Yishna said, "Membership of Combine does not automatically eliminate stupidity."

"So now either you suspect another attempt on my life, or some attempt to traduce me?"

Duras continued, "While you are out here, we can't protect you too well. They don't want to move against you overtly, and by now Admiral Carnasus and the rest realise that you are not going to shuffle off your mortal coil with a mere whisper and a sigh. Inigis was a fool, who thought he could raise his position in Fleet Command by getting rid of you. Carnasus, however, will not want you to die aboard a Fleet vessel. After all, Fleet is responsible for you, and will get to look bad if you die wholly in their care, and in such circumstances Combine representatives," he glanced at Yishna, "myself and the other members of Parliament would be pushing for Carnasus and his staff to be charged with murder."

"So, the alien will instead be paraded in court and made to look foolish, dangerous, sly, or any combination of the above?"

"We rather suspect so. It will be an open session aboard the Ironfist—all media representatives allowed. However, aboard Ironfist the Fleet Admiral, Carnasus, himself wields the power. And that ship is presently in orbit around Brumal."

Yishna shook her head. "Fleet will probably draw comparisons between you and the Brumallians. This won't be about Inigis, but about you. Certainly they'll try to find some reason to eject you from the system…perhaps because of that 'organic technology' Inigis detected inside you."

"So, how do you think I should deal with this situation?" I asked.

"We will prepare you as best we can," said Duras. "There is no system of advocacy in Fleet courts, so you must represent yourself." He grinned. "But in the time I have come to know you I feel you to be quite capable of that."

Our meal time then became a rather morose affair, with further speculations about what Fleet intended. Eventually I changed the subject. I turned to Yishna.

"Tell me about your brother Harald," I asked.

Her usually seductive expression hardened for a moment, then with a false indifference she said, "Why must I tell you about him? He is not my only brother."

"Whatever."

There were obviously painful memories there she did not want me to probe. Instead she told me about her brother Orduval, but I failed to see how the memories of him could be any less painful.

Orduval—in childhood

The displays—inside ranks of glass cases stretching into the distance, within the Ruberne Institute's museum—were of more interest to Orduval because of what they signified, rather than what they were. Of course Yishna, Harald and Rhodane were utterly absorbed—studying every item intently and whipping through the readout projected up in the glass of each case before moving onto the next. Orduval studied every item no less intently, but his concentration focused primarily on the readouts. Why that choice of words, why this aspect of the exhibit emphasised over that, why phrase the description in quite that way? He made comparisons between readouts obviously written before the War, those written during the War prior to this place being closed down and the exhibits being stored away, and those written within the last seven years, after the War had ended and when the exhibits had emerged from long storage. The changing Zeitgeist of Sudoria and the political consciousness of the author of each readout became all too evident to him. Before the War he found the optimism of the times and the societal wealth reflected in the pretentiousness of the writing—in the flowery language and literary flourishes. In the subject matter concerning artefacts from the Procul Harum, emphasis was on their archaeological significance only, which contrasted with the Military Intelligence 'Eyes Only' labels fixed on some of these, like the ancient notescreen he presently observed, evidencing how during the ensuing War they had been taken away by wardens of GDS—Groundside Defence and Security—doubtless in an attempt to recover lost technologies. Readouts written during the earlier stages of the War itself were quite often either plain wrong or full of grammatical mistakes—the author obviously being distracted by contemporary events. Some of those written deeper into the War, especially if they concerned Procul Harum artefacts, became propagandist, and often a disparaging commentary about the Brumallians crept in, even when the item in question did not require any mention of the enemy at all. Others written a little later seemed devoid of emotion: the exhausted Sudorian now beyond any irrelevancies, merely wise, bitter and tired. Next, viewing a skirl nest sectioned to show its internal construction, Orduval did note a recent addition to the readout that began to wax a little too lyrical for his taste. Obviously this indicated that wealth and optimism were again on the rise.

Here he paused, noting his sister Rhodane a few paces further along, her face hovering close to a display case, and with her hands pressed against it on either side of her blonde head. She seemed unnaturally still as if frozen in the process of trying to force her way through the glass. Out of curiosity he strolled over to her and peered into the same case.

"Almost certainly it will become politically unacceptable to have such items on display within the next five years," observed Orduval. Checking the readout confirmed its authorship during the War, just before all the museum items were stored, and that the Brumallian, grotesquely stuffed and mounted in a threatening pose, had been placed inside the case during that harsh time.

Slowly, Rhodane turned towards him. "I know now," she announced. "This is where I fill the gap…cancel out the black."

She had mentioned this before, this gulf in her mind. He always assumed it to be the onset of clinical depression, though he did not entirely understand it himself. At the core of his own mind a white star seemed to burn, around which lust for knowledge spun in ever tighter orbits.

"Perhaps you could explain?" he asked.

"It's my place—my compass."

Yishna felt this certainty—as did Harald, stronger than any of them. Orduval felt only blurred and frustrating reaches of self-direction. A surge of jealousy filled him, and immediately upon that followed confusion and unease. "That's nice for you," he muttered, and with a feeling almost of desperation, headed away.

Moving on through the museum Orduval realised that, continuing at his present rate, he would not see more than a quarter of the artefacts during the day Utrain had allowed them, so he must now manage his time more efficiently. Having strayed into the planetary biology section (where the Brumallian did not really fit) he turned around and began working his way back along another section of Procul Harum exhibits. Here he observed family heirlooms on loan to the museum: books, old notescreens, pens, timepieces graded in terran time, clothing and jewellery. One long case even contained pieces of the ship itself—some recovered from old buildings and others dug up from the landing site. Orduval halted by a plaque engraved in some ancient pictographic Earth language, and stared at it for one long confused moment, realising he simply did not understand it. Desperately searching through the readout he discovered only that the language was Chinese, but not what any of it meant. He would need to research this.

Moving on, he halted before a mannequin representing a pre-landing human and stared at it intently. But the pictographs on the earlier plaque seemed to have come with him, imprinted on his retina and flickering across his vision. Some part of his mind refused to give up trying to understand them, refused to accept that until he learnt more, elsewhere, understanding would be beyond him. He tried to stop the thought process, tried to think of other things, but the spinning in his head just grew faster and faster and the star grew brighter.