"No." She shook her head for emphasis. "No! No! Someone has done it deliberately. It had nothing to do with Current Control. It was a cruel, vicious act of destruction."

"Who?" He spoke the word in a low, shocked voice.

"We don't know yet. But there are thousands of casualties and we're still picking up survivors." She turned and undogged the hatch. Keel saw the first signs of age in her slow movements.

She's still holding something back, he thought as he followed her into her quarters.

Duque began to curse, rolling in the nutrient bath and pounding his fists against the organic sides until great blue stains appeared along the edge.

The guardians summoned the C/P.

It was late and Simone Rocksack had been preparing for bed. At the summons, Simone pulled her favorite robe over her head and let it drop over the firm curves of her breasts and hips. The robe in its purple dignity erased all but the slightest traces of womanliness from her bearing. She hurried down the passage from her quarters, pulling at her robe to restore some of its daytime crispness. She entered the gloomy space where Vata and Duque existed. Her anxiety was obvious in every moment. Kneeling above Duque, she said: "I am here, Duque. It is the Chaplain/Psychiatrist. How can I help you?"

"Help me?" Duque screamed. "You wart on the rump of a pregnant sow! You can't even help yourself!"

Shocked, the C/P put a hand over the flap covering her mouth. She knew what a sow was, of course - one of the creatures of Ship, a female swine. This she remembered well.

A pregnant sow?

Simone Rocksack's slender fingers couldn't help pressing against the smooth flatness of her abdomen.

"The only swine are in the hyb tanks," she said. She concentrated on keeping her voice loud enough for Duque to hear.

"So you think!"

"Why are you cursing?" the C/P asked. She tried to keep a proper reverence in her tone.

"Vata's dreaming me into terrible things," Duque moaned. "Her hair ... it's all over the ocean and she's breaking me into little pieces."

The C/P stared at Duque. Most of his form was a blurred hulk under the nutrient. His lips sought the surface like a bloated carp. He seemed to be all in one piece.

"I don't understand," she said. "You appear intact."

"Haven't I told you she dreams me?" Duque moaned. "Dreams hurt if you can't get out. I'll drown down there. Every little piece of me will drown."

"You're not drowning, Duque," the C/P assured.

"Not here, baboon. In the sea!"

Baboon, she thought. That was another creature from Ship. Why was Duque recalling the creatures of Ship? Were they at last coming down? But how could he know? She lifted her gaze to the fearful watchers around the rim of the organic tank. Could one of them ... ? No, it was impossible.

His voice suddenly clear and extremely articulate, Duque proclaimed, "She won't listen. They're talking and she won't listen."

"Who won't listen, Duque? Who are 'they'?"

"Her hair! Haven't you heard a thing I've said?" He pounded a fist weakly against the tank side below the C/P. She stroked her abdomen again, absently.

"Are the creatures from Ship to be brought down to Pandora?" Rocksack asked.

"Take them where you want," Duque said. "Just don't let her dream me back into the sea."

"Does Vata wish to return to the sea?"

"She's dreaming me, I tell you. She's dreaming me away."

"Are Vata's dreams reality?"

Duque refused to answer. He merely groaned and twisted at the edge of the tank.

Rocksack sighed. She stared across the tank at the mounded bulk of Vata, quiescent ... breathing. Vata's long hair moved like seaweed in the currents of Duque's disturbance. How could Vata's hair be in the ocean and here on Vashon simultaneously? Perhaps in dreams. Was this another miracle of Ship? Vata's hair was almost long enough to be cut once more, it had been over a year. Was all of that hair that had been cut from Vata ... was all of it somehow still attached to Vata? Nothing was impossible in the realm of miracles.

But how could Vata's hair speak?

There was no mistaking what Duque had said. Vata's hair spoke and Vata would not listen. Why would Vata not listen? Was it too soon to return to the sea? Was this a warning that Vata would lead them all back into the sea?

Again, Rocksack sighed. The Chaplain/Psychiatrist's job could be troublesome. Terrible demands were made upon her. Word of this would be out by morning. There was no way to silence the guardians. Rumors, distorted stories. Some interpretation would have to be made, something firm and supportive. Something good enough to silence dangerous speculations.

She stood, grimacing at a pain in her right knee. Looking at the awed faces around the tank's rim, she said, "The next lot of Vata's hair will not go to the faithful. Every clipping must be cast into the sea as an offering."

Below her, Duque groaned, then quite clearly he shouted, "Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!"

Rocksack placed this reference immediately, having been prepared by Duque's previous mutterings. Bitch was the female of the canine family. Great things were in store for Pandora, the C/P realized. Vata was dreaming Duque into wondrous experiences and Duque was calling forth the creatures of Ship.

Looking once more at the awed guardians, Rocksack explained this carefully. She was pleased by the way heads nodded agreement.

Five waterёdrum tones sounded a musical call, pulling Brett up ... up ... lifting him out of a dream in which he reached for Scudi Wang but never quite touched her. Always, he fell back into the depths as he had sunk when the wavewall swept him off Vashon.

Brett opened his eyes and recognized Scudi's room. There were no lights, but his light-gathering eyes discerned her hand across the short distance between their beds. The hand reached out from the covers and groped sleepily up the wall toward the light switch.

"It's a little higher and to the right," he said.

"You can see?" There was puzzlement in her voice. Her hand stopped its groping and found the switch. Brilliance washed the room. He sucked a deep breath, let it out slowly and rubbed his eyes. The light hurt him all the way out to the temples.

Scudi sat upright on her bed, the blankets pulled loosely around her breasts. "You can see in the dark?" she persisted.

He nodded. "Sometimes it's handy."

"Then modesty is not as, strict with you as I thought." She slipped from the covers and dressed in a singlesuit striped vertically in yellow and green. Brett tried not to watch her dress, but his eyes no longer would obey.

"I check instruments in a half-hour," she said. "Then I ride outpost."

"What should I do about ... you know, checking in?"

"I have reported. I should be finished in a few hours. Don't go wandering; you could get lost."

"I need a guide?"

"A friend," she said. Again, that quick smile. "If hunger strikes, there is food." She pointed toward the alcove end of her quarters. "When I get back, you will report in. Or they may send someone for you."

He glanced around the room, feeling that it would shrink without Scudi here and with nothing to do.

"You did not sleep well?" Scudi asked.

"Nightmares," he said. "I'm not used to sleeping still. Everything's so ... dead, so quiet."