With a cheer the mercenaries poured out from the gate toward the Gorayni. The Basilican guard shrank back against the walls, their weapons ready. Some few started slinking away to the left or the right, hoping to escape, but to their honor most of the guard remained in their places, prepared to end their lives doing their duty. Moozh’s Thousand took note of this; they would treat the guard with respect, should a reckoning come between them.

  As for the mercenaries, those closest to the Gorayni came with their guard down, prepared to embrace these newcomers as their brothers. But they found that swords and pikes and bows were pointed at them, and confusion spread from the rim to the center of the mob.

  Moozh still stood where he had stood all along, only now he was surrounded by mercenaries, cut off from his own men. He seemed to show no alarm at all, though it made his men more than a little nervous. To their consternation, he began to push his way through the mob, not toward his men, but away from them and toward the gate. The mercenaries seemed content with this—it was a sign that he meant to lead them.

  Moozh strode out into the open area in the middle of the gate, his back to the mercenaries. “Ah, Basilica,” he said—loudly, but not in the voice of command. “How often I have dreamed of standing in your gate and seeing your beauty with my own eyes!” Then he turned to face the officer of the guard, who stood at the post of the gate, his weapon drawn. Moozh spoke softly to him. “Would Basilica regard it as a great service, my friend, if these hundreds of ugly twins were to die on this ground at this hour?”

  “I think so, yes,” said the officer, confused once again, but also glad with new hope.

  Moozh turned back to face the mob—and his men behind them. “Every man who loves the name of Gaballufix, raise your sword high!”

  Most of the mob—all but the wariest of them—raised their weapons. No sooner had they raised their arms, however, than Moozh drew his sword from its sheath.

  That was the signal. Three hundred arrows were loosed at once, and every man at the periphery of the mob—their arms conveniently raised so that every arrow struck them in the body—fell, most of them pierced many times. Then, with a thunderous shout, the Gorayni fell on the remaining mercenaries and in only two or three minutes the carnage was over. The Gorayni immediately formed themselves into ranks again, standing before the bodies of their fallen enemies.

  Moozh turned to the officer of the guard. “What is your name, sir?”

  “Captain Bitanke, sir.”

  “Captain Bitanke, I ask again: Would Basilica welcome our intervention to help restore order in these beautiful streets? I have here a letter from the Lady Rasa; is her name known to you?”

  “Yes it is, sir,” said Bitanke.

  “She wrote to me, asking for succor for her city. I came, and now respectfully ask your permission to bring these men within your gates, to serve as auxiliary troops in your effort to control the violence in your streets.”

  Bitanke bowed and then unlocked the guard booth in the gate and stepped inside. Moozh could see that he was typing into a computer. After a few moments he stepped back into the open. “Sir, I have told them what you did here. The situation of our city is desperate, and since you come in the name of the Lady Rasa, and you have proven your will to defeat our enemies, the city council and the guard invite you to enter. Temporarily you are placed under my immediate command, if you will accept one of my low rank, until a more orderly system can be arranged.”

  “Sir, it is not your rank but your courage and honor that make me salute you, and for that reason I will accept your leadership,” said Moozh. “May I suggest that we deploy my men in companies of six, and authorize them to deal with any men they find who are behaving in a disorderly fashion. We will in all cases respect those who wear your uniform; any other men we find who have weapons drawn or who offer violence to us or to any woman of the city, we will slay on the spot and hang up on public display to quell any notion of further resistance by others!”

  “I don’t know about the hanging, sir,” said Bitanke.

  “Very well, we have our orders!” Ignoring Bitanke’s hesitation, Moozh turned to his soldiers. “Men of the Gorayni, by sixes!”

  Immediately the ranks shifted and suddenly there were a hundred and fifty squads of six men each.

  “Harm no woman!” cried Moozh. “And whomever you see in that loathsome mask, hang him up, mask and all, until no man dares wear it by night or day!”

  “Sir, I think . . .”

  But Moozh had already waved his arm, and his soldiers now entered the city at a trot. Bitanke came closer to Moozh, to remonstrate perhaps, but Moozh greeted him with an embrace that stifled conversation. “Please, my friend—I know your men are exhausted, but couldn’t they be usefully employed? For instance, I think this village outside the gate could profit from a little cleaning out. And as for you and me, we should make our way to those who are in authority, so I can receive the orders of the city council.”

  Whatever misgivings Captain Bitanke might have had were swept away by Moozh’s embrace and his smile. Bitanke gave his orders, and his men spread out through Dogtown. Then Moozh followed him into the city. “While my men are restoring order, we must see about putting out some fires,” said Moozh. “Can you call others of the city guard with your computer?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It’s not my place to tell you your business, but if your men can protect the firefighters, perhaps we can keep Basilica from burning down before dawn.”

  “Do you think the rest of your men might be able to come and help?”

  Moozh laughed. “Oh, General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno would never allow that. If such a force came to your gates, someone in Basilica might fear that we meant to conquer the town. We are here to extend you our protection, not to rule over you, my friend! So we bring no more men than these five hundred.”

  “The Oversoul must have sent you, sir,” said Captain Bitanke.

  “You have only to thank the Lady Rasa,” said Moozh. “Her and a brave man of your number named, I believe, Smelost.”

  “Smelost,” whispered Bitanke. “He was a dear friend of mine.”

  “Then I am glad to tell you that he was received with honor by General Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno, who lost no time in acting on his information and coming to the aid of your city.”

  “You came in good time,” said Bitanke. “It began like this last night, and spread through the day, and I feared that tomorrow morning would find the city in ashes and all the good women of Basilica in despair or worse.”

  “I’m always glad to be a messenger of hope,” said Moozh.

  By now they were walking along a street with houses and shops on either side. Yet there was no one moving, and lights shone from many upper windows. The only sign that the rioting had been here was the broken glass in the street, the shattered windows of the shops, and the bodies of dead mercenaries, still wearing their holographic masks, dangling like beeves from upper-story balconies. Bitanke looked at them in faint dismay as they walked along the street.

  “How long will those masks remain active?” asked Moozh.

  “Until the—bodies cool, I imagine. I’ve heard that body heat and magnetism are the triggers.”

  “Ah,” said Moozh.

  “May I ask—what they are—how your men were able to hang them? I see no ropes and there are no— apparatuses for hanging men in the streets.”

  “I’m not sure,” said Moozh. “Let’s take the cloak off one of them and see.”

  Gingerly Bitanke reached up and tugged on the cloak of the nearest dangling corpse. When it came away, the holograph faded instantly and it was easy to see that the body had been pinned to the wall by a heavy knife through its neck. “His own knife, do you think?” asked Moozh.

  “I think so,” said Bitanke.

  “Not a very secure job,” said Moozh, pushing at the body a bit. “I daresay if we have any wind tonight most of these will be down by morning. We’ll want to clean them up as quickly as possible, or we’ll have quite a problem with the dogs.”

  “Yes sir,” said Bitanke.

  “Never seen a dead body?” asked Moozh. “You look a little ill.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen dead bodies, sir,” said Bitanke. “I’ve just never heard if. . . treating them this way . . . I wish your men wouldn’t . . .”

  “Nonsense. These dangling bodies are like reinforcements. Any rioters that my soldiers happen to overlook—there are bound to be some using the toilet, don’t you think?—they’ll come out, see how quiet things are, notice the bodies, and most of the fight will go right out of them.”

  Bitanke chuckled a little. “I imagine so.”

  “You see?” said Moozh. “It’s a way of letting these boys make up for a bit of the mischief they’ve caused, by policing the streets for us all night. Correct me if I’m wrong, Captain Bitanke, but no one is going to shed many tears for them, right?”

  Within the hour Moozh was meeting with the city council. In the meantime, the hundred soldiers who had been tending the bonfires were moving into position at every gate of the city, standing alongside the guard in those few cases where they were at the gate. There was no quarrel between them; no soldier of the Gorayni came to blows with any of the city guard.

  Moozh’s meeting with the city council was peaceful, and they concluded a firm agreement that Moozh would have full access to all the boroughs of the city— even those that normally were restricted to women only, since that was where the worst of the fires were burning and the marauders had been most out of control—but that after two and a half days, Moozh would withdraw his men to quarters outside the city, where they would be amply supplied and rewarded from the treasury of the city. It was a wonderful alliance, full of many compliments and much heartfelt gratitude.

  Few in Basilica would realize it for several days, but by the time Moozh left the meeting his conquest of the city was complete.

  Nafai said as little as possible to Elya and Meb as they set out on their journey back to Basilica. His silence did not make them any more cheerful toward him, but it meant that he didn’t have to quarrel with them, or do some verbal dance to avoid quarreling. He could keep his own thoughts.

  He could talk to the Oversoul.

  As if it mattered what he said to the old computer. For a few days he had fancied that he and the Oversoul were working together. The Oversoul had shown him its memory of Earth, had explained its purpose in the world, to try to keep the planet Harmony from repeating the miserable, self-destructive history of Earth. Nafai had agreed to serve that purpose. Nafai had stood over a drunken man in the street—his enemy—and it never would have come to his own mind to kill the man as he lay there, helpless. But the Oversoul had told him to do it and Nafai had complied. Not because Gaballufix was a murderer himself who deserved to die. Why, then? Because Nafai believed the Oversoul, agreed with the Oversoul that by killing this one man, he could help preserve the whole world.

  And, having done the crime, having put blood on his own hands for the sake of the Oversoul’s cause, where was the Oversoul now? Nafai had imagined that there was now a special relationship between the Oversoul and himself. Hadn’t there been that moment when the Index first spoke to him and Father and Issib? Father and Issib had only partly understood the Oversoul’s message—they grasped the idea that the Oversoul meant to lead them on a long journey to a wonderful place where Issib could use his floats again and not be confined to his chair. But only Nafai had understood that the place the Oversoul meant to take them was not on the planet Harmony—that the Oversoul meant to take them back to Earth. After forty million years, home to Earth.

  Since then, though, the Index had been nothing but a guide to a vast memory bank. Father and Issib studied, and Nafai with them, but all the time Nafai kept waiting for some word—to all of them, or perhaps to him alone. Perhaps some special private message, some word of encouragement. Something to fulfill the promise made that time when the Oversoul, speaking through Issib’s chair, had said that it had chosen Nafai to lead his brothers.

  Am I chosen, Oversoul? Why can’t I see the results of your favor, then? I have made myself a murderer for you, and yet your vision of our wives came to Elemak. And what did he see? That you had chosen Eiadh for him! What has your favor brought me, then? Now you speak to Elemak, who plotted with Gaballufix, who tried to kill me; now you give him the woman that I have so long desired—why did he receive that dream, and not me? I have been humiliated now in front of all of them. I will have to eat dust, I will have to submit to Elya’s orders and serve at his pleasure, I will have to watch Elya take that sweet and beautiful girl who has so long inhabited my dreams. Why do you hate me, Oversoul? What have I done, except to serve you and obey you?

  The camels clambered with lazy strength up a slope, and Elemak led them along the edge of a precipice. Nafai looked out over the landscape and saw the savage knife-edged rocks and crags, with only here and there a bit of grey-green desert foliage. The Oversoul promised me life, promised me greatness and glory and joy, and here I am, in this desert, following my brothers, who plotted with Father’s enemy and, wittingly or not, set Father up to be killed. I helped the Oversoul to save Father’s life, and now here I am.

  Yes, here you are.

  It took a moment to realize that this was the voice of the Oversoul, for it spoke in Nafai’s mind as if it were his own thought. But he knew, from his few experiences, that this thought was coming from outside himself, if only because it seemed to answer him.

  In turn, he answered the Oversoul—and not with any particular respect. Oh, here you are, he said silently, sarcastically. Noticed me again? Hope I wasn’t a bother.

  I bother a great deal for you.

  Like choosing Eiadh for my brother instead of me.

  Eiadh is not for you.

  Thanks for your help, said Nafai silently. Thanks for dealing me such a miserable hand in this game with my brothers.

  I’m not doing too badly for you, Nafai.

  Maybe I don’t give you the same high marks you give yourself. I killed a man for you.

  And every moment of this journey, I am saving your life.

  The thought startled Nafai. Inadvertently he sat up straighter, looked around him.

  Every moment of this journey, I am turning their thoughts away from their decision to kill you.

  Fear and hatred, both at once, clawed their way down Nafai’s throat and deep into his belly. He could feel them churning there, like small animals dwelling inside him.

  It’s good that you’ve been silent, said the Oversoul. It’s good that you haven’t provoked them, or even reminded them that you’re along with them on this journey. For my influence in their minds, while strong, is not irresistible. If their anger flowed hotly against you, how would I stop them? I don’t have Issib’s chair to act through now.

  Nafai was filled with fear, with a longing to go back to Father’s tent. At the same time, he was hurt and angry at his brothers. Why do they still hate me? How have I harmed them?

  Foolish boy. Only a moment ago you were longing for me to reward you for your loyalty to me by giving you power over your brothers. Do you think they don’t see your ambition? Every time I speak to you, they hate you more. Every time your father’s face is filled with delight at your quick mind, at your goodness of heart, they hate you more. And when they see that you desire to have the privileges of the eldest son . . .

  I don’t! cried Nafai silently. I don’t want to displace Elemak . . . I want him to love me, I want him to be a true older brother to me, and not this monster who wants me dead.

  Yes, you want him to love you . . . and you want him to respect you . . . and you want to take his place. Do you think you are immune to the primate instincts within you? You are born to be an alpha male in a tribe of clever beasts, and so is he. But he is ruled by that hunger, while you, Nafai, can’t you be civilized, can’t you suppress the animal part of yourself, and work to help me achieve a far higher purpose than determining who will be the leading male in a troop of erect baboons?

  Nafai felt as if he had been stripped naked in front of his enemies. If I am no better than Elemak, no better than any of the troop of baboons downstream from Father’s tent, then why did you choose me?

  Because you are better, and because you want to be better still.

  Help me, then. Help me curb my own dark desires. And while you’re at it, help Elemak, too. I remember him when he was younger. Playful, loving, kind. He’s more than an ambitious animal, I know he is, even if he’s forgotten it himself.

  I know it, answered the Oversoul. Why do you think I gave that dream of Elemak? So he might have a chance to waken to my voice. He has much of the same sensitivity you have. But he has long chosen to hate me, to thwart my purposes if he can. So my voice has been nothing to him. This time, though, I could tell him something he wanted to hear. My purpose coincided with his own. What do you think your life would be worth, if I had shown you who his wife should be? Do you think he would have taken Eiadh at your hand?

  I wouldn’t have given him Eiadh.

  So. You would have ignored me. You would have rebelled against me. You tell yourself that you killed Gaballufix only because you serve me and my noble purpose . . . but then you are willing to rebel against me and thwart my purpose, because you want a woman who would ruin your life.

  You don’t know that. You may be a very clever computer, Oversoul, but you can’t tell the future.

  I know her, as I know you, from the inside. And if you ever know her, you will understand that she could never be your wife.

  Are you saying she’s bad at heart?

  I’m saying she lives in a world whose center of gravity is herself. She has no purpose higher than her own desires. But you, Nafai, will never be content unless your life is accomplishing something that will change the world. I am giving you that, if you have the patience to trust me until it comes to you. I will also give you a wife who will share the same dreams, who will help you instead of distracting you.