Preparing to come down to the submersible, called Koros III from the control deck.

Permission to board granted, replied Mahnmut, although their titular commander had not asked for permission. He was not Europan and did not know the protocols. Mahnmut saw the warning that the ship’s bay doors were opening, exposing The Dark Lady to space again so that Koros could make the transfer by guide cable.

Mahnmut flicked on the video feed from the hull where Orphu nestled. The Ionian noticed the attention. Good-bye for a while, my friend, said Orphu. We’ll meet again.

I hope so, said Mahnmut. He opened the submersible’s lower airlock and prepared to blow the last comm cables.

Wait, said Ri Po. Coming around the limb of the planet.

Control-room video showed Koros III dogging the airlock hatch he had just opened and returning to the instruments. Mahnmut removed his finger from the button arming the commline pyrotechnics.

Something was coming around the edge of Mars. Currently it was just a radar blip. The forward telescope gimbaled to acquire it.

It must have launched from Olympos when we were out of line of sight, said Orphu.

Hailing it now, said Ri Po.

Mahnmut monitored the frequencies as their ship began calling. The blip did not answer.

Do you see this? said Koros III.

Mahnmut did. The object was less than two meters long—an open chariot sans horses and surrounded by a gleaming forcefield. There were two humanoids in the open vehicle, a man and a woman, the female apparently steering it and the taller male just standing there, staring straight ahead as if he could see the stealth-wrapped ship some eight thousand kilometers away. The woman was tall and regal and blonde; the man had short gray hair and a white beard.

Orphu rumbled his laugh on the common line. It looks like pictures of God, he said. I don’t know who his girlfriend is.

As if hearing this insult, the gray-bearded man raised his arm.

The video input flared and died the same instant Mahnmut was thrown against the restraints of his high-g couch. He felt the ship shudder twice, terribly, and then begin tumbling wildly, centrifugal forces throwing Mahnmut hard to the right, then up, then to the left.

Is everyone all right? he screamed on the all-line. Can you hear me?

For several tumbling seconds the only response was silence and line-noise, then Orphu’s calm voice came through the snarl of static. I can hear you, my friend.

Are you all right? Is the ship all right? Did we fire on them?

I’m damaged and blinded, said Orphu as the static hissed and crackled. But I saw what happened before the blast blinded me. We didn’t fire on them. But the ship is—half gone, Mahnmut.

Half gone? Mahnmut repeated stupidly. What—

Some sort of energy lance. The control room—Koros and Ri Po—gone. Vaporized. All the bow gone. The upper hull is slagged. The ship is tumbling about twice per second and beginning to break up. My own carapace has been breached. My reaction jets are gone. Most of my manipulators are gone. I’m losing power and shell integrity. Get the submersible away from the ship—hurry!

I don’t know how! called Mahnmut. Koros had the control package. I don’t know . . .

Suddenly the ship lurched again and the comm and video lines were severed completely. Mahnmut could hear a violent hissing through the hull and realized that it was the ship boiling away around him. He switched on the submersible’s own cameras and saw only plasma glow everywhere.

The Dark Lady began tumbling and twisting more wildly, although whether with the dying ship or by itself, Mahnmut could not tell. He activated more cameras, the submersible’s underwater thrusters, and the damage control system. Half the systems were out or slow to respond.

Orphu? No response. Mahnmut activated the omni-directional masers, attempting a tightbeam lock. Orphu?

No response. The tumbling intensified. The Dark Lady’ s hold, pressurized for Koros’s arrival, suddenly lost all of its atmosphere, spinning the submersible more wildly.

I’m coming for you, Orphu, called Mahnmut. He blew the inner airlock door and slapped his restraint straps off. Behind him somewhere, either in the ship tearing itself apart or in The Dark Lady herself, something exploded and slammed Mahnmut violently against the control panel and then down into darkness.

13

The Dry Valley

In the morning, after a good breakfast prepared by Daeman’s mother’s servitors at her Paris Crater apartments, Ada and Harman and Hannah and Daeman faxed to the site of the last Burning Man.

The faxnode was lighted, of course, but outside the circular pavilion, it was deep night and the wind howl was audible even through the semipermeable forcefield. Harman turned to Daeman. “This was the code I had—twenty-one eighty-six—does it seem right to you?”

“It’s a faxnode pavilion,” whined the younger man. “They all look alike. Plus, it’s dark outside. And it’s empty here now. How am I supposed to tell if it’s the same as some place I visited eighteen months ago, in daylight, with a mob of other people?”

“The code sounds sort of right,” said Hannah. “I was following other people, but I remember that the Burning Man node had a high number, not one I’d ever faxed to before.”

“And you were what?” sneered Daeman. “Seventeen at the time?”

“A little older,” said Hannah. Her voice was cool. Where Daeman was mostly pale flab, Hannah showed tanned muscle. As if recognizing that disparity—even though Daeman had never heard of two human beings physically fighting outside the turin-cloth drama—he took a step backward.

Ada ignored the prickly conversation and walked to the edge of the pavilion, putting her slim fingers against the forcefield. It rippled and bent but did not give way. “This is solid,” she said. “We can’t get out.”

“Nonsense,” said Harman. He joined her and the two pushed and prodded, leaned their weight against the elastic but ultimately unyielding energy shield. It wasn’t semipermeable after all—or at least not to physical objects like human beings.

“I’ve never heard of this,” said Hannah, joining them to put her shoulder against the invisible wall. “What sense does it make to have a forcefield in a fax pavilion?”

“We’re trapped!” said Daeman, eyes rolling. “Like rats.”

“Moron,” said Hannah. The two did not appear to be getting along well today. “You can always fax out. The portal’s right there behind you and it’s still working.”

As if to prove Hannah’s point, two spherical, general-use servitors came through the shimmering faxportal and floated toward the humans.

“This field is keeping us in,” Ada said to the servitors.

“Yes, Ada Uhr,” said one of the machines. “We regret the delay in getting here to help you. This faxnode is . . . rarely used.”

“So what?” said Harman, crossing his arms and scowling at the lead servitor. The other sphere had moved off to float near one of the supply cubbies in the pavilion’s white column. “Since when are faxnodes sealed off?” continued Harman.

“My apologies again, Harman Uhr,” said the servitor in the almost-male voice used by all general-purpose servitors everywhere. “The climate outside is inhospitable in the extreme at this time of year. Were you to venture out without thermskins, your chances of survival would be low.”

The second servitor extracted four thermskins from the cubby and floated past the four humans, offering the less-than-paper-thin molecular suits to each person in turn.

Daeman held the suit in two hands and looked puzzled. “Is this a joke?”