She slept for twelve hours afterward, the electron world an immediate presence in her dreaming mind. Kit woke her, shaking her shoulder. A forcebulb thudded to the pillow next to her. “Coffee,” Kit said. “Espresso.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Breakfast on the table.”

  Maria rubbed her eyes. “Thanks, shooter man.”

  She heard the door slide shut. He’d already left.

  Maria devoured her breakfast. Charged particles seemed to dance on her plate, shoot from the tines of her fork when it wasn’t directly in her gaze.

  She looked at the floating lime-green numbers of the holographic chronometer that glowed above the folded-away desk. How long till the next shoot? The last series had hammered a third of the way to Angel, not as well as expected. The next would have to begin soon.

  Caffeine began to clear away the slow-moving sludge in her veins. Awareness fluttered around her mind in the tentative manner of a brand-new butterfly.

  Kit came into the compartment, slid the door shut behind him. Beautiful Maria smiled at him, stretched.

  “When I got in, you were passed out again,” he said.

  Maria’s skin prickled. She dropped her smile. “There’s not much to do around here but sleep,” she said.

  Kit stepped across the room and dropped into a chair. His movements seemed overprecise. He’d been drinking, she assumed, or was otherwise high.

  “Marco’s decided the next shoots are going to be the last,” he said. “We’re gonna keep on shooting till we make Angelica System.”

  Maria slumped back against the newly painted compartment wall as sudden weariness sapped all the energy she had carefully gathered since waking. This had all been going on too long.

  “When?” she asked.

  “They’re going through the software again. Trying to find out what’s glitching us.” He shrugged. “When they give up...”

  “Yeah.” Beautiful Maria closed her eyes and let the weariness caress her with its warmth. The electron world wove its embroidery around her mind.

  “I give up, too,” Kit said.

  Something in his tone made her open her eyes. Magnetic fields glimmered in the periphery of her vision. Now, she thought, she knew why he needed the drinks.

  “I give up,” Kit said again. “I can’t live with you. Don’t even want to any more.”

  She looked at him through the dim gauze of the electron world. I’ve hurt him, she thought, and I hardly even noticed.

  The thought seemed lighter than a feather.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I just wanted to tell you when you were sober.”

  “Too much history,” Maria said. “We’ve used each other too much.”

  “Maybe that’s it.” Kit looked as if he wanted to say something else, but didn’t quite know how to say it.

  There was a change in Maria’s perception, in the patterns that wove around her. Abrazo was loading the shooting software again. Maria reached for the chak under her pillow, brought it up.

  “Do you have to do that now?” Kit said. His voice was sharp.

  Maria looked at him. “Yes. I have to.”

  There was a pair of hisses, a brief nasal coolness. Then the flash of fire in the veins, the sudden focus of awareness.

  Kit stood up. He looked as if he’d just been hit over the head and was trying to remember what it was he was doing a moment ago. “No use talking, then,” he said. “And I don’t see any point in telling anyone else, right? Not their business. So I’ll keep on sleeping here.”

  “Okay.” Maria could feel a grin beginning to twitch its way across her face. This is serious, she thought, and fought the grin down.

  “I talked to Marco about the threats Ridge was making. The bossrider said he’d talk to him. So you’ll be okay.”

  Maria looked up at him, recalled that Kit, if left to himself, would never have been her enemy, that he didn’t have to do this. “Thank you,” she said. “That was kind.”

  “See you later maybe.”

  “Yeah. Next Now.”

  The door closed. The shoot began.

  And it was the next Now already.

  *

  In many ways the last series was easier than any. The number of shoots was greater, but by now Beautiful Maria was as locked into the electron world as if her mind had been built of macroatoms. Heavy doses of Red Nine weren’t necessary, just enough to keep her mind cranked to the point where she could feel the bright touch of the electron flow, keep her mind aware and on edge.

  Abrazo jumped to Angelica along a path as jagged as a bolt of particle lightning. The last shoot in the series put the ship ten weeks from Angel Station, given one gee acceleration and deceleration. That was too far from Marco’s point of view: by the end of that ten weeks he was already due at Montoya 81.

  Maria gave a laugh when she perceived that Marco had decided to try another jump, from one point into the Angelica system to another. The scope of error with a small shoot was almost as great as it was with a large one.

  Abrazo leaped across the system and ended up almost twelve weeks away from its goal, farther than when it had started.

  Marco surrendered. Bells sounded to warn of acceleration. Marco had decreed one point two gee to get to Angel a little faster.

  Three months with nothing to do, Maria thought. Maybe Marco would let her have her terminal back.

  *

  Ubu swam in a sea of Beloved, resonated to her heartbeat, to the chords that assembled Beloved in his senses. When the alarms rang that indicated another ship shooting insystem, Ubu made his way to the comm board.

  Beloved was relatively close, he saw. If both ships accelerated and decelerated at one gee, they could rendezvous in about ten days.

  Think carefully, then act. Beloved’s drums seemed to offer him a message. If you think carefully, your actions will be correct. Ubu began tapping keys.

  Runaway sends respectful greetings to Clan Lustre, Ubu sent. Runaway is pleased to inform Beloved of the destruction of Abrazo and Clan de Suarez. Runaway hopes to forge a new and profitable relationship with Clan Lustre, free of interference from rival clans.

  He laughed as he hit the Send button. The readiness within him began to unfold.

  CHAPTER 23

  Resinous tethers, dissolving, filled the chamber with a wet, sticky rain. Beloved’s drums flogged the air, calling for readiness. Twelve’s body cleansed itself internally, prepared for duty. Blood poured through the fat, nourishing umbilicus into his body.

  Twelve’s palps flickered out, tasting the heavy resinous scent, tasting also an enzyme meant only for him, an urgent summons tagged with his chemical name. Come to Beloved. His hearts surged at the summons. With half-awakened limbs, Twelve began to flail against his restraints.

  His vision slowly cleared. At a great remove, as always, he was aware of pain, but the pain was buffered by Beloved’s specialized analgesics and did not impair him.

  Nutrient liquid shot from his mouth as his lungs convulsively emptied, then inflated with air. The umbilicus fell away. Beloved’s improved nonvolitionals began to clean his flesh with their grating tongues. Twelve wrenched out of his restraints and drifted free into the room till he could contact a wall and push toward the exit.

  One of his legs had not awakened yet and wouldn’t obey him— his first jump went wide of the door. No matter: he could compensate. He used his arms to navigate between the awakening soldiers and navigators and make his way to the exit; he pulled away the tympanum and thrust his way down the corridor. Beloved’s drumbeat was more urgent here and Twelve made haste, Beloved’s summons driving him to furious exertion. Half a dozen nonvolitionals, busy cleaning, crawled over his body as he swam into the fusion chamber and allowed Beloved’s umbilicus to connect with his mind.

  At once the urgency of Beloved’s rhythm moderated. Think carefully, Beloved urged, think carefully, and be of service.

  All glory to Beloved. How may this-individual serve his Beloved?

  His last service, upon Beloved’s return to Potent 5367, had been everything he had hoped. Prices for the last shipment of AIs had reached preposterous heights, particularly after it had been announced that these were improved models. Already a fleet of ships was building, each to be inhabited by one of Beloved’s children. Half a dozen singularities had been purchased, as had many servants, some of them latest- model research volitionals intended to work on the mysteries of creating artificial intelligence.

  Beloved’s tympani rattled for attention.

  We have reached the rendezvous star where I anticipated meeting Clan de Suarez. Clan de Suarez is not present, but instead I find Runaway.

  Chill dread rolled through Twelve. Glory to Beloved, he replied. How can this be? He feared he already knew the answer.

  Bossrider Ubu Roy informs Me that Shooter Beautiful Maria had been placed aboard Abrazo for the purpose of destroying it, and Clan de Suarez with it.

  Twelve hung in shock from the umbilicus, his worst fears realized. His mind stumbled dazedly over the new information.

  Beloved, this-individual is surprised.

  I must evaluate this data, Volitional Twelve. I need to know whether Bossrider Ubu speaks the truth.

  Twelve hesitated. Through the umbilical connection he could sense alarm in Beloved, the knowledge that all her schemes might have come apart. Her mind seemed fragmented, each division working frantically on different parts of a larger, yet-unrealized’ whole.

  This-individual can only guess, Beloved, Twelve said. This-individual can reason only from the data presented in Bloodbath in Building Four, which is a hype that in itself is only a kind of lie.

  Your best judgment is required in this matter.

  As presented in the hype, the humans have the ability to place their people within the structure of enemy clans. These humans then act in the best interests of their clans, and their behavior may include violence or sabotage.

  In your judgment, is it likely that Beautiful Maria was so placed within the structure of Clan de Suarez?

  It is not inconsistent, cautiously, with what they have permitted this-individual to learn of their behavior.

  Twelve sensed Beloved’s dissatisfaction with this answer. Bossrider Ubu, she sent, has invited Me to remain in this system for a length of time necessary to confirm that Abrazo will not appear. He appears to make this offer with perfect confidence.

  Beloved of course may wait. Twelve offered this carefully, not wanting to presume to give Beloved advice.

  Bossrider Marco was expected here before now.

  Delays are proverbial in navigation. He may arrive at any moment.

  There is evidence that all is as Bossrider Ubu claims. You were aboard the de Suarez ship at the last rendezvous when it began a violent series of evasive maneuvers. Shooter Maria was likewise present.

  Bossrider Marco said that Abrazo was avoiding an asteroid storm.

  We detected no asteroid storm. Runaway likewise made no evasive maneuvers. Could it be that Beautiful Maria had seized control of Abrazo in order to take advantage of the confusion so as to give you a message for Bossrider Ubu?

  Twelve made the reluctant concession. That is possible, Beloved. His hands and feet trembled in terror.

  If Shooter Maria could control the de Suarez ship in such a manner, she could likewise seize control of it to destroy it.

  Glory, Beloved. This-individual can but praise your reasoning.

  Suddenly Twelve sensed the fragments of Beloved’s mind assembling itself into a vast, awesome, and implacable whole. You have aided this plot against My interest, Beloved transmitted. Twelve thrashed in terror as he sensed Beloved’s resolution, as Beloved’s drill-tipped neurons made further penetrations of his mind. You have been contaminated by human thought and sympathy. You are dangerous. Your use is at an end. You will destroy yourself immediately.

  Glory glory glory. Beloved was making a mistake— give him another few moments and he could explain why. But Twelve had only time to chant a few words of praise before Beloved’s chemical onslaught struck at his brain and all rational thought dissolved. In an instant he felt his will shatter beneath an overwhelming conviction of his own worthlessness. Even though he knew the emotion had been planted within him, the experience was nevertheless genuine, an overwhelming, bitter surge of despair. A wail of hopelessness burbled from him. Beloved had declared him void. He knew himself unworthy. Alkaline tears beaded from his pores as his flesh contracted in an involuntary spasm of self-loathing.

  The umbilicus withdrew, but not fast enough to satisfy Twelve’s impulse to self-destruction. Frustrated by his inability to annihilate himself instantly, he clawed at himself with his inner fingers, drawing blood. The umbilicus finally withdrew, and he kicked and launched himself for the exit. He could feel the nonvolitionals abandoning him, leaping out into the light, their reaction triggered by the bitter taste of his weeping skin.

  Clawed hands seized him. Beloved had sent several of her soldiers to hasten his end. “Thank you, brothers,” he tried to say as the soldiers’ arms pinioned him, but his voder was paralyzed. Still he was grateful as the fighters drew him down the blue-lit corridor.

  The tympanum covering the dissolution chamber was torn aside. Twelve’s palps were stung by the scent of decay, that and a heavy odor of complex enzymes. The soldiers flung Twelve into the darkened chamber.

  In a tangle of limbs Twelve struck the far wall. The moist, fleshy lining of the chamber squelched as it absorbed the impact. A furious, despairing rage consumed him. His light had failed, he had become contaminated, all that he was should be destroyed. He pressed himself against the moist, greedy flesh of the wall, exposing as much of his body surface as possible to its destructive enzymes. The wall held him in place. The tympanum behind him drew shut, and he was left alone in darkness.

  His skin, where exposed to the wall, began to tingle, then experience sharp jabs of pain. Ecstatically, Twelve welcomed the sign that his dissolution was near. His only joy remained in his own annihilation. His dismay was that it could not be accomplished instantly.

  The pain increased, spreading like fire along his limbs, his trunk. Beloved had no further use for him, no reason to buffer the agony as she had when he was awakened from transit-sleep. The enzymes of the chamber were dissolving his flesh, breaking him down into amino-acid chains that might be safely recycled. The process would take many hours.

  Gradually the agonizing self-hatred ebbed as Twelve metabolized Beloved’s final chemical attack. Unending pain lanced through his mind. He tried to flail away from the wall, but the sticky flesh had already encircled his limbs with tough, fast-growing filaments. He tried to scream, but no sound resulted— Beloved had neatly severed the links between his brain and voder. He realized that Beloved would not wish the echoing sound of his screams distracting her other servants.

  There was an ebbing of the pain as many of Twelve’s nerve endings were consumed. The enzymes were pausing in their work, summoning reserves before working deeper into the muscle tissue. Thoughts reassembled in his mind, the thoughts that, had they been expressed, might have saved his life.

  Anguish tore at him. Beloved, he thought. You may have just destroyed yourself along with me.

  She had fallen victim to a human scheme. The details hardly mattered, whether Runaway and Clan de Suarez were working in concert, whether Maria had really destroyed Abrazo, whether any of Ubu’s scenario was really true or not— the crucial fact was that Beloved’s attempt to seize control of her situation had failed. The humans now had the upper hand.

  The opportunity to take control might come again, but if it did Beloved would probably miss it. Her pattern was too limited.

  Twelve had not entirely understood his decision to aid Beautiful Maria and Ubu, had only felt an obscure rightness in the act. Likewise he had instinctively opposed Beloved’s scheme to deal with Clan de Suarez and cut off Runaway’s trade. Beloved had assumed these attitudes to be the result of human contamination, and she was right. Twelve, her servant, had been polluted by human contact.

  What Beloved failed to realize was that she required servants who had been so polluted. She needed servants who could instinctively recognize human schemes, who could warn her away from actions that might worsen her situation. Her own icy rationality was not flexible enough to deal with the human threat.

  She needed Twelve. She had thrown him away. Now she was more vulnerable than ever.

  Twelve shuddered as a new wave of enzymes began assaulting his frame, burning deeper into his flesh, reaching new nerve endings with their chemical claws. Beloved! he thought. I can still save you! And then his thoughts were swept away by a blazing wave of hot, retching agony.

  This time there was no respite.

  Think, ordered Beloved’s drums. Think carefully, and all will be well.

  *

  I understand your music, Ubu thought, and I understand you.

  A hot river of triumph burned through his veins. Beloved’s answer glowed above the comm board. She had agreed to his terms.

  The ships would shoot to another star, Santos 439, eight light-years distant, which would be used in future for all face-to-face meetings and exchanges of cargo. It was there that Beloved would build her chemical factory and warehouse. Montoya 81 and Santos 448 would be declared off limits to both parties. To seal the agreement Runaway would receive one full cargo, the pharmaceuticals intended for Abrazo, which Beloved had been synthesizing and storing in resinous containers since she left Santos 448.

  Ubu had presented Beloved with a version of reality, and compelled Beloved to believe it. He hadn’t made a single false move, betrayed a single weakness.

  He had encompassed Beloved in his mind, imprisoned her in a structure of his own making.

  Beloved hadn’t even questioned his insistence on abandoning the sites of previous meetings. Ubu had been worried about that point— he knew Marco would show up at Montoya 81 eventually, and if he and Beloved were to meet again under uncontrolled circumstances, Ubu’s agreements could unravel— but Beloved hadn’t balked.