What now?

I just sat there for a while feeling like shit, until a sucking exhalation alerted me to the opening of that door.

"Rhodane," I said.

"Consul Assessor."

"Be a good girl and get me some clothing will you?"

She snorted at that, but departed nevertheless. I must have drifted out of consciousness for seemingly only an eye-blink later she was back, accompanied by Slog and Flog. She had brought along some Brumallian dungarees, underclothing and a shirt that looked to be made of the same foamite that Fleet personnel wore. I was grateful, for the shirt was thick and would go some way to conceal my debility. I sat upright and reached for the garments.

"You are not ready," she said predictably.

"Is that Tigger's medical opinion?" I enquired, as I took the clothing from her then struggled to dress.

"No, it is mine."

"I need something to eat and drink," I said. Though I did not feel particularly hungry I was anxious to get myself functional again—working on the premise that this might even be possible.

"Do you feel ready to enter the spin ring?" asked Rhodane.

"You'll have to explain that."

"Brumallian ships do not possess artificial gravity, but an internal ring of compartments is kept spinning to give the—"

"Yeah," I interrupted. "I get the idea. I don't know if I'm ready, but there's one way to find out." I realised I was not my usual cheerful self at this point, and really did not care.

"Come, then."

She led the way to that disconcerting door and I followed. Slog hovered about me as if ready to assist. I gave him a look he interpreted rightly and he hovered no more. The door brushed over me smooth and dry as snakeskin. On the other side was something I'll call a corridor, but which looked more like an intestinal tract. The walls, however, were not soft—bearing a resemblance in feel to grainy wood and the look of cloudy glass. Light permeated this corridor, as I was to discover it permeated throughout the ship—emitted by layers of luminescent bacteria similar to that found in the body of one of their multi-legged biolights, which were thankfully absent here. After two branchings of this corridor I became increasingly aware of a bubbling sucking sound. Finally we came to its source: a wall I could see slowly revolving about a centre point. Rhodane pressed her hand against some fleshy nub and that same centre point slowly opened wide a sphincter.

"Here," she said, and launched herself through.

I wondered if I was ready for this, since I had a good idea of what to expect. Gritting my teeth I moved ahead of the two quofarl, then pushed myself through. Hollow shafts, like the spokes of a wheel, revolved about me. Rhodane had pulled herself into one of them and there clung to a ladder. She held out a hand, which I grabbed, and she pulled me in. For a moment, because I could still see beyond the door, I felt a surge of nausea as I revolved. Closing my eyes I clamped down on that reaction and began to push myself backwards along the ladder. After only a short distance, centrifugal force began to impinge, and I was no longer pushing myself along the ladder, but descending it. Looking up I saw Flog come through the opening and now, from my perspective, it was he who was revolving. He too grabbed the ladder and began to descend behind me.

At first it was easy, but with each step I felt my skin and flesh beginning to sag on my bones, and breathing started to become an effort.

Pausing, I asked, "When we reach the bottom will the spin acceleration be the same as Brumal's gravity?"

"Yes," replied Rhodane from below.

I had hoped otherwise.

Nearing the bottom of the ladder the soles of my feet hurt as they came down on the rungs, and for a moment I visualised myself walking along that skull-cobbled street, then my hands began to ache from holding up my abruptly enormous weight. It felt to me as if my internal organs were being sucked down towards the bottom of my torso, only suspended in place by threads and weak sheets that could tear or break at any moment. My leg muscles burned with lactic overload and my testicles seemed to have turned into lead shot. Finally reaching the floor, I swung round to the wall and rested my back against it. I really wanted to sit down, but knew that if I did so I would not be able to get back up again.

"Can you continue?" asked Rhodane.

I nodded very carefully, frightened that too vigorous a response might damage my neck. She stared at me for a long moment until I realised my gesture had been wasted—not being emphatic enough for her to recognise.

"I can," I said.

As she moved on, I stepped out from the wall and turned to follow her. Slog and Flog, recently departing the ladder, moved in either side of me and gripped a biceps each. I felt that protest now would be foolish, because it seemed unlikely I would be able to manage any distance at all down here on my own.

Rhodane led the way into a kind of dormitory, with beds jutting from the wall like bracket fungi, and sporting those familiar organic mattresses. Tottering through the door after her, I could think of nothing to say, I was so unutterably weary. She merely gestured to one of the beds, onto which Slog and Flog released me. I hauled up my legs, then…nothing.

Yishna

Leaning her forehead against a port of the inter-station shuttle—the cool glass soothing the burn inside her skull—Yishna observed a landing craft departing Corisanthe II, and knew Duras was aboard and now on his way back to the planet's surface. He might well achieve all he intended down there, but she suspected it would not be enough. A conflict between Fleet and Combine seemed unavoidable, no matter what votes were won in Parliament. As the shuttle turned, she took her head away from the port, then pulled herself over and down into the chair beside Dalepan, and strapped herself in.

"What preparations are being made?" she asked.

"All the quadrant guns are now operational," said Dalepan, as he guided the shuttle towards the distant speck of Corisanthe Main. "Presently all other weapons systems are being checked, as are all the safety protocols." He gestured to the spacesuit he wore. "Everybody works wearing one of these now."

"If it comes to us ever needing them, we'll probably have lost," said Yishna.

"Perhaps so, but we also have a few surprises awaiting the hilldiggers—should they attack. Gneiss has only just informed me that Orbital Combine has been working in secret to build and develop gravity-disruptor weapons, which are also being installed on the Corisanthe stations and on some of the defence platforms. We are also launching stealthed space mines, and Fleet is being ordered to stand off by a million miles."

"Which Fleet will not do."

Dalepan nodded, then went on, "I think the largest imponderable concerns directed and undirected weapons. All the stations of Orbital Combine are a sitting target so Fleet could remain far out and pound us with inert missiles fired by linear accelerator. If we reply in kind, the hilldiggers merely need to be moved."

"Collateral damage," said Yishna, understanding at once.

"Precisely. If they bombard us from a distance, a proportion of their missiles will inevitably strike Sudoria. Is Harald prepared to countenance that? How far is he prepared to go to win?" Dalepan gazed at Yishna queryingly.

"I don't know," she replied, and then began to consider what might be her brother's objectives, and just what he might do to attain them.

Upon their arrival at Corisanthe Main, they were forced to wait until sufficient precautions were taken before the shields shut down. While this was being done, Yishna observed a maintenance vessel approaching the station, clutching in its multiple grabs some kind—of—massive engine. Space all around it was filled with suited figures and installation pods. After the shields shut down, a computer-controlled maintenance sphere mounted with a missile launcher came out to escort them in. Upon docking, five heavily armed OCTs came aboard to check over their ship before she and Dalepan could disembark.