"It would seem potent," she agreed unsteadily and became alive again to the other sounds, especially those of the closing police car, and leapt forward. "Inside!"

  Anjemalti went first, pitching the Trident before him and rolling in clumsily, careful of the wounded arm.

  Corbinye went next, and landed running. She pushed past Anjemalti, smacked the toggle to release the inner lock and pelted down the hall toward the command center.

  She hit the chair and opened the board in one motion, barely aware that he had found the co-pilot's seat and was unsealing the ship's Eyes. She was herself busy with screen readings and a demand for damage report on the forced hatch. She touched the red toggle almost as a by-the-way and in a moment heard Anjemalti murmur, "Weapons armed."

  "So," she acknowledged and let a little breath hiss between her teeth in relief as ship's stats reported the hatch sealed and spaceworthy. "That's a remarkable toy you possess, cousin."

  "None of mine, and all of the Bindalche's," he said. "I'm sworn to return the thing to them at earliest—There's Dart on Three. I'm searching a clean comm line. . .."

  "Go through Weapons for a scramble and transmit direct," she told him and he nodded, fingers flying over the keys.

  "Anjemalti," Witness said suddenly over their heads, "the Smiter lies alone in the inner hatch."

  "It needs remain there for the present, friend," Gem said, as the buzz of an open comm line filled the cabin. "It is my deepest hope that the Goddess is not angered."

  There was a sound from where he stood behind them—almost it seemed to be a laugh. "No, Anjemalti," he said. "I think the Goddess is not angered at all."

  "Good," he said absently, and then, more forcefully: "Linzer. It's Gem."

  "About damn' time," Skot's voice was as laconic as ever. "This your idea of a party, ser Edreth?"

  Gem grinned. "What do they want?"

  "You, so the gentle who's been haranguing me for the past two hours says. I told her I didn't have you, but she seemed inclined to doubt it. Wanted me to open the door and let a search party in." He snorted. "Mama Skot's youngest ain't that big a fool."

  "I thought you were the eldest," Gem said, fingers playing over the keys. He sent an image to Corbinye's main screen, saw her read it and begin to ply the weapons keys.

  "This ain't the time to argue lineage. You fixing this mess or am I?"

  Gem tipped his head, reading over the rather distressful situation surrounding Dart. By comparison, their own ring of one attackwagon and three armored cop cars were mere decoration.

  "Can you fix it?" he asked Skot.

  "I can broadbeam a piloting lesson about what happens to an energy field generated by, say, gravbeams, when the object enclosed by the field suddenly goes hyperspatial and kick in the engines for emphasis. Ought to give 'em something to scramble for." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a characteristic sound that told Gem Linzer was more worried than he allowed. "These are cops, kiddo. They ain't gonna risk their lives over physics."

  "Maybe . . ." Corbinye had done with the weapons keys and was gently easing the engine feed up. Gem nodded at the schematic she'd sent to his screen, heard her murmur, "We have attempted contact, Anjemalti—from the 'wagon. I feign deafness."

  "Sounds too risky," he said to Skot. "What if we draw their attention away for a moment? Can you lift?"

  There was a slight pause. "You done here? 'Cause if I lift straight, without a flight plan and with the local gendarmes peeved, there ain't a bribe big enough to clear Dart's name for landing here again. Ever."

  "I'm done," Gem said quietly, tripping the appropriate toggles. "We're on Pad Sixteen, your starboard. We will provide a diversion. At the first opportunity, lift. We'll be right behind you."

  Another pause, slightly longer than the first. "Got you sighted. Rendezvous?"

  "Three months, on Cheyenne?"

  "Gotcha. Let's get outta here."

  "Diversion starting in sixty seconds. Luck to you, Linzer."

  "Luck to you, son. Out."

  Gem hit the first switch.

  The volley went over the beamrigs. One flare hit the tip of a catapult tower; a second smacked into a cop car.

  The broadcom roared confusion and the screens showed a very gratifying milling about, as the big engines tried to come around to face this new threat.

  Gem hit the second switch.

  The closest beamrig exploded, followed by the second and one of the smaller attackwagons. Radio noise was replaced for an instant by stunned silence as Corbinye threw the engine slide all the way to the top and smacked the lift-warning bell.

  The cop cars and wagon hanging onto Hyacinth's skirts scrambled backward, ship's stats showed readiness to lift—and Gem threw the third switch.

  "Eee-HAH!" yelled Linzer across the beam and in the screen Dart hurtled upward, adding a few shots of her own to the melee as Corbinye yelled at Witness to grab on and sent Hyacinth climbing after, through the puny lightnings that the groundwagons hurled.

  "All RIGHT!" Linzer yelled. "Smooth as taffy candy! Best escape I've ever been—"

  In the screen, Dart blew apart.

  Chapter Forty-One

  He chose darkness, did the young Chief, perhaps the better to meditate upon the faces of his dead. That there were several of these, Witness knew, for Anjemalti had sought out Shlorba's Smiter, as was proper and fitting, and laid his hand upon the leather-bound grip and whispered, "Linzer. Shilban. Edreth." And one more, so faintly said that Witness had to trust to the echo from the walls to aid his ears—"Mother."

  He had borne the Smiter away then, out of the hallway where it had lain while he and Death's Warrior had been about the business of escape. But he did not carry it with him wholly into darkness. Rather, he leaned it athwart the door of the room in which he meditated, as a lesser man might lay his sword across his tent-flap, ensuring privacy.

  Given such duty, the Smiter lay, seemingly quiescent, though Witness, from his watching-post in the dim passway, felt an emanation his secret heart named "amusement."

  The chamber which held the Chief Anjemalti was quiet; the Smiter dozed. Almost, Witness dozed. He caught himself on the edge of sleeping and sternly disciplined his mind, setting about the task of ordering the events of the past day, shaping all into Memory.

  Elsewhere within the star sailing ship were clangs and clatters: Death's Warrior about some task or another, he supposed, and wove her more firmly into the Memory.

  It was surely a most puissant sign, the Witness thought as the Memory spun within him, that event should have cast up, at this time of the Bindalche's shame, such a Chief, assisted by so astonishing a champion. That the Smiter was pleased with these gifts was patent. That it quivered and responded to the young Chief's touch as a maiden to the hands of her lover, was a joy, vindicating the Memories of the oldest Witnesses. Memories that even some of the Telios had whispered were but legend.

  More clankings came from the depths of the star-sailer. Witness smiled, in keeping with his secret heart's amusement. So busy, Death's Warrior. So busy—and a puzzle of herself.

  For it was plain that this Warrior, who claimed in a voice translucent with truth to have died and been reborn, was most vibrantly alive. In the past, so said the old Memories, when a chief had desired service from a champion who had untimely died, the Smiter had partaken of event and reshaped a part of the fabric of time, so that the fallen rose and did the bidding of the chief, and lay down again when duty was done.

  But those, Memory insisted, had been dead. Dead, they had risen, and, dead, had obeyed most dreadful need. The hearts of such did not beat, Memory taught; and the flesh had continued to rot as, blind and breathless, they waded into battle, swords held in nerveless fingers, dealing death, sowing madness.

  In the dimness of the passway, Witness shivered with the old Memories. Shivered and pushed them away, though duty said he should rather hold them close and be instructed. Instead, he replaced the vision of the ancient risen with a picture of Anjemalti's warrior—young and comely, with voice and breath and heart all strong; quick as a flash-strike; silent as a hunter—

  The lights came on in the passage.

  Witness blinked in the sudden glare, and blinked again at Death's Warrior, standing over him, hands on hips and red shirt shining.

  "Is the intensity uncomfortable?" she demanded in abrupt grace.

  Witness glanced about, allowing his eyes time to adjust, then looked back up. "The light is welcome, O Warrior. I thank you for the gift."

  She shrugged. "With three blind crew it's madness to miser power." She pinned him with her great black eyes. "Where is Anjemalti?"

  The Witness used his chin to point, and she pivoted on a heel, frowning at the Smiter that blocked her way.

  "Well . . ." She shrugged once more. "There's food, if you're wanting any, and cabins enough so you needn't sleep in the hall."

  "My thanks for your care," Witness said, for so he perceived that it was. "I am Witness for the Telios."

  "So you do keep reminding one, from time to random time," Corbinye returned, and sighed. "Where do you think it can go? Out the door for a stroll?"

  He considered that carefully. "Within the nature of event," he achieved after a moment within Memory, "all things are possible."

  She snorted and made a wry face. "So it seems, upon reflection. Don't let duty starve you."

  "Warrior," he returned, "I will not."

  He thought that she would go, but she tarried a moment longer, a frown marring the comely face.

  "My name is Corbinye Faztherot," she said, flatly. "I am Worldwalker and Seeker for the Ship Gardenspot. It is my duty to go among Grounders and to deal with them when needful, for the good of the Ship. I speak the trade tongue and Universal, as well as several dialects. I am a pilot and a navigator. I have heard Grounders say that my duties among them earn me the title "assassin.'" She glanced down; fingered the shining red sleeve.

  "Red is the color of the weapons board," she said, and finally did turn and walk away, silent on the metal floor.

  Witness let loose the breath he had been holding, settled himself straighter against the wall, fixed his eyes upon the Smiter and let the information she had given—and a gracious, godly gift it was!—let the information fill him and his secret heart and wash over into Memory entire, illuminating what it might.

  * * *

  After a while, Gem had slept, slipping from half-crazed mourning into fevered dreams where he saw Dart exploding again and again and somewhere in the midst of it Edreth scolding him for lack of forethought—"A thief must be one step ahead of his opponent. Plan! And then follow the plan! Improvisation is for amateurs."

  "I didn't know," he said miserably. "How could I think they would have found Dart?"

  "How could you have thought they would not?" Edreth's voice answered him. "How many times have I told you to court invisibility? How many times have I told you to remain aloof of everyone, to do no favors, to avoid power and the wielders of power! Alone, you are invincible!"

  "But," Gem protested, around the anguish and the dream-sight of Dart exploding, "but you weren't alone, master. You had me. And Linzer . . ."

  "My errors, child," Edreth's voice seemed abruptly weary. "Do yourself service, and don't repeat them."

  "Master—"

  "Anjemalti?" The woman's voice was sweet, low and tentative. A roomgirl? But he never gave such his name; and certainly not that name.

  "Anjemalti," insistent now, and accompanied by a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Cousin, awaken. Your wound wants tending."

  Cousin. He opened his eyes and snarled upright, taking savage satisfaction in the startlement on her face and the slight shrinking back.

  She recovered herself instantly and glared down at him. "You require the attentions of the med unit, which awaits you. You require food, which is available and nutritious."

  "It would seem," he commented nastily, "that I also required sleep."

  "Two hours should be sufficient to the tasks of healing and eating, after which you may sleep until we raise Ship and damned to you!"

  Her anger hurt. He cast about for something conciliatory to say, then tipped his head, the better to hear the echo of Edreth's voice: "Aloof . . ."

  Gem stood, ignoring the protest of the arm, and glared, savoring his height. "Very well. A session with your medical unit would be welcome. Also some food. Of your kindness. But reconcile yourself, Corbinye. I do not go to your Ship."

  She matched him glare for glare, lovely mouth set, eyes blackly cold. "You will go where the pilot takes you," she said flatly, and Gem laughed.

  "I thought I was the Captain Who Must Be Obeyed?"

  "I think you're an overgrown brat," she snapped, turning on her heel. "And an ill-mannered one, at that."

  He grabbed her arm, more harshly than he had intended, and spun her toward him, ducking an instant before her fist would have struck his cheek.

  "Quick," he commented, seeing her exercise control and resentfully bring herself to rest. "But you were not nearly so quick with Qaffir."

  Her pale cheeks flamed. "Taunt me, Anjemalti, do. Childish pranks amuse me."

  "So?" He made one step toward her, checked himself and drew a deep breath, mindful of the arm's throbbing. Reason told him that this was not the course to plot with her, however much Edreth might have counseled the wisdom of aloofness. Gem had turned his back on that advice too many days ago. The consequences proceeding from that choice were now what must be dealt with.

  He bowed, very slightly, and tried to make his face less forbidding. He saw an echoing softness in Corbinye's face, though the eyes stayed wary.

  "What happened of Qaffir, Corbinye?"

  She moved her shoulders. "The one before me—Morela—had been slave to the Qaffir," she said slowly. "When he spoke, the body obeyed him, whether I wished or no." She shrugged again. "Are such things usual, Anjemalti, among those who return from the Blue House?"

  He hesitated, hearing the note of half-sick yearning in her voice, the wish for something that would explain her failure, that would restore her assurance of herself.

  Pity. Edreth would weep with despair, and he saw the hash his 'prentice had made of life, when he'd been left safe, with rules that worked to live by. Pity, and horror. For this he had wrought, to take one of the proudest of the Crew, imprison her in a hated Grounder body, and make her doubtful of her every instinct. Gem licked his lips.

  "I had not heard of the effect," he said. "But the Blue House is not something I studied—in depth."

  "Ah." Just perceptibly, her shoulders sagged, eyes showing infinite distress in the moment before she turned again toward the door. "Let us get you to the med unit, Anjemalti. The arm must pain you."

  Filled with pity, and a revulsion of self, Gem followed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Anjemalti came slowly from the med unit's maw, pale and gingerly of movement, as if the arm chafed him still. Corbinye felt a surge of pity and turned her face away, lest he see it in her eyes and scorn her.

  He must not, she thought, pouring tea with studied, unshaking precision, he must not be brought to the point of an order. Ships and stars, what shall I do, if he orders me elsewhere, for some Grounder necessity? He is the Captain and I am sworn to his service; to die, if he speaks the word. And yet he must go to the Ship, whether he wills it or no. . ..

  "Cousin," she said, by way of greeting, and put the tea down by his hand. "Sit, do, and tell me what you will have to eat."

  At least he sat, though he did not immediately speak, looking instead deep into the depths of his cup, as if he would read all of his future in the darkling depths. When he did glance up, long minutes later, it was to address Witness, who sat to one side, eyes dreaming on the ugly Trident where it leaned against the wall.

  "Have you an interpretation of the Smiter's will, given the pattern of recent events?"

  Witness blinked his slow, sleeper's blink and focused his red-brown eyes on Anjemalti.

  "I am Witness for the Telios," he said in his eventual way. "Prediction is not mine."

  "Assuredly it is not," said Gem briskly. "But I was under the impression that you were able to match current patterns to remembered patterns and make that information available to those whom the Goddess currently honors."

  "Oh," said Witness and was quiet for a time, so that Corbinye finally despaired of them both, punched high-protein hot rations from the board and thumped a bowl of the resulting gruel in front of each.

  "At least feed the body," she snapped at Anjemalti and thrust a spoon into his hand.

  Witness opened his eyes when she smacked the spoon beside his bowl and locked his gaze with hers. "My thanks, Corbinye Faztherot," he said, and smiled.