Ms. Jancy pressed a button; stepped into the lift, Gem at her heels. "Fourteen," she said into the speaker, and the doors slid shut.

  "I'm sure you know that young bodies in good health are difficult to come by," she said, smiling back at Gem, "but in this case, it happens that we had just finished preparing a host—a female quite near your cousin's age, I'd say; approximately the same height and coloring. Facial features—well, that's a little harder for me to say, considering the shape she was in—but your cousin was a handsome girl, I'd imagine."

  She paused, apparently awaiting some response. Gem cleared his throat. "Quite handsome, yes."

  Ms. Jancy nodded happily. "I'm sure she'll be quite pleased with the new host. A suicide, of course." She touched his sleeve soothingly. "Nothing violent! And no residual drugs—the procedure mandates a complete flush of the host body before translation."

  The lift door opened then, and he followed her out into a cheery yellow hall. The reek of flowers nearly choked him.

  "Here we are!" Ms. Jancy laid her hand on a door bearing the legend "86" and it slid open. "There's a small antechamber, and refreshments in the refrigerator. Beyond is your cousin's bedroom." Again, she touched his sleeve. "Remember, she's newly translated, and might be a bit disoriented yet; give her time to recall you. If she falls asleep, please don't wake her. Sleep is very important at this stage of the process. All right?"

  "All right," said Gem numbly and her smile became even brighter.

  "Have a nice visit, now. Call the desk when you're ready to go—there's a phone in the anteroom." She touched his sleeve once more and went lightly down the hall.

  Gem stepped into Suite 86, his stomach full of stone, and the door slid shut behind him, closing away the stink of flowers.

  * * *

  The walls were pale blue; the thick carpet sapphire. There was a recliner, a refrigerator/bar combo, a walldesk and chair. The walldesk held a computer screen and a voice-phone.

  There was a velvet curtain across the door into the next room. Gem lifted it aside with icy fingers and stepped into sapphire dimness.

  The body shrouded by the silky blue blanket was long, though not as long as it might have been, nor nearly so angular. The hair was a torrent of deep yellow, swirling over a shoal of jewel-colored pillows.

  The face—the face was a delight of smooth honey skin molding high, sweet cheekbones and rounded chin. A face to haunt dreams, to break hearts, to inspire poetry.

  But never, never, never her own.

  Horror buckled his knees and he knelt, staring at her, fingers twisting in the blue blanket as he breathed her name.

  "Corbinye?"

  Slim brows contracted over velvet-lashed eyes. "Who is that?" Soft, resonant, flexible—a singer's voice.

  He cleared his throat. "Gem."

  "Anjemalti!" Exultation and terror in that expressive voice. The thick lashes flickered, snapped open to reveal black eyes, overlarge, by Grounder standards, moist and half-crazed. She struggled, got a hand free of the blanket and groped toward him. "Anjemalti."

  Almost, he failed of raising his hand to take hers; was astonished at the warmth and softness of her flesh. "Gently," he said, remembering the cautions he had been given. "Gently, Corbinye. Do not tire yourself."

  She did not seem to hear him; her fingers dug into his hand; her eyes wide and unfocused. "Anjemalti, where am I? What has happened? They come—they say things—they drug me to sleep—I cannot walk; I can barely raise a hand! And my eyes—my eyes . . ."

  Madness, of the kind that came when one knew oneself to be desperately ill. So had Edreth been, in the last few days. Gem squeezed the warm hand in his and made to lie it back upon the coverlet.

  "Be easy, Corbinye; all—"

  "Do not tell me that all is well!" she cried, fingers tightening. "Tell me what has happened!"

  He hesitated, and suddenly her fingers went slack; the lashes drooped over her eyes. "Anjemalti—" and even her voice had lost its vigor—"By any god you own to—I beg you to tell me the truth."

  He felt the shape of the hand he held; looked at the lovely, alien face and cleared his throat.

  "You were in a fight," he began and felt her shudder.

  "I recall it."

  "Yes." He touched tongue to dry lips. "You were badly hurt, Corbinye, and your eyes—you were given new eyes."

  They opened, staring toward his voice in what must seem to her to be utter darkness.

  "New eyes," she repeated, dread softening toward understanding. "A transplant?"

  "New eyes," Gem repeated and found the courage to raise his other hand and touch her honey cheek. "And also an entirely new body."

  She neither cried out, nor recoiled, nor even wept, but was merely silent for a time, staring hard into her darkness.

  "Anjemalti," she said finally; "one does not go drunk to comfort kin."

  "No," he agreed.

  She drew a deep breath. "A new body?"

  "You were dying," he told her, struggling to keep his voice free of horror. "You had been so badly beaten there was no chance of healing your hurts." He hesitated, but she made no sound. "There is technology—they transferred you—your personality, your memories, your self—into a healthy, whole body. . .." He stumbled to a halt and knelt there staring at her until she sighed and asked, with a sort of strained calm:

  "Can you see me?"

  "Yes," he said, biting off the "of course."

  "And I cannot see you," she mused. "You tell me you see this new body."

  "Yes," he said again and felt her fingers tighten on his.

  "Anjemalti, turn on the light."

  "Corbinye—" his voice choked out and he felt himself trembling, knowing what she would demand next; knowing what he would demand, in her place.

  "They cannot hide me from myself forever!" she cried, half coming up off the pillows. She fell back as if her strength failed then and her hand went limp in his. "Anjemalti—"

  "Yes." He laid her hand down and lurched to his feet, found the switch and brought the lights up until he saw the distended pupils begin to shrink and, unasked, went over to the dresser.

  She was staring at her own hand when he came back to kneel at the bedside and terror was beginning to show in her face.

  "Corbinye?"

  She looked at him; lifted her hand with grinding effort and lightly touched his cheek, as he had just touched hers.

  "Hold the mirror for me, cousin."

  Wordless, he brought it up; watched her trace the winging brows, touch the rounded chin and stare into her own eyes. The tears, when they came, came silently, sliding unabated beneath her lashes, when at last she closed her eyes.

  Gem set the glass aside, took her hand between both of his and tried to rub warmth into fingers gone damp and chill.

  "Corbinye—"

  "Do not call me that!" She turned her face away, breast heaving.

  "It is your name!" he snapped, holding to her hand in new terror, lest she deny the body she found herself in and will her death upon her.

  "I am dead!" she cried, echoing his thought, and he cried out, "Live!" so that she turned her face to him again, eyes pulled wide in wonder.

  He held her eyes with his; repeated it with every nuance of command possible: "Live, Corbinye!" And, then, because it smacked of magic, said that way: "Please."

  Almost, she smiled. And then the door in the room beyond whisked open and a brisk voice was saying, "Here, here, here! What's this, lights on! You, sir, whatever can you be thinking of! This young lady needs her rest and you—What!" The nurse bent and straightened, holding the mirror out in accusation.

  "Really, sir."

  "She asked to see," said Gem. "She had to see, sometime."

  "And would have seen, in due time," the nurse snapped, touching a stud on her belt. "I'll have to ask you to leave; it's time for Corbinye to have a nap."

  The hand he held had stiffened; from the other room came the sound of the door opening once more.

  "Come along, sir," the nurse said sharply. "You've done enough damage for one day."

  "Anjemalti," Corbinye's voice was a thready whisper. "Anjemalti, do not leave me here."

  "I must." He laid her hand down. "You require aid—assistance in learning. I will come again to see you." He hesitated. "May I have your kiss?"

  It was a trap, of course, enclosing them both. He saw her understand that, through the layers of terror and grief; saw still the indecision.

  "Cousin," he said; and, "please."

  "My kiss," she agreed, weakly. "Come back for me, cousin."

  "Of course." He bent and laid his lips against hers, very lightly; touched her cheek and rose. Sidestepping the nurse, he found Coral Jancy waiting for him in the anteroom, frowning and tapping her foot.

  Her displeasure was so great that she said nothing to him during the long trip to the front door; and never smiled at all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "The object is called the Bindalche Trident." Saxony Belaconto sat behind the teak-wood desk, hands folded on the satiny surface, aquamarine eyes wary and arrogant.

  Gem, sitting on a wooden chair more aesthetically than physically pleasing, said nothing, though he allowed his face to express polite interest.

  "The Trident," she continued after a moment, "is currently in the possession of Jarge Menlin, where it has been for the past eighteen months. It is against the Vornet's interest that he remain any longer as caretaker."

  Gem shrugged. "It appears you need a sharpshooter, lady; not a thief."

  She frowned; the light from the window showed lines in her face which had not been there two days before.

  "Jarge Menlin is an influential man," she said; "and an occasionally useful one. The Vornet prefers to allow him to live."

  "Lacking only the Bindalche Trident."

  Her frown deepened. "Do not bait me, Master ser Edreth. Did you visit your cousin?"

  "I did."

  "Then you know the stakes."

  He said nothing, and after a moment she continued her tale.

  "The Trident will be in my hands no later than First Dawn, Obret eighteenth."

  Seven days! He did not allow dismay to show in either face or voice.

  "I will need certain information," he said to her, coolly, hearing Edreth behind every word. "I require a description of the object—length, mass, configuration—a sketch, holograph or photo would aid the task considerably. I require details regarding the layout of the house, most especially the room where the Trident is kept. I require a timetable, describing Jarge Menlin's routine, if he has one; and also a detailed description of all alarms, guards and house residents."

  She nodded. "The Vornet can provide these things. But I will mention to you, Master ser Edreth, that there is no certainty that Menlin keeps the Trident in his house."

  Of course not. "A compilation, also, of places he frequents, offices or residences away from his main house." He considered. "Ships, if he owns or part-owns any; warehouse space; mechanic's shed."

  Again, her nod. "These will be provided, as well. Is there more?"

  "Yes," he heard himself say, with vast astonishment. "I will have your agreement that you will release my kin to me at the same moment I put the Trident in your hand. You will cease to remember that either of us exists and you will call upon me for no further service."

  She looked amused. "Of course, you cousin is yours to take, as soon as our agreement is fulfilled. She's of no use to me."

  Gem leaned forward. "And the rest?"

  "The rest?" Her amusement grew. "The Vornet claims service from whomever will serve them best, Master ser Edreth. It may happen we will need a thief again."

  He stared at her for a long moment, until some of the laughter left her eyes and the lines settled again in her face.

  "Do not bait me, Saxony Belaconto," he said softly, wondering how he dared it. "You may find the stakes not to your liking."

  Unease now in the handsome eyes. She put her hands flat upon the desktop and stood. He rose at the same instant.

  "You are dismissed," she said, sharply. "The information you have requested will be brought to your home this evening."

  "Thank you," he said gently, recalling Corbinye, lying alone in the dark; and turned and walked away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She lay for a long time, eyes straining against the blackness, ears stretched for any sound.

  Satisfied at last that the room was empty, she pushed the blanket away, curled round on her side, slid her legs over the edge of the bed and lay for a moment, panting.

  Sternly, she squirmed into a sitting position, got her feet solidly under her and pushed herself upright.

  The first attempt was hopeless—and the second—her knees buckled before they ever straightened, and she bounced on the edge of the bed, teeth drawing blood from her lower lip.

  On the fifth try, she was standing, trembling in every limb, gasping as if she had just completed a Class Ten sequence. She waited until the trembling eased somewhat before sliding her right foot forward and cautiously drawing the left after; and then again; and then a third time, which bought her disaster.

  In her mind, Corbinye flung her arms out to break the fall; in actuality, she slapped face-first into the carpet, and lay swearing into the nap until the sound of the lilting stranger's voice wrapped around the familiar phrases silenced her.

  Grimly, she got to her knees; tried from there to gain her feet and, when she fell again, began to crawl.

  She found the wall by running her head into it, and clawed her way upright, feeling about for the light switch. By luck, she located the knob immediately, and twisted it until it would go no further, flooding the room with light.

  Then, she stood, quaking, braced against the wall, staring at the room and all there was in it, while the tears ran her face and splashed on her breasts.

  Startled, she looked down at herself; raised soft stranger-hands to cup golden breasts fuller than hers had been, even in pregnancy. Cautiously, for by her reckoning the nurse was due soon, and she dared not risk another fall; Corbinye craned to see the rest of this stupid lump of a body, with its milk-toast muscles and lack of reaction.

  Breasts—hopelessly huge—a slim torso flaring to rounded hips; long slender legs; shapely feet. She moved a hand, cross-body; felt of her upper arm—and was agreeably surprised to find muscle there, after all; firm under the velvet skin. Wishing for the lost mirror, she ran her hand across the flat belly; down the tight waist; over the firm backside—and felt a flicker of hope. Not the body of a fighter, no. Certainly not the body she had worked and trained so hard. But one that had known some sort of work; so Corbinye was left a legacy of basic fitness upon which to build.

  Abruptly, she wondered about the woman who had been here before her—what sort of work she had done; why she had died. And then the door to the outer room whisked open and wonder fled.

  Corbinye straightened away from the wall; holding knees and back straight by force of will alone.

  The nurse flicked the curtain aside, hand continuing across the wall toward the switch before she realized that the room was already lit.

  "What—" she began and then froze, eyes on the empty bed.

  "Good-day to you," Corbinye said politely, and the nurse jumped a foot, hand lifting to her throat.

  "How did you get over here?" she demanded.

  Corbinye stared at her. "How do adult persons normally cross the room?" Carefully, she inclined her head toward the needle the other woman held. "I do not want that."

  The nurse had recovered her countenance, if not her courage. "It's time for your nap."

  "I am not in the least tired," Corbinye lied; "and I require no drugs to induce sleep. What I do require is clothing; and a full-length mirror; and a pitcher of water." She paused. "And some cheese."

  The nurse eyed her in fascination. "You're hungry?"

  "You have my requirements," Corbinye said coldly. "See to them."

  The nurse glanced away, slid forward half-a-step, thumbing the trip on the needle.

  "If you try to put that into me," Corbinye said conversationally, "I will break your arm."

  The nurse licked her lips; apparently thought better of her act of valor and stepped carefully backward, keeping her eyes on Corbinye. Reaching behind, she clawed the curtain out of her way and ducked into the other room.