"What did you expect?" he asked her softly. "You cast me out. Made me dead to the Ship. Breathing dead, I was sold—to a Grounder, who cared for me and taught me; gave me a life and a name. Who shall I honor as my kin? Whose ways should I chose to follow? Is it sense to exalt the Crew that abandoned me, or to bide by the teaching of Edreth ser Janna, who named me son as he lay dying?"

  "Son to a Grounder!" snarled Ardornel Clevryon.

  Gem looked at him in mild, sarcastic, surprise. "Son to two Grounders, sir," he said sweetly. "Surely you were aboard Ship when I was born?"

  It was too great an insult to be borne. Ardornel snatched at his sidearm, firing even as the Mael Faztherot's arm swept down to prevent the shot.

  Corbinye leapt, all her thought to knock Anjemalti aside—and slammed into him, gasping as his arm came hard around her waist and she heard the pellet whine by one ear and strike something close by the other with a resounding clunk! and barely had time to understand that one of the guards had also fired, when the energy bolt struck the Trident, which fizzed blue for an instant and then subsided.

  Anjemalti's arm loosened and she stepped back, staring at the pellet which was stuck fast to the Trident, just beside the largest ruby. There was silence in the hallway.

  "FOOLS and CHILDREN of fools!" The voice reverberated off the metal walls, the floor, the ceiling.

  Corbinye craned to see the speaker, and froze in amaze as Witness stepped forward, both arms upraised, the glow from the torch making reddish halos around his head.

  "Have you not read your own histories? Have you not meditated upon the prophecies of your Great Ones? There! Written in your own logs is the story, plain enough for a child to cipher—and you call yourselves hunters and made-men! Fools!"

  Corbinye drew breath and looked around her, wondering which of them would draw first, and shoot Witness down. But all seemed transfixed, staring at the apparition of him.

  "IS IT NOT WRITTEN," demanded the Witness, "that there shall return unto the Ship a Captain, who will lead the Crew back into greatness? Is it not written?"

  Astonishingly, there was a mutter of assent from Ardornel.

  "Yes," the Witness reiterated, "it IS written. Look about you, blind ones! Is this greatness? Your ship dies around you, backup systems are suspect, there is not sufficient energy for light and forward power both. EVEN THE GARDEN IS DYING! The garden is dying, blind ones, do you hear me? You, who were given the holy task of bringing the green things to the stars—you are failing."

  He lowered his arms. "Event throws to you salvation, in the form of the Captain who was foretold—and you strive to kill him! You strive to slay his handmaiden, his partner in the war against event! And even then you behave as children, rather than honorable foes. What would have occurred, should either of those missiles gone wide of the mark?" He turned and pointed at the wall, which also served as the back of the Engineering computer.

  "What lies behind this wall?"

  There was a stillness among the Crew. Siprian's face was gray.

  "You did not think," the Witness concluded, with great sadness. "Well for you, thoughtless ones, that Shlorba's Smiter saw fit to save this Ship, and ate both projectile and energy." He turned abruptly to face Anjemalti and swung his arms out and back, head swinging toward his knees in a sweeping, birdlike bow.

  "All hail to Anjemalti the Seeker, Trident Bearer, Chief of the Bindalche, Foretold of the Crew! Best to heed him, and boldly walk in his footsteps, O you who have been blind! Follow him, and do his bidding—or die in the dark between the stars, with the stink of rotting leaves choking you."

  "Oh," Anjemalti breathed. "Wonderful."

  It was Mael Faztherot who moved first; who drew her weapon and held it in two hands. She stared into Anjemalti's face for what seemed a lifetime to Corbinye, tensed to throw herself into the bolt when it was fired.

  But Mael Faztherot did not fire her gun. Instead she bent and laid it with her sorl-blade at Anjemalti's feet before going, awkwardly, to one knee.

  "Captain," she said, voice rough with emotion. "Your Crew is ready to be led."

  Chapter Fifty-One

  That it held atmosphere proved both the existence of gods and their beneficence. That it sheltered life of any kind was an unlikelihood on the magnitude of miracle. That the life it sheltered still wore more-or-less standard human form and was only slightly insane was either benediction or curse.

  Gem leaned carefully back in the rickety command chair and rubbed his eyes. His stomach growled and his back ached, unsubtle reminders of the hours he had spent hunched over the keyboards, forcing information from the ancient, unwilling MainComp.

  He should go soon, he thought, half-muzzily. Corbinye would be worried.

  He sighed. If only a quarter of the Crew wanted their new Captain dead and rendered to fertilizer, fully one hundred percent felt that fate should be meted immediately to the "Grounder-bitch." No one was sane on this issue, not even Siprian, whom he found in that state most often.

  The sum of her vast unpopularity was that Corbinye must stay within the confines of the Captain's Rooms, which were spider-guarded and warded with other engines he and she had devised together. She monitored the construction of the Arachnids from there, which gave her purpose, but Gem could feel her raging frustration as if it were his own.

  "Anjemalti," Witness said quietly. "One comes."

  "Delightful," Gem returned and came abruptly to his feet, stretching high on his toes, fingers straining toward the metal ceiling. The annunciator sounded as he finished stretching and he snapped down the toggle that opened the door, at the same time laying his hand on the Trident and bringing it up.

  The man who stood, hesitant, in the door was short, for Crew, thin even among his slender mates. His hair was more gray than blond; his face tanned into leather, with deep grooves around the eyes. His lips held a firm, straight line, and Gem thought it would take much to make him unseal them, and speak.

  But speak he did, quietly, eyes as sane as Crew eyes ever were. "Captain?"

  Gem nodded. "The same. And yourself? You're from Engineering?" Engineers were often tanned thus, he had learned—the damned, deteriorating shields. . ..

  "No, sir—Atrium," the man said, taking no offense that he had not been recalled. "I'm Finchet. The Gardener."

  "Ah." Gem nodded again and sank back into his seat, laying the Trident to hand. "Finchet the Gardener. Enter, please. No use letting the draft in." One of Edreth's phrases, meaningless here. But Finchet's firm mouth bent upward, just a trifle, as he stepped inside and the door slid closed behind him.

  He stood at rest, hands clasped loosely behind his back, legs wide. Gem let the silence grow, until he felt Finchet had had sufficient opportunity for study, then he spoke.

  "Is there something I can do for you?"

  The man considered that, head tipped a little to one side. "Might be you can," he allowed eventually. "Heard from Nav you'd set us a course. Heard from—starwind—you was thoughtful of setting us down."

  "Starwind, is it?" Gem considered the gardener gravely. "And you came to relate these rumors to me?"

  "Nothing like," Finchet returned. "Figured you'd do as you would with rumor—ignore it, most like, and steer your course. Your mother's way. Uncle's way, too. You'll have noticed that."

  "Indeed I have," Gem said. "Why did you come, then?"

  Finchet jerked his chin at Witness, sitting quietly in the shadows. "Talk to him says the garden's dying. Never leaves you, so I come tin-side. Hate to. But he says the garden's dying and I'm Gardener. I got my charge. I read the Book. Garden don't die on me, begging Captain's grace. Figured man who can see death through all that green, when I can't, who's lived under leaf since weaning—figured that man might tell how to save it, or at least say what's gone wrong."

  Clearly this was the longest speech Finchet had made in some time. He shifted a little, bracing his legs, and took a deep breath.

  "Well . . ." Gem started, but—

  "You have lost crops," Witness intoned, in his colorless, carrying voice. "Whole species have died out, over the years and years of your wanderings. It is written in the logs. Many no longer seed. Most are altered from what they were. These things are also written. As to the cause of the error . . ." He paused, looking off into the nothing, as he was wont, until Gem, who was accustomed to it, felt his nerves stretched to screaming.

  But Finchet seemed entirely disposed to wait for as long as it took Witness to see his answer and return to convey it.

  But when Witness finally did return, it was with a question.

  "You have read the old logs?"

  "Me?" Finchet seemed genuinely surprised. "Stars love you, man, I'm no Admin. I got the Book, and the notes from the ones before. There's truth in your saying—we've lost variety. But we was meant to lose some variety—or if not meant, it wasn't misexpected. Book says that plain. Old notes kept track of what died. If that's what you're on with, it's true, but not worrisome, see it? But you said the Garden was dying. Right now dying—and that's my concern, because I'm Gardener and it's my place to keep green, green."

  "A joyous burden," said Witness gravely. "But you have information without perspective—event has seeded you with false complaisance. You feel that nothing shall alter, because nothing has altered. This is a trap. The Garden dies because it does not thrive. The Garden will continue to die until event has been altered."

  Finchet frowned, and the silence stretched around him while he struggled to understand. Gem felt a flash of sympathy and was aware again of the passing of time. Corbinye would be—

  "I don't doubt you spoke deep, friend. But I'm not Admin, or Tech. Just the Gardener. Might you could take some time from the Captain's side and walk in the green with me? Point out what's wrong. That's what I understand best."

  Witness was silent with a finality Gem recognized. He stirred, stood. Finchet looked up, wariness showing on his face.

  "No offense meant, Captain. Just trying to do—"

  "Your duty," Gem finished gently. "As we all are. The Captain's Rooms overlook the Atrium. Is it possible that the two of you could survey things from the balcony there?"

  "Try it, if he's willing," said Finchet without hesitation.

  Witness bowed his head and rose. "I will do my best, Gardener. Anjemalti—"

  "Yes." He fixed the man with a stern eye. "My rooms and the things or persons you find within my rooms are there by my desire and will. I'll brook no interference from you. Understood?"

  Finchet nodded without surprise. "Understood."

  "Good," said Gem. "Let's go."

  * * *

  There was reason to suspect the shielded line to the control room, and she misliked calling him where anyone might hear. The less the Crew were reminded of her existence, the longer she would live.

  Not that she expected to live to see Spangiln System, much less the groundfall Anjemalti planned upon Bindal. But she intended to live as long as she could, and foolishly calling attention to herself was not consistent with that goal.

  The best thing, she decided, was to deploy one of the completed Arachnids, thus reminding Anjemalti of the time at the same moment she reassured herself of his safety.

  For the Captain was not safe from his crew, Corbinye thought, not for the first grim time. There were those who would have him dead in an instant—and Mael Faztherot, too, if she sought to protect him.

  Chafing at her powerlessness, she called up the grid, located the Arachnid closest to Ship's core and ordered it to the control room immediately. She watched it back toward the cross duct that led to its goal, orient and move off more swiftly. It sent a projected time of arrival—six minutes. Corbinye gritted her teeth and mustered what little patience she could bring to the wait.

  The Arachnid had reported four minutes to goal when the door to the Captain's Rooms sounded three rhymed notes. Corbinye flashed to her feet and was half-way across the room before the door opened.

  Anjemalti led the way, and Witness brought up the rear. Corbinye froze at the sight of the man in the center.

  He turned his head as if he felt her scrutiny and paused just over the door-line, surveying her out of wrinkle-prisoned eyes. She endured it, blank-faced and stiff-shouldered, heart hammering in anticipation of a rejection more hurtful than even her mother's—

  Finchet nodded, held out a callused hand in welcome. "Corbinye. Heard about it. Bad luck."

  Relief almost brought her to her knees. She mastered herself in time; lifted a hand in returning welcome. "Uncle. Duty done."

  "There's that," he allowed. "Come to view the trees. Listen if this fellow can tell me what's dying and what's to be done." He jerked a head at Witness, half-turned and looked back. "You stay vigilant. You get trouble, come to the trees."

  Tears threatened to overflow. "Thank you, Uncle," she whispered.

  "Nothing to it," he returned Finchet-like, and sent an amused glance to where Anjemalti stood, watchfully holding the Trident. "Not that I think Marjella Kristefyon's son can't keep you safe."

  "High praise," murmured Anjemalti and Finchet gave one of his rare smiles.

  "Just fact."

  Anjemalti returned the smile and gestured with the Trident. "Shall we to the balcony?"

  * * *

  "That tree there, with the jagged branch, you see? And those yellow blooms at the edge. There are clear descriptions of those within the old logs and it seems to me that these are changed out of those descriptions." Witness looked over to where Anjemalti stood, gazing bland-faced across the greenery. Death's Warrior stood at his shoulder, and her gaze did not range so far. Witness felt True Speaking rising in him and locked his tongue, though not before the first word escaped.

  "Anjemalti."

  "Hmm?" Anjemalti glanced over, eyes sharpening somewhat. "The logs can be made available to you, Gardener, so that you may compare these descriptions yourself. Will that be helpful?"

  "Helpful?" Finchet frowned. "Give me a starting point, leastways. If I know for sure how they've altered, then maybe the Book can tell me the fix." He nodded, almost a bow. "Take it kindly, Captain."

  "Only doing my duty," Anjemalti returned sweetly, and the Gardener smiled again.

  "That's right," he said approvingly. "Might be the best thing for you to have a copy of the Book. Not the usual way. No need for the Captain to know the Gardener's duty. Except times are changing, as your friend here says. Changing too fast for some, might be. And you the one foretold, written down in the Tomorrow Log. Saw it with my own eyes—years ago, when your mother was still thinking we could troth. What's good for the heart isn't always good for the Ship. Saw that in the end. Saw other things. Took that pilot to bed and made a baby with him. Sensible man. Spent a deal of time under leaf. We talked. Nobody else but Marjella would have him near. I missed him, when he left us."

  Anjemalti was very still, his eyes hard on the old man's face. "You knew my father?"

  Finchet nodded. "Sensible man," he repeated and returned the gaze that threatened to burn through him. "Don't see him in you, truth told. Only the eyes." He paused, looking into those eyes, and turned his away, to stare over the Garden. "Might be the eyes is enough."

  "Might be," said Anjemalti softly. "You'll give me a copy of your Book, then?"

  "Send the electronic copy to Captain's private line as soon as I get back below. You want the Book itself, you need to get yourself down to the Garden and take it up off the shelf. Corbinye knows my line code. For the log copies."

  "I'll make the transfer now," she said, moving away from Anjemalti, though her eyes lingered on the side of his face like caressing fingers. "Particulars?"

  "Send all," Witness suggested, "so that he may find his own trail to truth."

  Anjemalti looked at her. "Can you do that?"

  She nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Of course." She turned to go—

  And almost fell over the knee-high, eight-legged, steel-shelled Arachnid, its lantern eyes glowing orange.

  Corbinye cursed, caught herself and sidestepped. Finchet gurgled and went for his knife, belatedly recalling the Captain's warning.

  "It's only an Arachnid," said that same Captain, mildly, leaning against his gaudy trident.

  Finchet sighed. "Certain that it is, begging Captain's grace. And its purpose?"

  "We use them to clean the ducts," Corbinye said. "And to do spot repair." She grinned. "They only look that way because we made them out of scrap, Uncle. And they have to be bigger than the others because of the equipment they carry."

  "Others?" said Finchet, then showed his palm. "Never mind, girl."

  She laughed, and Witness marked how Anjemalti's eyes were led by that sound.