, then three more, all in dull gray thermal clothing.

Maurice huddled by the tail assembly, keeping himself in front of Ariadne even as she struggled to peer over his shoulder.

"Who are they?" she whispered.

"Dunno. Looks like about a dozen of them, men and women both. They haven't got any weapons, but they're all carrying big, heavy backpacks. Almost like campers or something."

The woman in the lead came near enough to reveal herself in the radiant glow. She stood at no more than middle height, with long salt-and-pepper hair tied back in a severe bun. She looks about fifty, Maurice realized at once. She shows signs of age, so that means she hasn't been here in the New Lands very long.

"My name is Sofia Kovacs. These are my friends—please come forward, won't you all?

One by one, the newcomers emerged from the darkness, disembodied faces made eerie by the angry firelight. Their ages ranged from that of Sofia Kovacs herself, to the early thirties, both men and women. All different, though Maurice saw in their eyes a chilling emptiness that somehow united them. Instantly uneasy, he edged backward, pushing Ariadne even further into the shadows.

Matthieu did not lower the RPP. "What d'you want with us? And what're you doing so far out in the New Lands, anyhow?"

"We are pilgrims," said Sofia with a slight bow. "As you can see, we have only arrived recently, and we have decided to make a spiritual pilgrimage to the uninhabited regions. We wished to meditate upon the light of Vodarek in solitude."

"Uh-huh. How'd you find us out here in this place?"

Maurice thought the pilgims seemed confused by the question, though only for a moment. He leaned forward, still keeping to the shadow of the fuselage, to hear more clearly.

Sofia, the leader, managed a smile. "Why, we didn't find you at all. We spied the light of your radiant stove from far away and came to investigate." She nodded toward one of the others, a short, heavy-set man whose face showed no reaction at all. "Narvi, here, saw the light first."

"Right," agreed Narvi at once. "I saw it."

"Sure." Matthieu holstered the RPP, but did not remove his hand from the butt. "Well, we're archaeologists, here to dig in the ruins of Neuchatel, over that way. We wouldn't want to keep you from any meditations, so we'll just be heading to bed right after we eat."

"Very well. We shall..."

Another blast of northerly wind shook the small plane; the tail assembly gave a sharp flutter and one of the duralumin flaps quivered upward, catching Maurice on one elbow. "Ow!" he shouted, falling forward into the light, clutching at his tingling arm.

He fumbled around on the cold grass, then looked up to see Matthieu glaring at him. But even more intimidating was the reaction of the Vodarek pilgrims, whose wide-eyed stares shone back like ghostly masks. "The Prince," whispered one of them. "Prince Maurice."

"Don't call me that." Embarrassed, he staggered to his feet, brushing away as much debris as possible. "I'm not any prince."

Ariadne hurried up behind him at once, planting her hands on her hips. "Neither of us are. There isn't any royalty in the InterDominion."

"Shhh!" Horrified, he turned back toward her, aware that it was already too late. "Get back. Matthieu said—"

"It's her!" The voice was Sofia's, but the collective gasp came from all her companions at once, rising even above the endless wind.

"The Coralian princess," someone whispered.

Maurice picked himself up, painfully aware of their surrounding faces, staring, stunned, shocked, and... And what? Nobody's ever looked at us that way before.

"They're along to help with the dig," said Matthieu. "Now, if you folks don't mind, we're gonna get ready to turn in. It'll be a long day tomorrow." His fingers fluttered near the RPP. "You can go on with your pilgrimage now."

Sofia lowered her head in a brief bow. "It's already night; we must make camp for the evening. Would you mind so very much if we were to do so...over there?" With one hand, she indicated the meadow to the east.

"Whatever. But...I'd advise you not to pitch your tents too close to us. If the wind should grab our plane and flip it, you could all get hurt pretty badly. Know what I mean?"

"Yes, I think I do. Until morning, then." She spared a final glance toward Maurice and Ariadne, then waved to the others. "Come, let's settle ourselves in. The night is cold and will get colder."

—

—

—

Chapter Eleven

—

—

"Okay, everybody up," shouted Matthieu, his breath billowing in the chill, dry air as he clapped his hands.

Maurice glared at him, to no effect. "We are up. Ariadne and me had the radiant stove going before dawn was even over."

"I didn't mean you, I meant the rest of the troops. They inside the plane?"

"Yes," said Ariadne. "I wanted some coffee. It's cold at this latitude."

"Yeah. Still kind of windy, too." With his gloved hand, he banged on the duralumin sides of the LZ-129, over and over. "Kat! Phaedra! Carlo! Max! Come on, chow time's just about up! What the hell're you doing in there?"

"Straightening up the crap in the back of the rover." Carlo's voice came faint and dull through the duralumin hull. "Who stuck a ref board in here, anyway?"

"A ref—"

Maurice cut him off. "'That was the only place I could put it, where it wouldn't get tossed around while we were flying. And anyway...we're gonna need somebody to be able to fly over the site, and get an overhead view of things. Right?"

Throwing his hands in the air, Matthieu turned away. "Whatever. Just let's get moving, okay? Maurice, you and Ariadne drink your coffee and get the cargo doors open, you hear? Time's wasting. I want the rover unloaded and ready to roll in fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes!" he repeated for the benefit of those still inside. "And then I wanna see..."

The LZ-129's rear cargo door dropped open with an ear-ringing crash as the small eight-wheeled transport roared out into the morning, a wild-eyed Phaedra at its steering yoke. "Outa the way! Phaedra's comin' through!"

She heaved the vehicle into a full spin, tossing up a wave of frosty grass, then brought it to a slithering stop only inches from Matthieu. "Expedition ready to go, Matthieu, sir!" Standing at attention in the driver's seat, Phaedra snapped off a formal salute.

"Uh...yeah." Matthieu gave her a long, intent glare, which seemed to have no effect whatever. "Okay, fine. Let's get the irradiator packed up, and we can eat on the road. Max, you'll be driving us to the city. Carlo, is all the gear aboard?"

"Yes, Doctor. Including the, er, ref board. I didn't..."

"I know you didn't. But it can stay anyway. We'll start... What're you looking at?"

Carlo pointed across the meadow toward the row of thermal tents where Sofia's party had made camp some hundred meters to the south. "Them."

"Yeah. I've had my eye on them, too. Looks like they're sleeping late today. Let's hope they stay that way. Max, is the ship locked?"

"Aye aye, Doctor Bouchard. All security systems engaged." He patted at the breast pocket of his insulated jacket. "Reactor torus's immobilized, too, so it's not going anywhere until we come back to it. You expecting any trouble?"

Matthieu tilted his head, indicating the cargo door. "I always expect trouble. Shut that thing, and make sure it's latched good and solid. Then everybody into the rover, on the double. Neuchatel's been waiting a long time."

-#-

The bouncing ride in the rover took the little party up a long, slow climb into low foothills. All around them, the meadow changed to dense conifer forest that sloped downward abruptly as they crested the rise, but kept them from seeing what might lay ahead.

"How far are we from the city?" Ariadne asked.

Carlo looked up from his map. "Not far, if my compass readings are accurate. The northern edge of Neuchatel is right on this downslope... Hey!"

All at once, the forest parted like a green curtain, revealing a very substantial-looking brick wall no more than ten meters ahead. Max jammed at the rover's brakes, skidding across damp grass and gravel on the sharp downslope. Small items from the cargo hold at the rear came flying forward, and Maurice grabbed Ariadne by the waist to keep the both of them from being tossed out while Max worked furiously at the steering levers. The rover teetered sideward on the edge of toppling, but he fought it into a sideward skid, spewing gravel in all directions before bringing them to a halt less than a meter from a mountainside house.

"I guess we're here," said Carlo, dabbing at the shallow cut impressed into his forehead by the power adapter housing. "Nice work, Condor. Looks like the ancient Swiss built right up the edge of this mountain. The surviving records didn't indicate that."

Matthieu picked a handful of dislodged equipment from the floor at his feet. "As of right now, we're gonna be rewriting some of those ancient records. At least we've got plenty of roads and streets, now, so switch to the city map. Shouldn't be too hard to find the Alpenbaden from here."

Maurice held tightly to Ariadne's hand as they bounced this way and that through the ancient and empty streets. He found the perfectly-preserved but lifeless city oppressive, almost chilling, and Ariadne's chipper curiosity put him on edge. Now and then, they caught glimpses of the lake around which Neuchatel had been built, its ripples flashing in the morning sunlight.

"This is fascinating," said Ariadne, unable to keep herself still. "Don't you think so?"

"Sort of. It's kind of like driving into a graveyard for a picnic, though. Like it's full of ghosts or something. I don't have a good feeling about this place."

"You're being silly. Neuchatel has been deserted for more than two thousand years. Most of its people left it long before the Coral covered it over. There's so much to learn here."

"Not much night life, I'll bet," said Phaedra as they slowed for the turn into a broad thoroughfare still littered with deserted cars of quaintly archaic design. The tall, silent buildings on either side put them in a cool shade, like the walls of a narrow canyon. "In fact, I'd hate to be in this dump after dark at all. It is creepy. There's too damn much—"

"Heads up, everybody," Matthieu cried out. "If my research's right, that oughta be the Hotel Alpenbaden right up there, on the other side of the avenue."

Max stood in his seat as Max brought the rover to a slow crawl, weaving his way around the corroded, abandoned automobiles. "Man, everything's just the way they left it before the Great Exodus," he said. "I think I'm getting the idea why this place is such a big deal to you, Doctor."

"Yeah. Pull us into that spot up on the sidewalk, Max. Watch out for what's left of that car. It looks like rust is just about all that's holding it together. Okay, we're here. Time to deploy, troops."

With the buzz of the rover's superconducting motors stilled, the looming silence of Neuchatel asserted itself yet again. All of them disembarked and stepped carefully around piles of shattered red tiles from the sloping roofs high above, sparkling with bits of crushed window glass.

Max grabbed at Phaedra's shoulder and yanked her toward him. "Hey, hotshot!" she complained. "Whaddaya think you're—?"

"You were about to step on that." He pointed downward at a viciously pointed glass shard half-hidden in a clump of grass that sprouted from the curb. "Watch yourself; I think that thing'd even go through those boots of yours."

"Oh."

Maurice thought it strange that she displayed none of her usual noisy outrage, but he held all the more tightly to Ariadne's hand, paying even closer attention to her own steps through the rubble.

The archaeological team set to unpacking foam-lined crates full of equipment that ranged in complexity from simple trowels and brushes to sophisticated electronic gear at whose purpose Maurice could only guess. "I wish there was something we could do," he whispered to Ariadne. "I feel kinda useless, just standing here watching."

"That's true. I'm sure that if Mother and Father were here, they'd know what to do."

"Well, they're not here..." He stopped, embarrassed at having raised his voice.

Ekaterina, Carlo and Max seemed either too preoccupied or too polite to notice, but Matthieu looked their way. "Hey, leave the lovers' quarrels at home, okay? How about you two start dragging that green case out? You, too, stowaway. And watch out, there's delicate equipment inside."

"Can't you two ever lay off the lovebird crap, even for a second?" murmured Phaedra while they dragged the heavy synthetic storage crate from the rover's cargo bed.

Maurice fumed. "What makes it any of your business, anyway?"

"Somebody should be thinking about the dignity of Coralians, shouldn't they? And you two sure aren't..." She undid the latches and opened the foam-padded case, ignoring Maurice's indignant protests. Inside, a large blunt silver object with two insulated handles occupied the center section, surrounded by smaller tools and attachments, all of shining stainless steel. "Wow. What the hell is this thing? Looks like a rocket mortar."

Carlo turned his head her way. "It's an ultrasonic cavitator. For dealing with large chunks of rock that get in the way of a dig. At low setting, the probe'll crumble hard materials but let earth and small objects alone."

"And what about the High setting?"

"You don't even wanna think about what it'll do to anything that touches it on High," said Matthieu. "So don't go fooling with it, okay?" Maurice had the idea that he was trying to be very patient.

"Don't close up the crate yet," called Kat, lifting one hand as she crouched near what seemed to be the main doorway. "I think we might already need it here." She stepped back, pointing above the wide entryway. "That lintel is cracked, badly. There were once a pair of big wooden doors here—probably oak—but they're long gone."

"Isn't that lintel steel-reinforced?" asked Carlo.

"Yes, and the metal looks sound. But the stone surrounding it is so badly cracked that it could come down at any second. We should buzz it away before any of us goes inside."

Maurice caught the way her eyes strayed briefly to the three Coralian and half-Coralians, and he knew at once whose safety worried her the most. To distract himself from his annoyance at being considered so precious, he edged a bit closer and peered in the door, not knowing quite what he expected to see. Heaped mounds of brownish dust rose here and there in the dim interior, like newly-dug graves. Used to be furniture, he realized. Couches and tables and stuff. The true age of both the dead city and of Humanity itself began to impress itself upon him, and he shivered.

Two thousand years beneath the Coral, came Ariadne's accompanying thought, flavored with awe and a tinge of sadness for the Coralian Mind's long, solitary search for a companion intelligence.

"What are these inscriptions?" she asked, pointing at three closely-spaced bands of text incised into one elaborate door column. "'Der gepflegte Familienbetrieb;' 'L'entreprise familiale;' 'The family owned hotel.' I don't recognize any of those languages."

Matthieu hoisted the cavitator from its foam cushioning and checked its readouts before handing it to Ekaterina. "English, French and German. People in those days had different languages for different countries. Countries were a lot like the Tower States, only most of'em were a lot bigger, and a hell of a lot older. Here you go, Kat. Be sure and calibrate it first, okay?"

"Sure. Thanks, Doctor."

Max Condor, leaning against one side of the rover, showed real interest for the first time. "So why aren't those languages still used today? Two thousand years isn't that long, right?"

"Lots of reasons. For one thing, not all the country-nations joined the Great Exodus. The ones who led the way were the Japanese, the Americans, the French and the Russians. Most of the others figured there wasn't any use in trying to escape into space, or that the Exodus people were on a suicide mission, or that the Coral'd stop growing and they could rule over whatever was left or Earth... They had plenty of excuses." He probed the crack in the lintel with one cautious finger, speaking in a distracted way. "'Course, that didn't mean that nobody else found their way into the Exodus ships; plenty did. My own ancestors came from a place called Algeria—a little part of it's been uncovered. Hilda's people were from India. Holland's were from Poland. And after two thousand years in the Ark Ship, the languages all kind of blurred together. It's called an 'adaptationist' linguistic evolution."

"Oh!" cried Ariadne. "I've read about that!"

Phaedra rolled her Coralian eyes. "You would."

"Yeah." Matthieu waved them all back as Ekaterina slipped on a pair of goggles and a pair of hearing-protecting noise filters, then raised the cavitator over her head, its blunt silvery nose pressed against the sagging lintel. "Stand way clear now, and cover your ears, everybody. This thing really screams."

At Ekaterina's touch on a thumbstud, a shrill whining cut the air as the silver probe pulverized ancient stone into billows of dust, quickly swept away on the wind. After a few minutes, she pulled off her goggles and looked more closely at the stone lintel, now reduced to less than half its original size. "Better take a little more off, just to be sure," she warned them. "Cover your ears again while I reduce it to the end of the door columns."

"Please don't bother," said Sofia Kovaks as she emerged from the doorway's gloom. In her arms she cradled an SFAR, cool and steady. From behind her materialized at least a dozen more of her companions, all of them armed with RPP pistols, each one looking more than ready to use them. "You've already done all our work for us."

—

—

—

Chapter Twelve

—

—

Maurice could only stare, too shocked to come up with any intelligent response.

"What're you doing here?" said Matthieu. "We're in the middle of an..."

One of the men spreading out to her sides raised his RPP. "Shut up. And don't any of you try jumping one of us or making a run for it. We don't want to kill any of you others, but we will if we have to."

"No need to be so harsh, Stefan." Sofia walked round to the side of the rover where Maurice, Ariadne and Phaedra stood. "As a matter of fact, Dr. Bouchard, we know perfectly well what you're in the middle of. And we don't care. We came down here to the city during the night, waiting for you. My...real name is Magda Wesselényi. I don't suppose you recognize it?"

"No. Should I?"

"You should, but I doubt very much that you do. Everyone who was once part of your Gekkostate ought to remember it, and the town of Ystradgynlais." She looked from Maurice to Ariadne, then quickly took her eyes from them. "It was five years ago, when you and your Gekkostate friends were battling the Federation on behalf of that monstrous disease that has been only half removed from our planet."

Matthieu's dark eyes burned. "The Coral? Look, skip the riddles, okay? Just tell us what you want."

"I want my family back!" she screamed, the SFAR trembling in her arms. For an instant it seemed that she might cry, but then the hard mask returned to her face and she faced him fully. "When those nightmare creatures were unleashed, when the sky was full of the foul things, twisting and writhing and floating in all their obscene horror... All around me, they came darting down, looking at us, touching us. And whoever they touched died."

"You mean the Coralian antibodies?"

But she seemed not to have heard him. "Some of the people, the lucky ones, exploded when they were touched. Exploded in a sick wet splash of blood and pulpy flesh. The lucky ones." Again, Magda raised the SFAR to waist height. "But Chrysander wasn't lucky; my husband wasn't lucky. He was running from the sky, carrying Eunice in his arms, trying to shield her with his own body. Shouting for me to get under cover. Some disgusting thing, like a floating red tapeworm, curling and oozing down. And then noticing him; Eunice was screaming. She was only three years old, did you know that? Three years old. I could only stand there in the street, too shocked to do anything, to run to him... He was running... Then that foul thing heard Eunice's screams. And it turned toward them and dived down... down... It...it passed right through them. Half of Chrysander's head; Eunice's body down to her backbone. Vanished. They were dead before they fell to the street in their own blood." She swayed, struggling with the raging demons now so near to devouring her.

"When the Federation started using deep-probe bombs—"

"Get your hands away from that RPP, Bouchard!" One of the ring of intruders jumped forward, clubbing at Matthieu's hand with the butt of his automatic rifle. The pistol clattered to the ground, coming to rest some three meters away.

Matthieu clutched at his wrist, his fingers twitching awkwardly. "Like I was tryin' to say, tough guy: all that happened when the Federation started using deep-probe bombs to attack the Coral and force it to release antibodies." Somehow, he kept his voice low and level. "Yeah, it happened all over. That disgusted all of us. It was Dewey Novak wanted to make the people hate the Coral."

"Well, I do hate the Coral! I hate every dirty crumb and particle of it. I want to destroy it, to exterminate every filthy atom of it from the earth." Sofia swayed, breathed deeply, then went on. "All of us went through, the same torture. We watched our friends and loved ones devoured by those swarms of monsters. Not just in Ystradgynlais, but across the Federation—towns, cities, farms, wherever those pits opened up and every horror in hell spewed out to slaughter them, all of them. In front of our eyes. In front of..."

The wind from the lake swept down the dead street, cold and silent. "Okay. No argument, those were bad times. What the Federation did was mass murder, we all knew that. But those things were antibodies, just like the ones in our bodies, you and me. They weren't alive. It was the Federation that set'em loose. You guys can't blame the Coral for that, any more than you can blame your body for fighting off an infection. And you can't kill the..."

"No, Bouchard." Her hand slipped to the trigger of the SFAR. "No, we can't kill the damned Coral. Not yet, anyway. But—" She swung the heavy weapon around, toward the three young Coralians. "—but we can still take our revenge. We can kill its children. The way it killed our own."

—

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Chapter Thirteen

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—

"...and there is no question that the current government is deliberately concealing matters of utmost importance from the people of the New Lands. I therefore demand of Speaker Novak that he reveal all current security matters to this Senate at once!"

Holland sat behind and to the right of the central podium, hands folded, vainly fighting the twitch in his left eyelid. The Parliament Chambers have an echo. I didn't notice the goddam echo at first. Only when it started making me listen to morons like Fuillion twice. "The Senator from District Seventeen knows perfectly well that isn't possible," he said, his face a stone facade. "We've told you time and again that IPF Security isn't concealing anything because they haven't got enough information to conceal yet. As soon as they have any new hard data, they'll bring it right here and you can hear it for yourself." Patience, Holland. Patience is what wins the war.

Senator Fuillion's face went red as he slammed one fist to the surface of his desk. "Nonsense! My sources say—"

"And what sources would those be, my good Senator?" The voice was low and smooth, but all heads in the room turned toward the raised seat of the Prime Minister, Dr. Gregory Egan. "I confess that I am very curious to know by what conduits you have yourself received data on these allegedly-hidden security matters."

"Don't try to change the subject, Mr. Prime Minister!" Fuillion's dark eyes contracted to sparkling pinpoints and he raised an accusing finger. "Do you deny that you and your elite inner circle are keeping the true seriousness of the current situation from the people of the New Lands?"

Idly, as though he sat alone at leisure in one of his beloved laboratories, Egan ran one hand through the narrow ridge of red hair adorning his otherwise-bare scalp from front to back. "Sir, I assure you that no one in the current government even knows that there is a 'situation,' as you put it."

Senator Takamichi stood, waving for attention. "Then how do you explain the LFO that came crashing down at the Museum yesterday?" she demanded.

"I cannot explain it. Nor can IPF Security, nor can the New Tresor researchers currently examining the LFO in question. We are, of course, studying all aspects of the situation, but as of this time, we have no conclusive information to offer. When such information exists, it will be presented to the Senate Security Committee in proper order, as it always has been."

"You're dodging us, Egan," insisted Fuillion, sweeping his arms about him to include the entire Chamber of Parliament. "Many of us in the New Lands are tired of your contemptuous elitism and your disregard for the will of the people. It's long past time for this autocratic government to drop its stiff-necked, high-handed sham and give way to a new wave of leadership—a strong leadership that does not shrink from seeking an end to hostilities by immediate rapprochement...with the Federation."

A rumble of shock rippled through the Parliament. "Treason!" someone shouted, followed by a dozen others. Holland glanced toward Egan, whose athletic body now seemed coiled like a wary python.

The Prime Minister waited for the agitation to build to precisely the optimum level before tapping his gavel delicately upon the podium. "Let us not descend to hasty and emotional reactions, my friends. Nevertheless, I do thank Senator Fuillion for making his true agenda plain. And I reply that although his own memory may be blissfully short, there are those among us for whom five years of peace in the New Lands is not remotely long enough to forget the horrors committed by the brutal oligarchy which commands the Federation."

"Damn you, I—"

"No, Senator, if contempt and autocracy and elitism are truly as repugnant to you as you have stated, one wonders why you are so quick to seek alliance with those who display those qualities in their most virulent form. Tell me, sir, would you not consider mass murder to be the ultimate disregard for the will of the people?"

Fuillion only glared at Egan, both hands quivering as he leaned forward on his desk. "Nothing but flowery words and no action, as usual. I call for a vote of No Confidence in the current government."

Holland blinked. What's this mouthy little idiot up to? He stood and faced the chamber. "The motion has been properly submitted. Does anyone second the motion?"

Two senators made as if to rise, but Takamichi came to her feet again, waving for attention. "Yes! I second it. Let's get this out in the open. I want a vote on dissolving the current government."

"Then let the voting begin," said Holland, watching the tally board on the wall behind the podium as the senator began punching the registration buttons along the top of their desks. One by one, the red No lights blossomed here and there, overwhelming the handful of green Yes votes and a single amber Abstain. "The vote is nineteen against, four in favor and one abstention. The motion is defeated."

"For now," snarled Fuillion, snatching up his papers in a rage. Jamming them into his pockets, he stalked for the exit without another word.

Prime Minister Egan stood, tall and imposing. "As today's session is nearly ended in any case, I move that we adjourn until tomorrow."

"I second it," said Holland. "Votes?"

The echoes of shuffling feet, clattering briefcase latches and excited murmuring filled the chamber, broken by a shouted chorus of Yes votes. Egan tapped his gavel to the podium. "The motion is carried. Parliament is adjourned."

As the senators made their slow way out, arguing and murmuring among themselves, Holland made sure the podium microphone was off before coming to Egan's side. "He knew that wasn't going to fly, Doc. What the hell was Fuillion up to?"

"Two things, I think. For one thing, he has now given voice to the previously unthinkable. Dissolving the current government in favor of one that wishes closer ties to our bitterest enemies is no longer 'off the table,' so to speak. A dangerous precedent has now been set."

"Uh-huh. And the other thing?"

Egan pressed both fists together before his chest, in an isometric exercise. "He wished to see just how many would be willing to follow his lead." He tilted his head toward the tally board, with its Yes votes scattered across the luminous surface like flies on a windowpane. "Fuillion now knows that there are four others of like mind, and an undecided fifth. He wishes to make those followers the nucleus of a rebellion. Not a very large one, fortunately."

"Not yet, anyway. Come on, it's time for our meeting with the rest of our 'elite inner circle.'"

"Yes. Please go on without me, Holland. I shall be taking my bicycle; the weather is quite fine today."

And as Gregory Egan made his way from the speakers' platform, Holland looked about the mercifully empty Parliament chamber, his mind ablaze. Was this really such a good idea? Five years ago, we were hot and gung-ho with the thrill of having won against the Federation at last. We all thought a democratic Parliament to rule the New Lands would be a great idea. But I wonder, now...if we were right after all. He switched off the chamber lights and stared out into the darkness before turning away. I guess Fuillion isn't the only one who can think the unthinkable today.

—

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Chapter Fourteen

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—

All of them sat with hands behind their heads, backed against the cold stone of the ancient hotel. All except the Coralian hybrids, who stood apart, next to the rover, with guns trained on them from every direction.

"You people're crazy, you know that?" Max fidgeted and shifted, restrained only by the rifle barrel held point-blank to his head. "How in hell'd you even get into the New Lands in the first place?"

Magda's gray eyes never left the Coralian captives. "You're all so arrogant, you people. You think the borders of the New Lands are impregnable because of your trapar shielding and the Barrier Cliffs. But there's nothing that can't be overcome with a strong enough will. We jumped from the northwest Cliff boundary; parasailed all the way down to ground level. Some of us didn't make it. But we all took that chance, took it willingly, to strike at the thing that took our families from us."

"How'd you find us?" said Matthieu. He held his voice to a calm, almost soothing level, and Maurice had the idea that he was stalling, playing for time, waiting for the opportune moment.

"Purest luck." At last, Magda's face showed a trace of emotion. "Or do you believe in divine guidance? Our original plan was to make our way to the Heart of the World and exterminate these three creatures when the opportunity presented itself." She grunted, and the SFAR in her arms trembled minutely. "How amazing, how perfect, that we should stumble on you here, so far from home, so alone and unprotected. So..." Her voice trailed away and she turned to one of her followers. "Jaroslav, is everything ready for immediate departure once we return to base camp?"

He looked back at her, surprise written on his broad face. "Why? Does it even matter what happens to us after we do the job? Just do what we came for, and we can get goin'. What're you waiting for? Do it."

Phaedra edged closer to Ariadne. Neither of them made a sound as Maurice moved in front of Ariadne and folded his arms to conceal their shaking. Ariadne. When she blasts me, you and Phaedra duck behind the rover...

No! I won't leave you, not ever!

You've gotta. Keep these guys distracted so Matthieu can do something. Just...

"Do it!" urged one of the other intruders, shaking sweat from her forehead. "Let's just get this stinking thing over with."

But Magda only stared at the three Coralians, her mouth opening without words. She lifted the SFAR toward them, then slowly lowered it once again. Maurice saw the thick barrel tremble. "Don't be in such a hurry, Rajasa. Don't be... Don't be in such a hurry... In a hurry to..."

"Murder's not so easy, is it?" said Matthieu, not in a cruel way. "Standing there, looking into their faces while you kill... That kind of thing stays with you for the rest of your life, take it from me." One of the intruders pointed his gun in Matthieu's direction, but said nothing.

The corners of Magda's eyes sparkled and melted, the tears leaving quick tracks down her dusty cheeks. "Somebody's got to pay, damn you! Somebody's got to pay for what those things did to Chrysander and Eunice, and all the others. There's got to be a balance, somehow. There's got to be..."

She only stared at Maurice and Ariadne and Phaedra, her mouth working wordlessly, misery etched into every inch of her horrified face.

"There's got to be a..." She wiped away the incriminating tear trails with one hand. The one holding the weapon drooped, leaving its heavy barrel pointed uselessly at the concrete. "But there isn't any balance, is there? There isn't. After all this...after all the planning, all the sacrifice, all the mourning, all the grief... Here we are, and after all of it, I'm a coward. I can't murder them. I can't murder someone else's children. I can't make another mother feel that emptiness that almost killed me inside."

With quivering steps, Magda turned to her comrades, her head bowed. "I'm sorry, all of you, so sorry that I led you into this. It was an insane idea, one that would only bring shame and sorrow to the loved ones we lost. Chrysander would be...would be ashamed of me. And Eunice could never forgive me for slaughtering...slaughtering one who's so much the way she'd have been by now..."

Magda turned away from them, holding up one hand, her body spasming with each deep sob. The one called Jaroslav came to her and wrapped one strong arm about her shoulders. "You're no coward. Truth is...I been thinking kind of the same thing for a couple of days, now. Sneaking around, murdering kids... Ivanka wouldn'ta been proud t'see me doing stuff like this. I can't filthy her memory this way, not any more." He slung his gun back over his shoulder and took Magda fully in his arms. "Count me out. Everybody, count me out. It's all over. It's over."

All around the little group of captors, weapons came down, their owners turning their shamed faces to each other as if waking from a dream. A woman with her black hair tied back in a long braid shook her head and motioned for the captives to rise. "Me too. You're no coward, Magda, but I was. You're right—this was a stupid idea all along; I should've said so earlier. I've got enough horrible things to remember without making murder one of them. Come on, guys, it's time for us to face up to life again. Time to leave this craziness behind."

She began to walk away down the rubble-strewn street and three others made to follow; four; six, all shuffling stiffly, heads bowed.

Only five made no move to drop their weapons, two women and three men who kept the entire archaeological party covered in a professional way. A heavily-built man that Maurice took to be their leader fired a burst of warning shots into the air, echoing down the dead streets. "Not so fast," he shouted, raw and commanding. "Everybody get right back. We're not done yet."

Magda turned round, anger warring with sadness on her face. "Stop it, Cesario! Didn't you hear? The operation is finished."

"For you pansies, maybe," Cesario said, motioning the other four into guard positions. "But for the Federation, it's just beginning."

—

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Chapter Fifteen

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—

Holland felt the chill the instant he stepped into Katsuhiro Morita's office in the New Tresor complex. Folding chairs had been dragged in, enough for the impromptu meeting. Egan sat impassive, eyes shut in meditation. Dominic Sorel leaned forward, deep in conversation with Jobs Stevens while Eureka and Renton huddled together, the oval nodes on their foreheads glimmering with an uneasy urgency. Even Yuki, waiting beside his empty seat, showed none of her customary wisecracking sensuality. Something's wrong.

He took his chair, waiting for someone to open the meeting. "Am I late?" he said when no one did.

Dr. Egan looked his way. "Only by a few moments. It seems that Mr. Stevens and his data analysts have detected a new surge in Federation military communications traffic within the past few hours. The decryption group, headed by Dr. Wossel's team from the University, has revealed some...tantalizing information."

"'Tantalizing?'" No one knew his gift for understatement better than Holland. "What's going on, Jobs? What've you got?"

"Enough to get our attention. The LFO malfunctions are still going on, and it has the Federation military on full alert. They're dangerous when they're that way, and likely to get trigger-happy."

"We already know the paranoia of which they are capable, Mr. Stevens," said Morita, elbows on the cluttered surface of his desk. "But what is its focus?"

Jobs ran one hand through his short wheat-colored hair. "That's just the thing—I don't think they know themselves what's got them so frightened. It's something big, but at the same time something they can't define clearly."

"Juergens has the IPF fleet on heightened preparedness." Dominic removed his white service cap and fanned his face with it, as though the room had grown unbearably warm. "They're patrolling the border regions at doubled strength. And Dr. Morita's got the Tresor long-range radar scanning the entire sky. Other than the Federation military satellites, there's nothing unusual up there."

"The only real hint we have," said Jobs, pulling out a short slip of note paper, "is a fragment of a single transmission that reads—" he held the paper at eye level "—'the lunar emanations still are not,' something, something, 'to be at full capability to repel...' And that's all we could get out of that one before the algorithm mutated again."

"'Lunar emanations?'" Holland could scarcely believe such ravings. "Have those maniacs at Pilgrim Island gone completely out of their minds?"

"Maybe," said Yuki. "It happened once before, after all."

He flushed at the implied reminder of his late brother's insanity. "Yeah, true enough. But the moon? It's just a barren rock. What are they after up there?"

"I don't..." Dominic swayed in his chair. "There's... Sorry, but I've had the damnedest headache all morning. So does Anemone; she called in sick to rehearsals at the National Theater today."

"You, too?" said Eureka. "We've both been feeling a bit dizzy today."

Egan leaned forward at once. "Indeed? No illness should be possible here in the New Lands. Have you spoken to my wife concerning this matter?"

"No... No, I don't think we're actually ill, not in the way you mean, doctor Egan. It's just that..."

"Just that something feels wrong," Renton went on. "Remember, Holland, how it used to be, before we'd go out on one of our missions? Everybody all tense and wondering if we'd make it back? That's kind of how Eureka and me feel."

Dominic squinted at them. "That's right, that's just how it is. Like being worried—worried enough to make us sick. But neither Anemone nor I can figure out what we'd be worried about. I mean, this business with the LFOs and the Federation is enough to bother anybody, but we've all been through far worse crises than this."

The door at the far end of the office swung open, revealing the commanding figure of Viyuuden, High Priest of the Community of Vodarek, his dark robes of office still swirling about him. "That remains to be seen, Commander Sorel."

—

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Chapter Sixteen

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—

Magda marched back toward them, sadness and rage still burning in her eyes. "Cesario! Didn't you hear? It's over. The operation is off. Murder isn't going to bring back the ones we loved, no matter how we try to rationalize it. It's time to—"

"It's time to shut up!" He made a complex twirling gesture with his free hand, and the other four dissidents surrounded their former comrades with guns drawn, forcing them back toward the hotel's entrance. "Put down your weapons, now. I've listened to all the noble crap I ever want to hear out of you and this bunch of amateurs. First it was all about how you were going to get all righteous and avenge your dead. Now it's bawling while you lose your guts to even do what you came here for. Well, you don't have to blubber any more—we weren't gonna let you kill anybody."

"But...you were with us all the way, you wanted to make the Coral pay for—"

"Pay for my dead sweetheart and our lovely little kiddies?" He laughed, harsh and brutal. "Aren't any. Never were. Take off the blinders, Magda. You really thought you could carry off an operation like this without the Federation knowing about it? We infiltrated you from day one. Thanks for getting us in here; now shut up."

One of the women standing behind him—they had to be a Federation SpecOps unit, Maurice now realized—pulled a communicator from within her jacket and spoke softly to its audio pickup. "They're coming, Overlieutenant. Following our beacon, ETA four to five minutes."

"Who's coming?" said Matthieu, shifting his shoulders and legs minutely. "Who are all you clowns, anyway? What's with these secret-agent games?"

He's trying to get into a position where he can make an attack, flashed Maurice to Ariadne.

I know. But he mustn't. They'll kill him!

"Shut up, Bouchard. I know all about you, and your treason to the Federation that trained you. I've got no orders concerning you, but I might just make up some of my own if you piss me off enough. Hotaru; Jancsi—keep an eye on these assholes, and if anything looks funny, shoot. Aglaia; Savo—grab those two." He pointed toward Maurice and Ariadne.

"What about the pink one, sir?" asked the one called Savo.

"No orders about her. We're to grab the alien girl at all cost, and the boy if we can get him."

Matthieu sat himself a bit straighter, and pressed one palm to the concrete sidewalk. "What the hell for? Blackmail? You think you can make the InterDominion bend over by kidnapping—"

"You don't know squat, Bouchard. You're all so busy worshipping the stinking Coral that you never look to see what's above you. And when you find out what's going on on the Moon, you're gonna change your mind, but quick. If we don't use these creatures—" he pointed to the three Coralians with the barrel of his gun "— to make some kind of counterattack..."

"Overlieutenant," said Aglaia, loudly. Maurice had the impression that she was trying to shut her superior up before he revealed too much."ETA is now two minutes. It should be within visible range shortly."

"Right. Keep your eyes open. Savo, get the girl. The green-haired one, and the boy with her. Now."

Savo came to them in two long steps, stretching out one arm for Ariadne's wrist. Maurice pushed himself between them, tugging at her hand to release her from that steel grip. "No!" he shouted.

Without a word, Savo drew back his rifle and smashed him across one temple with its heavy barrel.

-#-

Renton's head vibrated and rang with a dizziness that nearly toppled him from his chair. All around him, he heard the voices of excited people, people he knew, people strange to him, all circling round shouting things he could not understand. Eureka swayed at his side, and a tall bald man with a wheel tattooed between his eyes swooped down, robes spread beside him like a great dark bat.

-#-

Maurice cried out, or tried to, producing only a blubbering bovine moan. His legs and arms went numb and rubbery, and he sank to the ground, aware of all that went on around him yet powerless to interfere. From somewhere half a kilometer or so down the long, echoing street, something dark and roaring descended from the sky. An airship. A Federation ground-support ship. Ariadne shouted as Savo jerked her away and with his free hand reached behind to his backpack. The solid-fuel jetpack concealed within ignited, shooting them both up and away toward the ship. Maurice tried again to shout. "Give'er back!" But the sound came out weak, weaker than his trembling legs.

A blur of movement from the edge of Maurice's vision congealed into Matthieu, jumping from the sidewalk, ramming his hard, extended fingers into the Overlieutenant's throat. The Federation officer staggered, gasping, clutching at his neck with one hand while the other one flailed wildly about, spasming at the trigger of his rifle as he hosed gunfire in a random stream all around him. Carlo screamed and went down.

Maurice willed strength back into his legs and staggered upward, fell, then rose again as Ekaterina grabbed both handles of the massive ultrasonic cavitator and rammed it into Overlieutenant Caesario's chest. Without hesitation, she thumbed the contact stud and the Federation leader's thorax exploded in a fountain of blood and organs that sprayed a crimson brush-stroke across the ancient facade of the Hotel Alpenbaden.

Ariadne.

Maurice! They're taking me away! I can't get loose!

I'm coming.

Max Condor grabbed Phaedra about the waist and heaved both of them into the rover, while all around them Magda's outraged followers attacked the three remaining Federation operatives with fists and guns. "Get in, kid!" cried Max over the roar of gunfire, beckoning to Maurice. "That guy's got a big head start!"

He understood at once and rolled himself over the sides of the rover into the rearmost seat, bouncing backward as Max hit the throttle. They bumped and jolted over something that seemed to be one of the remaining Federation troopers, then they were off, roaring down the long deserted street, screaming around the ghostly heaps of rusted automobiles.

Maurice peered forward, shaking the remaining dizziness from his head. Ahead—too far ahead—Ariadne's electric-blue hair flashed as the Federation SpecOps intruder dropped the spent jetpack, flung her over one shoulder like a sack of corn and sprinted for the airship settling to the intersection just ahead of him. A hot wind reeking of ozone and melting asphalt roared down the road as it touched down. Even before the thrusters were extinguished, a hatchway opened in the nose and a pair of Federation aviators beckoned, sending several RPP rounds down toward the approaching rover.

Max wrenched the steering handles this way and that, making them less of a target. The explosive projectiles detonated to one side, then one directly in front, lifting them from the pavement but doing no serious damage. Max raised their speed; Maurice screamed in rage and frustration as the Federation kidnapper reached the hatch and threw Ariadne bodily inside.

"You lousy—" he began, when an RPP round hit the rover in its left front tire. Struggling with all the skill in him, Max kept them from overturning as he worked the brakes to bring the vehicle to a shuddering stop.

Breathless, Maurice jumped out and ran toward the gunship, running, gasping, screaming as the hatchway clanged shut and the ventral thrusters fired, driving him back with their white-hot tornado. The ship climbed into the skies above Neuchatel, opened its wings and accelerated toward the east.

Maurice! They've got me! They're... They're going to...

Ariadne's wordless scream ripped through Maurice's mind. And in the faraway Heart of the World, Eureka and Renton echoed it, over and over, until they slid into darkness.

—

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Chapter Seventeen

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—

Maurice sank to his knees, barely aware of the sharp gravel piercing their skin. He bent double, unable to restrain the tears that would not stop.

Ariadne.

But no answering thought shimmered in his mind, and the knowledge of his utter, empty aloneness drove him to an anguish he could never have imagined.

Max and Phaedra knelt beside him, one on each side, their words reaching him as distant irrelevancies, like the shrill squeals of squirrels quarreling in a tree. "Hey, c'mon, kid." The voice belonged to Max, he remembered. "This's no time to be crackin' up. If we're gonna help her, we've all got to pull together, right?"

"She's gone."

"Yeah, sure...but only for now. We need to..."

Phaedra touched the aviator's sleeve with a gentleness that would have astonished Maurice only a few hours before. "No, Max. He means she's gone up here." She tapped the jewel on her forehead. "Inside. She's not talking to him any more."

His own face went pale. "Oh, no. Then... But wait a minute—they wouldn't k... The Federation wouldn't do anything like that to her. They said something about some kind of counterattack. That they needed her for that, about counterattacking the Moon. So she's got to be in one piece."

"That's right. Did you hear that, Maurice? He's right. You've got to listen."

Only by focusing on the caustic stench of thruster fuel choking the dead city's air could Maurice bring himself to hear her. "Can't...listen. She's gone."

Phaedra gripped his face in both hands and twisted it to her own. "Don't be so damn dumb! Listen inside, the way they teach us at the Temple. You've got to open the Eye of Thought all the way, open it to all the life around you. Don't you remember anything that all those priests taught us? Let the Coral see for you, let it guide you. Just open up."

Let me alone... But she's right. Maurice straightened his spine and forced a deep breath. He pushed the bottomless despair to one section of his mind, a part separate from the thing that had been given to him on the day when his own jewel had taken its place on his face. That inner ability to be at once in this world and in another facet of reality, the place the Vodarek adepts called the Tenth Dimension. Awareness spread outward around him: people, all round. Phaedra stood out clear and sharp, and, unexpectedly, Max as well. Carlo in pain, back at the hotel. Matthieu, furious, terrified, running their way. The dead Federation officer, alone in the depths of his own rage, wrapped in it, choked by it, unable to see beyond it. Ekaterina, weeping. Magda, choking on near-suicidal guilt. And...

He fought back the urge to thrill with excitement, letting himself sink back into the slow rhythm of the Coralian Mind. There, just on the edge, there had been...

MAURICE!

Both his eyes popped open and he stiffened in a single uncontrollable spasm that left him on his back, utterly stunned.

"Hey, easy, kid." Max held his left arm, Phaedra grabbed at his right, but he had no ears for either of them.

Ariadne! Where are you?

I'm... I seem to be in here, with you. I can see through your eyes and hear with your body... I remember, now. They took me on the ship, and threw... Oh."

Her terror and confusion nearly tore his own mind from its hinges, but he held himself solidly focused.

What? What did they do? Where are you?

I was... They took me...took my body, and threw me into something...it was a cryogenic tank. Liquid helium.

The memory of her fear and pain ripped a long, agonized scream from his own throat. Burning, freezing, piercing, fiery ice, terror, needles in arms, legs, eyes... Phaedra and Max restrained him once again, but he had no thought for anyone but Ariadne, whose seirei still lived within him.

Then it's in one piece? Your body? You're alive?

Yes, I think so. Suspended in cold-sleep. But once they deep-thaw it, I'll return to it, I'm sure. The spirit-self always returns to the physical body until...until the moment of death. Oh, Maurice, what will I...

"Then we'll get it back!" He shook himself free of Max and Phaedra and scrambled to his feet.

"What?" asked the startled Max. "Listen, Maurice, just hang on till Dr. Bouchard gets here, and..."

"No! She's not dead, Ariadne's not dead! But we've gotta get her back, soon, now, before they get into Federation airspace."

"'We?'" Phaedra stared as he set to rummaging about in the rover's cargo bay. "You and who else? Our airship's back at the meadow, and there's no time for us t'get back to it, before..."

Maurice tugged his ref board free, scattering equipment and food packs unheeded all over the hot roadway. "We're gonna get her back," he told her. "We're gonna get her back." He tossed the board into the invisible trapar current rushing down the ancient city's narrow canyons, leaped on and rose into the tainted sky, the two of them who were one, streaming on a trail of green fire in pursuit of an ever-receding future.

—

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Chapter Eighteen

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—

Holland stared, thunderstruck by the sight of Renton and Eureka collapsing to the floor before their eyes. Even the placid Dr. Egan jumped to his feet.

Viyuuden crouched at their side in an instant, holding one hand on each of their forehead jewels, his eyes clenched as he chanted some profound Vodarek spiritual exercise. Yuki clutched at her husband's arm with the strength of ten. Only Dominic remained in his seat, frowning like a man trying to remember something of vast importance. The oval on his forehead blazed a vibrant yellow.

Holland stroked his wife's hand in what he hoped was a reassuring way. "Dominic? You got something to tell us? Do you know anything about this?"

"I don't... I don't exactly know. But somehow I can tell that things are going crazy out there." He pointed toward the northwest. "Phaedra. She's surprised, and worried, and scared. But she's making decisions, important ones." He blinked, and faced Holland fully. "Anemone feels it too, I can feel her. She's..."

Dominic's personal communicator buzzed and he fumbled it from his pocket. "Anemone? Yeah, I knew it would be you. Yes, I've felt it, too. I agree, she's all right. Listen to me: I've got to issue a Security Alert—there's no telling what might be going on right here in the Heart of the World while our attention's directed to the frontier. There's too much happening that I can't even trust to a secure channel right now. Come over here to Morita's office at New Tresor. I love you too, hot stuff; don't worry, we can ride this out together, I know we can."

Viyuuden rose, a pained expression creasing his face. "I should have been here much sooner. Something has been perturbing the Coral's thoughts for several days, something that has increased in intensity within the past few hours." He waved toward the unconscious Renton and Eureka, their breathing now regular and even. "I was far too focused on determining its source to realize its imminence. The fault is mine."

"No," said Egan. "We must all share the blame for having been insufficiently vigilant. Let us return to our duties with renewed effort, that we may move to help our young friends at once."

"Wait a minute." Holland looked down at the motionless Renton and Eureka. "That'd tip off the Fuillion defectors in Parliament that something's up. If any of them get wind of a crisis of this magnitude, the next No Confidence vote could make him Prime Minister. And politics aside, if there're Federation spies here in the Heart of the World, we need to keep it quiet that we're on the alert for their tricks. We can't let them see us getting into a public panic over the situation. It would only mean... Well, it'd make things worse than they already are."

"Well, we can't just let things go on as they are," shouted Dominic. "Phaedra's in danger of some kind, and so are Ariadne and Maurice. You're suggesting that we do nothing? The Holland Novak I once knew was never so timid."

"Go to hell, Dominic! You think there's anything I'd like better than to bring the old Moonlight back to life and go roaring up there with cannons blazing? We've got new responsibilities now, all of us. And hundreds of thousands of people here in the New Lands, counting on us to keep them safe while we build the better world we all fought for five years ago."

"Easy to say when it's not your daughter up there. You can't—"

"Enough!" Egan pushed himself between them, holding up both hands for silence. "Do either of you think that these childish displays of anger will accomplish anything useful? I dare say that the Federation oligarchy would applaud the spectacle of us quarreling among ourselves like petulant infants—while the two most important persons in the New Lands lie here unconscious before us."

Viyuuden joined him at the center of the room, his face a mask of calm authority. "This crisis strikes at the center of all we hold dear; naturally, tempers are short. But Vodarek's light brings clarity to those who seek it. By seeking it, we must act quickly, yet responsibly."

"Then let's act from right here." All heads turned toward Yuki, standing with arms folded. "A good intelligence-gathering unit can have its headquarters anywhere. Why not make this office ours? We can do whatever's necessary without doing it in public."

Egan smiled toward her. "Thank you, Mrs. Novak, for your timely and incisive perception. Mr. Stevens, can you access your computing systems from this office?"

"Well...we'd need a couple more lines in here, so I can run multiple virtual consoles in realtime. And if I'm going to be doing more decrypt scans on Federation communications, it'd be good to have Woz here with me."

Morita reached for the communicator on his desk. "You'll have your communications feeds within the hour. And I'll invite Dr. Wossel in a suitably roundabout manner—from now on, we must presume that our outside non-encrypted communications may be monitored. And...I fear that Professor Borodin's particular expertise may prove useful as well."

Holland and Yuki looked to each other, understanding at once the seriousness of his remark. Ken-Goh Borodin had been weapons specialist and chief gunnery officer aboard the Moonlight. "Okay, then, Viyuuden," she said with a long sigh, "how about you get the Guardians of the Flame to stand watch over Junior, Link and Maeter. It looks like we're in for a long stay."

—

—

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Chapter Nineteen

—

—

They must be far ahead of us, Maurice. Ariadne's disembodied voice shimmered with despair.

"We can catch them." Solidly balanced on the skimming ref board, he spared a look below them at a range of forbidding and jagged mountains, their snow-dusted peaks blinding where they caught the early-afternoon sunlight. Never in his life had he dared ref at such an altitude, and the thin, bitter wind ripped through his light jacket .

You're getting cold. You've got to alter your metabolism to compensate, and thicken your skin against it.

"You know I don't know how to do that. None of those Temple priests could ever get me that far." Away on the western horizon, he thought to see a flash of sun from an aircraft fuselage. He would not let himself believe it could be anything else.

I can show you, though. It's like this...

She tugged at parts of his mind that he had never activated before, and within minutes, the chill of the raw gale ceased to claw at him. Maurice shook his head and angled the board for still greater speed. "Thanks. I felt like I was gonna freeze to..." He choked the lighthearted phrase before it could form. "If that's the gunship I can see way ahead, it oughta be moving at least at a couple times sonic speed. But we're pulling closer, fast. Wonder how come they're going so slow."

Because they're not using trapardynamic engines or lifting surfaces, so they don't generate a trapar signature that the IPF could track. That means they can't use the Ley Lines, either. The ship must have been modified to be entirely aerodynamic.

She was holding her terror at bay with the dry textbook recitation, he knew. "Oh, yeah. Damn, but I still wish I could get us some extra speed..."

Look inside yourself, Maurice, use the Eye of Thought. You can sense the trapar currents.

"Sure, I already am, see? But I..."

You need to command the trapar, to pull it in from all round you and make it accelerate in back of us. I've tried to show you this before...there. See how you can shape the current? There. Now you can keep on doing it by yourself.

"Oh, right, I see now. I wish...wish I'd payed more attention to those training sessions. I wish I'd payed more attention to a lot of things." He could not hide his shame and regret from her. "Hey, what if they've got rear-facing detectors on that ship? What if they see me...see us...coming?"

We're too small a target. And I think they've got other things on their minds right now.

Her thought-image of her own body, sealed inside a pressurized tank of liquid helium nearly brought tears to Maurice's eyes. He shook them away before they could freeze over. "At least they're not flying too high for us to breathe...they must be trying to keep in the ground clutter over these mountains. Hey, I can make out the wings, now. This is the fastest I've ever been on a ref board."

Yes, I can see. The wings are very long and thin, to operate without trapar. Maurice...when we reach them...please be careful not to damage the plane.

He saw her dread of the Federation aircraft going down in flames with her fragile body trapped inside, and pushed the thought away. "Uh...I don't really know what I am gonna do to them. I sort of didn't have much time to think when I came to rescue you, so there wasn't any time to figure out anything like a plan, you know..."

Above them and about three hundred meters ahead, the white Federation gunship showed clearly now, blunt and brilliant against the hard blue of the sky. There could be no more dissembling; he had to come up with some mode of attack, one that would disable the ship quickly but not endanger Ariadne's frozen physical body. Her fear and worry bled into his own, confusing his thoughts. "What would Mom and Dad do, I wonder."

It doesn't matter. We aren't Mother and Father. Maurice, you've got to do something. What if the IPF sends interceptors to shoot that ship down? I'll..."

"I know what'll happen, yeah. I've just gotta think, that's all." But already the leaden reality of her words pressed in upon him, edging him near to fatal panic. No more whiney daydreaming about living up to his famous parents' legend. But what to do? And how? And Ariadne's precious life, already dangling by a cobweb, would be the price of his weakness...

You're letting us slow down, Maurice. Keep on gathering and directing the trapar.

"Dammit, I'm trying, I want to..."

Let me see if I can... Oh!

A sudden surge caught the ref board, forcing Maurice nearly to his knees in order to maintain his balance. Trapar bloomed around them like the head of a comet, more trapar than he had ever known in a single current. "Ariadne! Is that you doing that?"

I...I think so. I'm creating trapar! I'm really creating trapar! I've never been able to do it before! If only I had my wings, now... It must be because you and I are joined. I never thought of... Never mind. Can you gather it, direct it?

His fog of panic lifted, at least a little. "Yeah. Gather the trapar. Yeah, I can do that. The Vodarek always tried to tell me I could. Okay, lemme see if they were right."

A wild jet of green fire lanced out to one side, sending them into a wild, plummeting gyration. Dizzy and frightened, Maurice one look down at the ground so unbelievably far below, then leveled out and tried again. "Sorry. Lemme try again..."

This time the particle stream billowed out on all sides, an unfocused cloud that slowed their airspeed and set them to wobbling as they fell behind. No, wait... Something about imagining it in a narrow stream... Struggling, he applied his will to the rising current, pulling it out like hot taffy, sending it behind them in a rush of power. Yeah! That's it!

He surged their velocity higher, pushing against the hurricane wind that ripped at his jacket and trousers. Then, just before reaching the Federation ship, he climbed above their altitude and spiraled in. What were all those crazy reffing maneuvers Dad used to always be talking about...?

I don't know—Maurice, what are you doing? We're going to hit them! We're going to —

They screamed past the plodding aircraft as Maurice kicked up the ref board at nearly a ninety-degree angle to channel their speed into a tight spiral. The sudden G-forces drove him to his knees, but with enormous effort he maintained his balance and barrel-rolled around the fuselage, avoiding the long wings while extending his will against the trapar-charged air.

Help me with this, Ariadne! Trapar, in brilliant coils, followed him as he spun around and around, weaving a cylinder of fire that clung to the fuselage, then ran outward to the wings, up the control surfaces, disrupting the airflow over them. The Federation plane slowed abruptly, and Maurice fought the dizziness with the strength of his fear, orbiting around, over and over. On the final pass, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the pilots, helplessly raging behind the laminated windshield panes.

Don't let them drop, Maurice, please! Don't let them drop!

I'm not, I'm not. I've just gotta have a trapar current come up from below...gimme another boost, will you? And the airship, enveloped in a swirling cumulus of trapar fire that clogged its turbine engines till the automatic overrides shut them down, began to sink from the sky, too fast at first, then more slowly, delicately as Maurice grew confident in his manipulation of the upward trapar stream.

Slowly, please. Let the airship down gently. I'm helping you to control the upward stream.

Yeah, thanks. This is really hard...how are we even doing it at all? That meadow down there, it's really rocky but I can't keep this up much longer... I don't know how we ever did it to begin with...

He felt the prickliness of tall grass beneath him. The roaring wind left his ears, and once again Maurice knew the welcome tug of gravity. An enormous snow-covered mountain rose several kilometers to their right, like a broken tooth, with before them a line of tall pine trees that seemed to carpet the stony foothills closer by.

The Federation airship came to rest on a rocky rise no more than twenty meters away, little licks and sparks of glittering trapar still rising from its fuselage and wings. It wobbled, then settled at a sharp starboard angle and might have slid further, but the downturned wing dug into the soft meadow grass below, holding it in place.

The forward hatch began to open. And it occurred to Maurice, then, that he had no weapons.

—

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Chapter Twenty

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—

Max and Phaedra could only watch as Maurice hurled his ref board into the air with a splash of trapar, then jumped aboard and soared high into the eastern sky above Neuchatel. His trapar trail lingered for no more than a few seconds before fading, leaving them silently standing amid thruster fumes, burnt asphalt and shattered hopes.

"It's all over," said Max, lifting one fist to the air. "Those Federation bastards got her. And Maurice's out of his mind over it. He's just as crazy as that Magda nut case, and maybe they've both got good reason, but there's no chance he can track her down in the kind of shape he's in."

Phaedra's wide Coralian eyes lingered on the sky as she slowly shook her head. "No. He's not crazy—at least no crazier than he already was. I could...feel something in him, just before he zoomed off."

"What? What was it?"

She scowled and turned away. "Nothing. You wouldn't believe me anyway. Nobody ever listens to me."

"Well, I am." He took her by the shoulders. "Now, what was it? Some kind of Coralian telepathy or something?"

"Aww, you don't... It's not telepathy, Max. I just get these feelings about things. And just for a second, there, I thought I could feel Ariadne. Along with him. Does that make sense?"

"She's alive, then? Phaedra, that's great! Then there really is still a chance to catch up to those guys!" A wave or relief approaching giddiness surged through him. "I wonder if the IPF can still nab them before they reach the edge of the New Lands..."

"No. No, they can't." She stamped her foot, setting her short pink hair to quivering. "What's the IPF gonna do? Shoot'em down, with Ariadne aboard? All they can do is watch, while those two...cousins of mine get hauled off to the Federation. If Maurice even makes it at all. Those warships..." She trailed off for a moment, then lifted her head. "IPF warships aren't gonna do any good, Max. It's got to be some kind of small ship that can follow them, under the radar and the mass detectors. Something like... Like the LZ-129."

Max felt his stomach contract. "You think... Think that we oughta chase them? Me? I don't think..."

"I don't care what you think! I don't want the stinking Federation to get away with this, and...I don't want them to..." She wrapped her arms about herself and stared at the ground. "I don't want to see the only other girl in the world like me die."

"You can't..." All around them, little patches of flaming asphalt crackled in the strained silence. Max put his hands to the sides of the rover, fighting a battle within himself. Then quickly, before his resolve failed, he held her tightly by both shoulders once more. "Look. Look, at me, Phaedra... There isn't any Max Condor."

"But you—"

"I know what I told you. But now you're going to hear the truth. My name...my real name...is Harold Farnsworth. I was a civilian bush pilot back in the East Corinthia Administrative District, before the breakup of the Federation." He took a deep, slow breath. "I wanted to get into the big time, The Federation Aero Forces. So I skipped town and hitched a ride to the Long Struggle Aerodrome down in Friesland, where the 405th Command was based. I enlisted; signed up for deeplane pilot training."

"I know you were a Federation pilot; you already said..."

"No, give me a chance to tell this, will you? I spent three months in preflight training, but I...I washed out. They never told me why, just sent me an e-memo that said not to bother showing up for any more classes. I eventually settled for an enlisted rating as a...reactor mechanic."

He waited for Phaedra to say something, and when she did not, he went on, his face burning. "After the Rebellion, when the peripheral Federation states broke away and joined the InterDominion, I deserted. I invented 'Max Condor' and applied for citizenship in the New Lands...under my new name, and with a phony life story." Max released her, then, and stood, waiting. "So I'm not the ace combat pilot you need. I started out as a lousy bush pilot, and that's all I am still. And even while I'm standing here boring you with my life story, Maurice and Ariadne are getting farther and farther away. I'm...sorry, Phaedra."

"Screw you!" Cheeks damp, she pressed nearer to him, jabbing at his chest with one finger. "Listen, buddy, d'you know who I am? I'm the other Coralian girl, the one who isn't the First-Born princess, the one who only gets attention when her gorgeous dancer mother poses for another cover shoot. The one who doesn't...doesn't even have a boyfriend, because everybody either worships her like those stupid Vodarek, or they're just plain scared of her. I'm the spare tire, the extra one that nobody can quite figure out. I look like I'm in my teens and I've got this weird Coralian fast maturity, like Ariadne, but I'm all talk. I'm only four and a half years old, I've never been away from the Heart of the World and I don't know a damn thing that I haven't heard somebody else talk about, or read in a book somewhere."

She paused, out of breath, her eyes glistening. "So I'm not the alien super-girl you need, pal. But I'm gonna save Maurice and Ariadne no matter what it takes. Only...only I can't do it alone. And I don't need any Harold Farnsworth. I need Max Condor."

Max understood, then, what it had cost her to reveal these things. And what it had cost himself. "Okay, doll," he told her at last with a soft punch to the shoulder. "You got yourself a hot pilot. Now let's talk fast, 'cause Dr. Bouchard's finally slowed to a fast walk, but he'll be here in less than a minute."

-#-

Matthieu brooded in the back of the rover, exhausted and furious, and remained silent, wrapped in the bleakness of his thoughts during the drive back to the Hotel Alpenbaden.

"How's Carlo?" asked Max from the front seat.

"Huh? He'll be okay. He caught three bullets, one of them near his heart, but the regeneration's working. Two of'em have already dropped out. Kat thinks another hour or so and he'll be pretty much good to go, once the shock wears off. But it was a close thing. Those Federation bas..."

"Yeah, I get your drift, Doc. What about the three who did the shooting? Are they prisoners?"

"Dead. That Magda idiot and her amateur soldiers blasted'em up so bad that there wasn't enough left for even the Coralian Gift to put'em together again. Trying to atone for being such idiots, I guess." And I guess I can understand just how it feels to need atonement that bad.

Beside Max, Phaedra turned over one shoulder to look at him. "Has anyone radioed the Heart of the World, yet?"

"I told Kat to call them. Magda's bunch has a long-range radio. Damn! What a screwup this mission's been. And I screwed up worst of all."

"It wasn't your fault. And I told you, Ariadne and Maurice are still alive."

"Yeah." But for how much longer?

Max brought the rover near to the blood-smeared facade of the Hotel Alpenbaden, where everyone seemed to be milling about while one of Magda's group spoke earnestly into the audio pickup of a small military phased-wave radio.

"Here you go, Doc. You'd better get out here. I'm gonna pull the rover down that alley and tie up the damaged wheel. The rest of them still have power, so it'll run fine, but the bad wheel's dangling on that side."

"Sure, Max, whatever you say."

Matthieu rolled himself out of the rover without opening the door, sourly surveying the wreckage of his archaeological project: four shredded Federation stooges; the heirs to the InterDominion kidnapped and a dozen crazy, penitent assassins mumbling among themselves while avoiding eye contact with him.

Carlo lay on the sidewalk, shirtless, his head propped on a knapsack that seemed to have been provided by Magda's group. Bruises spotted his chest and one ugly red hole still bubbled with blood, presumably the spot where the Coralian Gift's regenerative power was forcing the final bullet out. Knowing it had to hurt like hell, Matthieu gave him an encouraging grin. "Carlo, my man, you still with us?"

He made a deathly grimace that Matthieu took for a smile and nodded, obviously not yet up to conversation. Ekaterina dabbed at the blood with a patch torn from his own shirt, and nodded encouragement.

Matthieu turned to Magda's group, and his grin vanished.. "Great. Okay, here's what's gonna happen: as soon as Carlo's ready t'be moved, me, Max, Phaedra, Carlo and Kat are gonna fly back to the Heart of the World while you mighty crusaders wait for an IPF transport to pick you up."

Magda stood with head bowed. "It's more than we deserve. All of us are prepared to submit to the InterDominion's justice for what we've done."

"Yeah. You there—with the radio. You in contact with the Independent Planetary Fleet?"

The man squatting by the phased-wave transceiver looked up, startled, as though he'd been caught shoplifting. "I think so, Doctor. At least I'm in contact with someone in the IPF military who wants to speak to you personally." He held out a wireless microphone. "If you would, please?"

"They probably want t'run a voiceprint ID. H'lo? Bouchard, here. You want to talk now, or should I wait till the voiceprint profile's finished?"

"No need, sir, we've already retrieved your VP from our records, and you're a positive match, highest clearance. This is Captain Innokenti Lukashenko speaking. What's the situation?"

Matthieu looked around him, then decided to tell them what they needed to know now, and let them sort out the rest later. "It's a disaster. The Federation sent some kind of SpecOps unit in here to intercept us. Looked like they came in on some kind of pure-aerodynamic ship, but no idea how they got it past the barriers at the border. They shot up one of our party, but it looks like he'll live. We managed to kill four of'em, but they got away with two of...our special passengers."

"Repeat, please, Doctor? Your..."

"Never mind, just pass the message on to New Tresor, pronto. They'll know what I mean. The ship looked to be on an easterly heading, but I don't recommend interception, on account of their fragile cargo. Copy that? No interceptions."

"Copy that, Doctor. Please remain on this frequency in case the Fleet wishes to contact you."

Matthieu winced. "I can guarantee you that once Egan and Morita hear about this, they're gonna be contacting me all night long. Bouchard out."

He handed the microphone back. "Okay, people, we'll be taking the radio with us on the rover. You can either stay here till the IPF sends a ship to pick you up, or hike back to your campsite, whichever. It'd be a very bad idea to try and hide from them."

"You have my personal assurance that we will not," said Magda. "None of us will try to escape responsibility for our misguided bungling."

"Uh-huh." Behind him, a tiny metallic rattle told him that Carlo had expelled the last bullet.

Ekaterina held it up for Matthieu to see. "That's done it. The wound is closed, now. He won't be able to walk until tomorrow, but as long as Max takes it easy with the rover, I think it's safe for him to ride."

"Yeah," croaked Carlo.

"Okay right. We're moving out. Don't bother with nonessential gear, we can pick up our equipment on the next trip." If there is a next trip. "You guys—start hauling that expedition gear inside, to keep it out of the weather. Max! Bring the rover around front. Ready or not, we're hauling ass! Move it!"

While Kat put one arm about Carlo's shoulders and helped him to a sitting position, Matthieu took a final look at the site of his catastrophic expedition, now devolved into a high-level crisis of the highest order. And it happened on my watch. Damn, damn, damn. "Max! Phaedra! Quit fooling around with that damn wheel and get out here on the double."

One of Magda's group came hurrying out from the short alley where the rover had turned only minutes before. "They're gone. And your vehicle's gone, too!"

"Gone where?" cried Ekaterina. "Where could they go?"

Matthieu sat himself to the ancient curb, head in hands, awash in frustration and misery, understanding too late. "Never mind. Just gimme that radio. In a couple of minutes, I'm gonna be getting a long call."

—

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Chapter Twenty-one

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—

Maurice heard the heavy thump of boots on the wing above him as he crouched, hardly daring to breathe, in the waist-high grass beneath.

I don't think they saw me go under here, he told Ariadne. Things must've been pretty well banged around in the cockpit. I'm pretty sure I got under here in time. He was trying to reassure himself as well as her, and knew it.

They're still walking around up there, on the wing surface. Looking for us.

Yeah. Which means they don't know we're down here. The footfalls ceased for a moment, then moved closer to the wing's trailing edge. After several heart-stopping seconds, they moved away again.

They'll come down, soon, she said. They won't stay up there on that wing forever, and then they'll find us.

I know. I've gotta think of something... D'you think we can blast them with trapar? Like that huge trapar flow we made to get the plane down?

Can you focus that accurately so soon? If you miss or make a mistake, or if I can't sustain the flow, they'll kill...us...before we can do anything at all. I think it'll take a lot more practice before we can do anything that precise.

He raised one finger and attempted to command a tiny stream of trapar upward. The only result was a pale green spark as thick as his thumb, that promptly curled out and scorched his left ear. I guess you've got a point. Hey, listen! They're headed down toward the wingtip! They'll be jumping off soon, and searching the meadow for us!

He pulled himself still further back into the shadow of the gunship's wing, kneeling on his ref board. Could he make a break for it on the board? Maybe, but the chances would be no better than even that the two pilots would shoot him down. And even if he made a successful escape, what good would it do, with Ariadne's frozen body still inside the cabin?

But maybe the board itself...

I'm gonna try something.

Be careful, Maurice!

Without a sound, he eased the ref board from beneath his knees. Maybe I can't do any more trapar magic, but I can at least still feel its currents.

He cast his senses about him, feeling the flow of trapar particles in the clear mountain air. One of the many prevailing streams slithered by only a few meters above, its curls and eddies taking it in a southwesterly direction. Maurice waited for a gust of ordinary wind to rustle the grass around him before lifting the ref board to shoulder height, poised and ready. Near the end of the wing, he could see an elbow jutting out, and knew they were getting ready to jump to ground level.

Now!

He threw the board forward with all his strength, watching it catch the trapar current in a flash and flicker of green. It soared out over the meadow, reaching a height of thirty meters or so, then whirled around like a tadpole in a pond before making its slow drift southwestward.

"Hey! There he is!" one of the Federation pilots let off a rattling burst of automatic rifle fire that went wide of the board. A second burst followed, and then the two of them jumped from the downed gunship's wing and scrambled through the sea of grass, firing into the sky.

How long will they stay fooled by that trick?

I dunno. A minute or two, no more that that, I guess, till they either shoot it down or figure out there's nobody on board. So we've gotta get inside this ship in the meantime.

He hurried out to the point where the wing of the downed airship touched the ground and scrambled up. Out of long habit, he offered Ariadne his hand, then, realizing she had no hand to give, cursed his own stupidity and concentrated on running up the slick plastic-shrouded surface of the wing, toward the open forward hatch door. From far away, he still heard the occasional shots as the two-man crew blasted away at his ref board.

Balanced on the slippery wing, he kept himself from falling long enough to leap through the open hatch, then close it and twist the latch behind him. While the pounding of his heart subsided, he spared a curious look about the cockpit. It's the first Federation airship cockpit I've ever seen. Except for the Moonlight, of course.

Me, too, but I've seen a lot of pictures of their controls in books. The layouts are all pretty standard, even though this airship has been modified not to use trapar.

Maurice checked the cockpit for weapons. A pair of charged RPP pistols hung in a rack behind the co-pilot's seat. He pushed one into his jacket pocket. They took the heavy stuff with them, the rifles. We've gotta get this thing off the ground before the crew realizes they've been tricked and come back.

"NCOM-1, this is PI Control, do you read?" squawked the cockpit radio. Maurice jumped, but made no move to answer. "NCOM-1, PI Control calling, please respond. PI Control, over."

It was all the reminder he needed that the Federation was urgently seeking this vessel, and that its current crew would be spending very little more time chasing his decoy. Uncertain, Maurice turned toward the hatch in the bulkhead, presumably connecting the crew compartment with the cargo hold. He twisted at its circular handle and pushed the cast-aluminum hatch back on silent hinges. There, in the center of the hold, sat a silvery cylindrical insulated tank some three meters in length and a meter and a half in diameter. Its smooth sides were interrupted only by a pressure-tight access door with a thick glass pane. From here and there, gentle wisps of vapor rose, only to dissipate at once.

At its far end, a pair of heavy steel liquid-gas bottles had been attached, with two lines of insulated tubing leading somewhere beneath. On the end facing him, he saw a simple control console with dial readouts and a bank of dim LEDs, all glowing a deep green in the gloom of the hatch. This is it.

Yes! Yes, Maurice! That's it! They threw me into that thing! I'm—my body—is inside, frozen.

Her terror and revulsion made his head swim for an instant before he could gather his own thoughts about him once again. Her body, suspended in its liquid-helium bath at close to absolute zero, would be orders of magnitude more brittle than the most delicate china. Daring aerobatic tricks with trapar could be of no use here, and his heart sank within him. Ariadne...I don't know what to do. How can I revive you?

The console. Get us closer to the console.

In the half-light, he moved with silent steps over the exposed beams and other structural members of the airship. The cryo tank and its ancillaries, he now saw, had been mounted by huge lag bolts to a slab of monochain polymer that was in turn secured in the metal jaws of some hydraulic device engineered into the ship itself. What's that big hydraulic thing, Ariadne?

This isn't a cargo hold, it's a weapons bay. This is a modified air-to-ground attack ship. There'd usually be a battery of cruise missiles back here, which would be pushed out that big side hatch door for launching. They've secured the tank to the launching device. The Federation military must have been in a hurry to get this ship prepared. There, use that short ladder—we can climb up to the console with that. Hurry, Maurice, please!

Yeah. Here we go. He climbed to the polymer flooring and looked the incomprehensible instrument panel over with dread. Absolutely nothing had any meaning to him at all. Can you make any sense of this stuff? Did you ever read anything about something like this in a book?

Something like it, once. It was about the Arkship, and the way they put the Pilgrims into Long-sleep. Reach up for that handle at the upper left, there, and just nudge it a little.

Maurice reached out to the black metal handle, realizing as he did so that with just a tiny step further he could look into the glass inspection port on the machine's side. But terror at what he might see there clutched at him and he turned aside from it to concentrate on the instrumentation with all his will. There. I moved it a little. It seemed to him that the soft rhythm of the refrigerant pumps altered fractionally. More than anything else, he wanted to be out—wanted them both to be out—of this shadowy cave of horror.

All right. I think that raised the temperature by half a Kelvin degree.

But there's more involved than just thawing you out! Even I know that you've gotta be properly revived from cryosleep, or you'll... You've gotta do it right, Ariadne! In spite of the coolness of the ambient air, Maurice found himself sweating.

I know. I'm trying to think of something I might have read about that. In the Arkship, they —

"Savo!" crackled the radio from the crew compartment behind them. "Savo! Do you copy?"

Maurice stood motionless, petrified. Savo. The kidnapper who had taken Ariadne. In the rush of events, he had forgotten that Savo still had to be aboard.

"Savo, come to the bloody comm, will you? We're locked out. At least turn on your personal communicator."

Through the gloom of the weapons bay, toward the tail end of the ship, Maurice saw a figure stir from a crew hammock. The Federation trooper rose, shook his head and unclipped his communicator from the equipment straps of his battle pack. "Savo here. I copy, Brunewald. What're you doing out there? Locked out? What the hell? Are you and Pétain so dumb that you..."

"Negative, negative! That kid is in the ship. He sneaked in while we were chasing some kind of flare in the sky. He's locked the forward hatch and he's probably in there, up to no good. He'll try and access the cargo—"

The cargo? Ariadne's not cargo, you filth!

"— or maybe sabotage the ship to ground it till he can signal the IPF, if he hasn't already. If he does any more damage to this mission, all our butts'll be in front of a firing squad. Keep your eyes—"

"Copy that." Savo clicked off the communicator and crouched into the shadows. He reached into one of several shoulder pouches, pulling forth something dark and thick-barreled.

That's a .05-caliber high-pressure needle gun, Maurice. He wants to kill you without damaging the tank.

Maurice swallowed to clear his dry throat. If he died, so did Ariadne, but the brutal Federation killer had no way of knowing that. Needle gun...used for riot control in the Federation. Wouldn't do much damage to equipment, but in human flesh, they fragmented into metallic slivers that would maim—or kill at once in a vital spot. Would the Coralian Gift's regeneration protect him? Not in time to save Ariadne. He groped for the RPP in his jacket.

"Don't touch that panel, kid!" roared Savo, his voice booming in the enclosed bay.

How'd he know where—?

You're standing in front of the LEDs, Maurice!

He needed no further explanation. Maurice jumped from the plastic slab all the way to the ship's hull, a meter below, narrowly missing a duralumin girder. He scrabbled over it, looking for cover, while Savo's heavy footfalls sounded from the other end of the hold.

He's trying to cut you off, Maurice—he's coming around the other side. Using the launch mechanism as a shield.

Wants to kill me first, I guess, then get to the radio and call the Federation...

Savo's shadowy form rose up from behind the complex fingers of the cruise-missile launcher, and something whizzed through the air just above Maurice, splattering him with tiny splinters. "Give it up now, kid! They want you alive, just like her, but the only one they have to have is her. If you get killed, nobody's gonna be asking any questions."

Another two shots buzzed out, and Maurice jumped, pulling himself into the meager protection of another girder, then fired off a rocket round in the general direction of Savo's voice. The detonation echoed from the metallic walls. In the flash of light from the RPP explosion, he saw Savo leap forward, past the cryo tank, using the five claws of the launcher as stepping-stones that would bring him to within less than a meter.

He'll be at the fourth one, next! I gotta do it now! Maurice gripped the RPP in both hands, swung for where Savo had to be waiting, and squeezed off two rounds.

The shining trail of his rocket round lanced out into the dark, searing a ghastly hole in the Federation assassin's left side; the second ricocheted from a structural member and detonated in the maze of the launching mechanism. From somewhere within the ship came the strained throb of hydraulic pumps.

"You little brat!" His uniform afire, Savo dropped into the rising metallic jaws, ripping off shot after ineffective shot from the needle gun. "The whole damn world is gonna die on account of you, remember that! The whole damn..."

His screams joined with the whine of the pumps, until a wet crunching put a period to whatever Savo's final words might have been.

Maurice! The launch mechanism! One of those shots hit something and started it up!

Yeah, I know. But the machine got Savo, so —

The helium tank is attached to the launch platform! It's going to eject the tank!

"Savo, do you copy?" The cockpit radio rattled on. "What's going on in there? Don't get careless with any shooting around the cargo! Do you copy?"

No! It can't! It's gotta —

Frantic, Maurice ran behind the moving cryo tank, firing blindly down into the gears and pressure lines of the launcher. "Where're the controls? I've gotta get the controls!" His RPP rounds detonated one after another, blooming their deadly flame until the pistol snapped on an empty magazine. Maurice threw it at the nearest control node, with no effect. "Which one did I hit the first time? Which one did I hit? Stay back! Stay back! You can't do this to her! Stop!"

Pitiless daylight raged in as the missile bay door opened with a whine of servomotors, indifferent as death. Maurice leaned against the tank, pushing with his own body against its inexorable march. Ariadne! Help! Make trapar or something! We gotta get together; force this thing back! Ariadne!

But only raw terror answered him. Maurice! Mauriiice! It's going to eject! I can't... There isn't...

No it's not! We can push back, we can —

The tiedowns snapped free; the great steel hand gave one final surge and the cryotank, its auxiliary equipment, the heavy polymer mounting slab and Ariadne's final link to the living world soared out into the glaring sunlight in a low arc. Upward it rose, two meters; three until it seemed it might escape its earthbound nightmare forever, then plummeted to the stony ground below. The stainless-steel cryotank, its insulated metal already brittle with unthinkable cold, smashed like a jar full of diamonds, liquid helium spraying in every direction, turning all it touched to dead frost, vapors rising in the frozen sun.

And there, in the midst of it all, the perfect ice sculpture of a lovely fairy shattered into a million tiny crystals, leaving only a fleeting rainbow before falling like broken dreams on its arctic garden.

—

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Chapter Twenty-two

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—

Together, Max and Phaedra folded shut the cargo ramp of the LZ-129, then leaned back against its cool fuselage for a brief rest. "Okay," said Max. "That's everything, loaded and latched. You packed the tents?"

Phaedra nodded. "Yeah. You think we ought to take the rover?"

"Too shot up. It'd probably die on us just when we needed it most. Just extra weight." He permitted himself one final look across the rippling alpine meadow, toward the forest and the unseen city of Neuchatel beyond. "Doc Bouchard's probably already radioed for help, so we'd better get going before any IPF ships show up to drag us back to the Heart of the World. You still sure this's what you want to do?"

"Yeah, still sure." Phaedra jammed both hands into the pockets of her thermal suit. "Those Federation jerks can't grab any of my family and get away with it." She kicked at a tussock of grass with one foot. "And Max...thanks. For coming along, I mean."

"Yeah. Well, thanks for reminding me how much I needed to come along. Come on, now, get in and I'll start warming up while we plot the first leg of our course."

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Chapter Twenty-three

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—

MAURIIIIICEEEEEE! I'm not—I'm —

He stood, stunned, unbelieving. Maurice's mind refused to accept what his eyes told him, paralyzed with numb horror. And in his consciousness, the voice that was Ariadne began to fade, to withdraw from his perception...

NO! Don't let go, Ariadne, hold on!

But it's over, Maurice, I love you, I'm going...

No you're not! NO, you're not! Just hold on, stay in there. I'm going down... He jumped from the gaping hatchway, tumbling the three-meter drop to the ground, beyond noticing the pain of impact. Maurice ran, stumbled, to the edge of the huge steaming white patch, the liquid helium still sizzling and squealing and utterly forbidding.

Maurice... The voice within was weaker now, confused, teetering on the edge of surrender.

No, Ariadne! Listen to me, LISTEN! That thing we did together, the trapar, you know...

That wasn't like this...

I know, but listen! We can do this! Mom and Dad did this, the night you were born. We can do it too, I know we can! It was Matt Stoner, you know the story, we both heard it a hundred times.

But that was Mother and Father... We're not...I'm not as good... We're just...

They weren't any better than we are, when they started out. Maybe worse, 'cause you and me've been trained more. Don't slip away, Ariadne, please don't. Put our minds together...remember how it was when we were making that trapar spiral? So scared that we did it almost without thinking?

Yes...I think so... Something like a sigh, distant and fragile, blurred her for a moment.

Well, I know I've never been this scared in my life, so just let it happen again. Remember how it was, how you made trapar. I could guide it a while ago, and I can do it again, now, I know I can! And you can, too. But we can only do this together!

He raised both arms over his head as if calling down the lightning, purging even the concepts of fear and doubt from his mind with the channeling exercises the Vodarek had taught him. Do it now, Ariadne! Do it along with me! We can only do it together. Yeah, that's it! Make it phase together. All that stuff the Vodarek priests told us was right, only I couldn't understand any of it till now. Together...we can only do it together...together...

Yes. All right, Maurice, I can do it for you. For us.

Something joined inside them, and their merged minds opened a geyser of gushing trapar, creating it, shaping it, directing it, giving it will and purpose. Between Maurice's hands a green flame ignited, spreading downward through arms, head, his entire body, outshining the mountain sunlight. And from that flame a tendril stretched out, forward, into the steaming cloud before them. Sparkling little motes flew together from the icy ground, like bees returning to a hive, clustering into a human form. The part of them that was Ariadne cried out in silent joy and slid from him, and out of the fog she came running, heedless of the burning cold, smiling and graceful and alive, beaming with a happiness too great to be contained.

"Maurice!" she cried to him.

His eyes overflowed then, and he stepped forward to embrace her, and fell into blackness.

—

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Chapter Twenty-four

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—

Renton snapped bolt upright, the echoes of a scream still ringing in his ears, whether Eureka's or his own, he could not decide. At his side she lay weeping, and he gathered her into his arms, his own chest heaving for no reason he could define.

"Renton-sama. Lady Eureka."

By degrees, he became aware of people surrounding him, Holland, Yuki, Dr. Egan, Jobs, Dr. Morita... And beside him, Viyuuden, his face drawn and taut.

"Viyuuden? What're we doing in Dr. Morita's office...? Oh, wait a minute, we were having a meeting, right? But what's wrong with Eureka? What're we doing on the floor?"

Holland crouched beside them, smiling in his old ironic way. "That's what we were wondering, kid. Viyuuden, here, has been chanting till we all thought he'd go hoarse. I figure you two came out of it just to shut him up." Then the humor left his eyes. "You all right? Both of you? You were out for almost an hour."

Eureka shook her head, setting her electric-blue hair to shimmering. "I'm all right now, thank you. But Ariadne...and Maurice. They've been through something terrible."

"I could feel as much," said Viyuuden, gently helping them back to their seats. "Or at least, I could feel their fear and despair as I opened my mind to Vodarek's light. Can you tell us more? You are their parents, after all."

"Sort of," muttered Renton, searching his memories yet unsure of what he found there. "They needed us, that's all I can remember. And somehow, we helped them out."

Eureka opened wide her lavender-pink eyes. "But it wasn't just us. There were others. You were one of them—all of you were, though you didn't know it. And others...and I could feel the Coral, its long, sideways thought, booming at the middle of it all."

"Are they okay?" asked Yuki. "Maurice and Ariadne, I mean."

"Yes. For now, at least. But they've been through a great deal. Like..."

"Like we used to," Renton said.

Weakly, she smiled at him. "Yes. Like we used to. When..."

The phone on Morita's desk buzzed, and all of them twitched. "Yes?" he said. "From... Yes, yes please. This line is as secure as any in the Heart of the World. Patch him in, and I'll put it on the speaker."

Morita looked round at all their anxious faces as he waited for the connection. "It's Dr. Matthieu Bouchard, on a secure-channel radio link. It seems he has a...very strange story to tell us all."

—

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Chapter Twenty-five

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—

I'm dreaming. The first thing Maurice saw was her face. Ariadne's serene face, the brilliant sunlight blazing behind it in a halo of joy. "Ariadne?" He coughed, his throat parched. "Really?"

She nodded down at him. "Really. You were right after all. You and I together could revive something...someone...who's very recently dead, just the way Mother and Father once did. And isn't it strange that the someone was me?"

"I...I guess." He forced himself upright on the grass, fighting back a sharp pain in his shoulders. The downed but intact Federation ship still waited above, its missile bay door hanging open like a yawning mouth. To his left, a huge brown blot on the meadow grass marked the area saturated by liquid helium when the cryo tank had exploded. Shiny shards of sharp metal glittered here and there among the blasted vegetation. "It really happened, then. It's all kind of mixed up to me, now. But I..." He pushed himself forward and took her in his arms, letting his tears fall unashamed on her bare shoulders. "It was so damn close. I almost lost...everything. I love you, Ariadne. Don't ever..."

Something stirred in the grass behind them, and he turned, nearly falling as lingering dizziness caught at him. Two naked men lay in the meadow before him, unconscious and breathing in slow, shallow rhythm. He looked from them to Ariadne, then back again. "Who are these guys?"

"The one on the right is Alois Pétain, the other one is Dieter Brunewald. They're the crew, remember? They were standing under the missile hatch when my tank was launched. They were killed by the liquid helium that splashed out."

"Killed?" Maurice swabbed away his tears with a rough gesture. "You mean that when we brought you back, we brought them back, too?"

"Something like that. Some sort of residual effect, I think." She held her hands before her face, turning them this way and that, as though seeing them for the first time.

"Crap. What about Savo?"

"His body was ejected by the launcher, but it was...too mutilated to revive, I think. Or maybe dead too long. It's over there beyond the frozen patch if you want to..."

He made a disgusted face. "Never mind. Why're these two naked?"

"I imagine because their clothing was flash-frozen, and shattered away. Just like mine. It was only their bodies that re-formed. They're alive, but still unconscious. I don't know why. Maybe because you and I were concentrating on me."

"I always concentrate on you." In spite of the pain in his shoulders, he held her tightly to himself again, still giddy with the exhilaration of what they had escaped, aware only of the precious reality he had so nearly lost forever.

One of the men on the ground made a strangled noise deep in his throat, and Maurice and Ariadne separated, startled. "I think they'll wake soon," she said. "We need to decide what we're going to do next."

"We'll go home, of course. Won't we?"

"Something's happening out there, Maurice." Ariadne looked toward the east, where the shadows of the lowering sun now grew long. "Savo said that the whole world depended on us somehow."

He removed his jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Is it smart to believe any of those Federation guys?"

"Thank you. Well, he was dying, and certainly had no reason to lie. And it does make sense, when you add those strange hints the others made, all that business about the moon. I was thinking about it while you were asleep, and I wonder if the Federation has discovered something dangerous, something that the InterDominion doesn't know about yet."

Maurice considered this. Now, with the immediate crisis behind them, he could see her point. But its implications were something else again. "You're not thinking that we oughta find out what's going on? Ariadne, that's crazy. What can we do?"

"We've done quite a bit so far, wouldn't you say?" She leaned forward and took his hands in hers. "This is our chance, our chance to show that we really can stand on our own feet and not just be part of Mother and Father's reputation. If we can find out what's happening and warn the InterDominion, it'll show the whole world that we can do important things, too."

"I don't... Do you really think we can? By ourselves, I mean?" Common sense told him No, but something in her magnetic enthusiasm could not be ignored.

She stood, tugging the jacket more tightly around her. "If we don't try, how will we ever know? Come on, we must get back to the ship, to close the launch bay. And so I can study the controls again. I'm sure I can operate it."

"But there's..."

"And to find some clothes for me. Come on, Maurice, it's getting cold out here, and we don't have much time." She marched back toward the wing, making her way up its long slope barefoot.

"We don't? Why not? Hey, Ariadne! We've gotta talk about this! And what about these guys, anyway?"

"We'll leave them the ship's evacuation gear. It's got emergency supplies, a tent and a distress radio. The IPF can pick them up. Hurry, Maurice, we've got to get going."

He wobbled to his feet and followed her. Something in the flavor of her thought told him just where she proposed to go, and he knew there would be precious little time to talk her out of it.

—

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Chapter Twenty-six

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—

Morita replaced the phone on its cradle, the terminal click from its speaker the only sound in the silent office.

"Things have taken a decided turn for the perilous," said Egan, pressing his fingertips together before his lean face. "Our young friends, it seems, have been in considerable, life-threatening danger, and may still be. Fortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Thurston, here, assure us that they are still alive and well, though their location remains unknown. And as for Miss Phaedra Sorel and Mr. Condor, we still know little. We must..."

Anemone burst in the door, her eyes blazing like twin torches. "Okay, what the hell's been going on with my daughter? Dominic...?" The two of them embraced, clinging to each other's strength.

"I trust you will all bring Mrs. Sorel up to date," said Viyuuden, tugging his robes of office into precise alignment. "For now, among other things, I must soon be present at the temple to carry out my usual duties. To miss them would be a sign to our enemies that we're beginning to move against them."

"And what d'you plan on doing for the cause?" Holland asked, allowing himself a touch of skepticism.

The tall priest paused before closing the office door behind him. "In my days as a hunted fugitive, I always made it a rule not to announce my plans in advance. Be patient."

"What did that mean?" said Jobs once he was gone.

Morita's phone buzzed for attention a second time. "Yes, this is Dr. Morita?" He sat in impassive silence for several moments. Then, "Very well. Keep me informed."

He sighed, leaned back in his reclining chair, and rubbed at both eyes. "There is more news. And I sincerely hope that our friend Viyuuden can shine a bit of the Light of Vodarek on us all."

—

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Chapter Twenty-seven

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—

Ariadne, now wrapped in assorted rolled-up bits of a vastly oversized military uniform from the crew locker, pondered the controls of the Federation gunship.

Beside her, Maurice gripped the co-pilot's steering yoke and watched the fuel-temperature readout rise toward Operational."You really sure the thrusters will work just like on a trapardynamic ship? We don't dare retract the wings yet, or the whole thing'll roll off the hillside before we get airborne."

"Well, I told you, I've never read any manuals for a pure-airlift craft before, but the vertical thrusters are completely standard. We'll start lifting off...now."

Maurice clenched his jaw as the roar of the ventral thrusters built to a stuttering scream. The starboard wing lifted free of the meadow as the thruster attitude control brought them to level alignment. "At least none of them got damaged by the landing." The ship shivered along its entire length, and from the forward windshield, they watched the landscape of what had in ancient times been western Germany drop beneath them. "I still say this's crazy, Ariadne. What's with you all of a sudden, anyway? We can't just go charging off to... Unh!"

She looked sharply his way. "What is it?"

"Nothing, just my back is all. I must've really twisted my neck when I jumped out of that hatchway. Come on, I need to know how to work this thing, too, and the only flying I've ever done is in a trainer at New Tresor. Show me how to get it moving forward."

Keeping her eyes on the gauges, she shifted to the faster, more precise speech of the Eye of Thought. The throttles are here, between the seats. Move them both forward as I back off on the thrusters. Not too fast; that's right. We're moving now. I'll adjust the gyropilot to give us altitude.

Like that? Okay, we're climbing now. Will we have enough fuel?

Well, the crew expected to get back, didn't they? According the flight computer, there's plenty, as long as we take the polar route.

Ariadne...seriously, d'you really think this is the right idea? You and me are way out of our depth with this, y'know.

It's the only idea, we already agreed on that. It only makes sense that Savo wasn't lying when he said... Maurice!

She cringed at the hot spasms of pain burning through his shoulders and spine. At once she slid from her seat, letting the gyropilot have its precise way with the gunship's heading. "Maurice, what's wrong? Have you broken something? The Coralian Gift will heal it, as long as you keep still. Let me help you lie down..."

Easing the shaking Maurice to the deck, she slipped a spare seat cushion beneath his head. His teeth chattered, and she felt his pain spike to near-intolerable levels.

"Don't think it's gonna...heal me that quick." He sucked in his breath and grimaced. "This is bad. I...think...I'm sick and dizzy. That thing we did with the trapar...musta been too much for me... I'm gonna black out again, Ariadne. You better turn us back. I won't be much use..."

She touched his mind again, just before he fell silent. Then she stood, looking down at him, overflowing with love. "This is the worst possible time, dearest Maurice. But you'll be all right, I know it. And now, I've got to get back to flying this ship. Sleep peacefully, and I'll be here when you wake."

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Chapter Twenty-eight

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—

Dominic huddled with Anemone before one of the eight large Operational display screens the New Tresor technicians had dragged into Morita's spacious office. A low chime sounded as one segment of the display, a large ALERT box, throbbed its warning. Dominic clicked "Respond" and pulled a microphone closer. "Commander Sorel, here. What've you got?"

An image of the current duty officer at City security headquarters replaced the alert message. "Satellite mass-detection scan shows a small craft taking off from the landing site of the Neuchatel party, sir. Visual imaging shows that it's the LZ-129. Would you like to see it, sir?"

"No need, thanks. But keep a 24/7 monitor on it. I want to know the minute it does anything unusual, and give me text updates every twenty minutes. What about the other ship, the Federation gunship that took off half an hour ago from the mountains?" Anemone held tightly to his left arm, almost dragging him from the screen.

"Still maintaining a northwesterly course, Commander. You were right—unless it deviates significantly, it seems to be taking a polar route to Federation-occupied territory. Too early to project just where, though. Another thing you should know: we've picked up a distress call on a Federation emergency frequency. It's coming from the area where our satellites show the gunship having landed after it left Neuchatel. They claim to be the gunship's original crew. Voiceprint analysis identifies them as Captain Alois Pétain and Subaltern Dieter Brunewald, both of Federation Aero Command."

"Right. Get that information to High Admiral Juergens, if you haven't done so already. Tell him we need to have those two retrieved for questioning as soon as they can get a transport there."

"Aye, sir. Has there been any voice contact with the Federation ship?"

Across the room, Jobs and Woz glanced up from their own consoles to shake their heads No.

"No, nothing yet. Thank you, Sezaku." Dominic clicked the microphone off, and looked round the room at their secret strategic group. "Eureka, it looks like you two were right. Maurice and Ariadne are heading for the most dangerous place they could possibly be—the Federation itself."

"What the hell can they be up to?" said Yuki. "We can't just ask them, since that radio will be using Federation military frequencies. And we can't give them a secure channel until they open communications with us. And it kind of looks like they're not ready to talk, yet."

"They're acting crazy," muttered Renton, huddled in a corner with Eureka.

"As I recall," Holland reminded him, "that's what we all used to say about you."

Egan sat at the furthest end of the room, arms folded, his intent face ghostly in the glow of the monitor before him. "So many unanswered questions. Just what are our very young and very inexperienced friends planning? How did they overpower the crew of the Federation gunship? What was the Federation's object in such a brazen kidnapping? And most puzzling of all, to my mind, how did the misguided Mrs. Magda Wesselényi and her followers locate Maurice and Ariadne in such an immense, unpopulated and unexpected location? Our data remains shockingly incomplete."

"It's got to be something to do with the LFO business." Arms behind him, Holland stared out one of the windows overlooking the research complex. "I don't care what Viyuuden'd say about the Will of Vodarek, this is just too damn much of a coincidence. It's all got to be tied together somehow."

"An unscientific but reasonable presumption, Holland. However—"

The chime sounded from Dominic's monitor once more, and all other conversation ceased. "Commander Sorel—we're getting a transmission from the LZ-129, sir."

"Patch it through to me one the double, secure channel!"

After a few seconds of hiss and crackle, a male voice came online. "This's airship LZ-129, Max Condor calling New Tresor. Are you receiving? Over."

"This is Commander—"

Anemone snatched the microphone for herself. "You! Where the hell's my daughter? What've you done with her? If she's hurt, you're gonna wish—"

"Mom?" Phaedra's voice cut clearly through the static. "Mom, is that you? I'm okay, everything's okay. Max is with me, and everything's okay."

"Phaedra? What kind of crazy stunt is this? You get the hell right back here this—"

"Sorry, Mom. I can't do that. Maurice and Ariadne've been kidnapped, and we're going to follow them and get them back."

Jobs patched himself into the communication link and came online. "This's Job Stevens, Phaedra. We have updated information on them. Somehow, Ariadne and Maurice managed to take control of the Federation gunship and left its crew at a mountain location about three hundred kilometers west of your current location. For some reason, they're...taking a polar route into Federation territory."

Low chatter between Phaedra and Max occupied the audio for several seconds, then her voice came over the link again. "Great, then they are alive! I knew it! And maybe I have some ideas about why they're going to the Federation, too. One way or another, they're still gonna need me around—and Max—to keep them from doing something really stupid. How about giving us the new heading of their ship, so we can follow them?"

"Absolutely not!" began Dominic. "This is a job for—"

But Anemone touched his lips, shook her head and kept her hold on the microphone. "Hey, kiddo, you really mean this, don't you?"

"Yeah, Mom, I do. I can't...can't just go on being Anemone Sorel's daughter forever, y'know. And we've gotta help Maurice and Ariadne. We've all gotta stick together, us Coralians, you know what I mean?"

Anemone sat silent for a moment, then turned to Dominic while their forehead jewels glimmered. When she faced the console once more, she could not disguise her fear and worry, but her voice remained confident and calm. "Yeah. Yeah, kiddo, I guess I do know what you mean. For the first time, maybe." She sighed, eyes tightly shut. "Okay, Phaedra, I'm gonna ask Jobs to send you those coordinates, and we'll keep'em updated for you."

"Thanks, Mom!"

"And you tell that Max Condor character that if he lets you get so much as a cat scratch, his guts'll be decorating every telephone pole from here to Bellforest!"

"Understood," came Max's voice in the background.

"You better understand. And both of you...if you run into any trouble—any trouble at all—don't you be too proud to call us, and the IPF'll turn the Federation into a glass landing strip."

"We will, Mom. And you too, Dad. We'll be in touch again."

"You do that. We'll be here when you need us. So...good-bye for now..." Anemone released the Transmit switch on the microphone. "...my baby girl," she whispered. The tears overflowed her eyes, then, and she fell into Dominic's arms.

"She's a strong and capable girl," he told her, stroking her hair. "I understand why you let her go on."

"Yeah... Yeah, sure. But...but when she was born, nobody ever told us this was gonna be so goddam hard. Dominic, I'm scared."

"We all are," said Eureka in her quiet voice. "We're all afraid."

No one spoke for a long while afterward. For the hearts of their secret fellowship now rode with two small and fragile aircraft, on their slow path into the jaws of a sleeping monster half a world away.

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Chapter Twenty-nine

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"I'm sorry, Miss Thurston," the black-suited Guardian told her in her polite but unyielding way, "but Viyuuden has given us strict orders that neither you, your brother nor the Novak boy are to leave your quarters until he tells us you may go."

"Our parents..." began eight-year-old Linck.

The Guardian smiled sympathetically. "Your parents support the decision completely. They will be here to visit you, whenever their current extraordinary duties permit it."

Maeter considered the ring of implacable Guardians of the Flame. It was all a bit frightening—well, maybe more than a bit—but things seemed under control. Renton and Eureka were all right, at least. Maurice was safely off on some kind of expedition with Matthieu, even though that stupid girl was with him.

"Can't we even go out of our rooms?" asked Linck, fretting as he shot the Guardians his most poisonous glances.

"Certainly. You have the free run of this top level of the Temple, but you may not descend any lower. I really wish I could tell you more, but that's all the information we were given."

Linck looked to Maeter for guidance. "Is it okay?"

She nodded. "I think so. We'll be all right for a little while."

"Okay, then. I'll go to my room, now." One of the Guardians followed him down the hallway to his own room, where he closed his door behind him.

"And you, Miss?" asked one of the others.

Maeter sighed and rolled her blue eyes to make certain they all understood just how tiresome and exasperating she found it all. "I suppose I must. Will you guys all be patrolling the halls and standing guard out here and things?"

"That's about it, Miss Maeter. Orders, after all."

"Well, I suppose there's no... Wait a minute. I've never seen you with the Guardians, but I think I know your face. Who are you?"

He made a little formal bow. "My name is Kitsune, and I was an Initiate when you first arrived at the Temple, Miss. I'm flattered that you remember me. Three years ago, I joined the Guardians of the Flame, and I've been in training since then. This is my first full assignment."

"Oh." Kitsune. Do I really remember him? Five years ago was a long time. "All right. Will you be guarding my room?"

"I'll be taking the first of three daily eight-hour shifts, yes."

"All right, then. I'll go inside now."

He must have changed a lot since the old days. Maeter closed the heavy door behind her, gently, until the lock clicked into place. She made certain it was fully engaged, then kicked off her high-heeled sandals and threw herself down on her bed. Listening carefully for any indication that any of the Guardians might knock to come in, she finally rolled to her stomach and reached beneath the bed, groping under clothing boxes, music and video crystals and the assorted debris of five years living at the apex of a massive stone pyramid.

Very carefully, she pulled out an old and very worn copy of Ray=Out, from five years back, from before the InterDominion, from before...Ariadne. Reverently, she turned the pages until she reached the photo spread done by Matt Stoner himself, in the days when he'd been just a photographer aboard the Moonlight.

There were the old familiar pictures of the fancy-dress ball at the old Tresor hangar, just before it'd been attacked by the Federation. Holland in his formal uniform, its Federation patches removed; Yuki in her devastating gown. Eureka and Renton, of course, got the most coverage, for Ray=Out had always been primarily a propaganda magazine, after all. Matthieu and Hilda. And next—Maeter held her breath while she turned the page—the candid shots of her seven-year-old self dancing with an impossibly young Maurice. All around them beamed the smiling faces of the Tresor staff, delighted by the two children so solemnly holding to each other, whirling slowly around the floor in each others' arms, just like their parents.

Maeter touched the largest of the pictures, then quickly closed the magazine and pushed it back beneath the bed. It wouldn't do to blotch the precious pages with tears, after all.

The End