It had stopped her from telling anyone about her situation, till I asked a direct question. But it hadn’t stopped her from mourning her imprisonment. And it hadn’t stopped her from repentance. Even an immortal can change over the course of three thousand years. Especially three thousand years of inhabiting the machines that served "lesser beings": first the Greenstriders, then later Ooloms, and finally Homo saps.

Xe had learned true sympathy. Or so she told me.

She bitterly regretted the death she had caused. Or so she said.

She was no danger to anyone, and only wanted to help. Or so her story went.

And she wanted out, out, out, out, out. Please, please, please, set her free, set her free.

That part, at least, I had no trouble believing.

"You know Xe can’t leave Demoth," Festina said when I finished the story. "Even if we free her, she’s a mass murderer. The League will swat her like a gnat the moment she heads for space."

"The League is strong enough to do that? To an advanced lifeform like Xe?"

"Faye, you have no idea how powerful the highest species in the League are. Compared to them, humans are as backward as bacteria. Xe might approach the level of a flatworm, but she’s still far too primitive to defy the League."

"And the League won’t accept she’s had a change of heart?"

"No one ever knows what the League will accept," Festina replied. "But they take a very preemptive attitude toward dangerous non-sentient creatures."

"Maybe Xe’s sentient now. Maybe she cares."

"And maybe she doesn’t." Festina sighed. "I had a partner once who studied Norse mythology. He liked all that atmosphere of gloomy ice and snow." She made a face. "Anyway, he told me a legend about a rude-boy god named Loki. Loki pissed off the Father of the Gods once too often and was encased inside a tree till some passerby shed a tear for his plight. No one did. Eventually Loki gained enough control over the tree that he forced it to drop a leaf into someone’s eye. Instant tear. Loki got free and proceeded to precipitate the end of the world."

"A load of laughs, those Vikings," I said.

"The lesson is still valid," Festina replied. "Xe may weep with contrition, but she’s done monstrous things. Freeing her is a real gamble. You realize that her germ factory must have created the plague twenty-seven years ago? Millions of Ooloms died because of her."

"I know. Xe told me herself. After Yasbad Iranu got caught for illegal archaeology digs, an old Oolom proctor decided to snoop around in the so-called mines to see what Iranu was looking for. The proctor never realized he was exploring Greenstrider bunkers; and he never knew he’d encountered Xe’s germ factory. That was Patient Zero for Pteromic Paralysis — a member of the Vigil doing his job."

Thank God he never knew.

"I want to set Xe loose," I said.

"Do you?" Festina asked. "Do you! Or is this a compunction she planted in your brain?"

"I’m saying what I want. I don’t know why I want it."

Festina grimaced. "Tricky things, those link-seeds."

"You’re telling me."

"So let me guess," she said. "You want me to make the final decision about Xe, because you can’t trust your own motives."

"Afraid so," I told her. "Someone’s got to make the call, and it’d be crazy to leave it up to me."

Festina sighed. "I suppose you’ve got a reason why we don’t pass the buck to your government?"

"Because they’ll drag their heels. They won’t dare upset the status quo till they’ve brought in experts, advisors and boffins galore. Which means knocking on the Admiralty’s door, doesn’t it, since the navy has the most experience with Sperm-tails."

"Whereupon," Festina said, "dipshits will expropriate Xe and hold her as a lab rat forever."

I nodded. And waited. Trying not to feel coward-guilty for dumping the hard choice on someone else. It’s what proctors are supposed to do, I told myself. Present the facts, name the risks, then get out of the way.

Festina stared at the floor as she thought over the situation; it only took a few seconds. "Okay," she said. "If we don’t free Xe now, you’re right; your government will search this place, find her, and eventually call in the Admiralty. At which point, people we really don’t trust will have a captive superintelligent pocket universe that can design germ factories." She shuddered. "I’d rather take our chances with Xe."

A sizzle of fiery hope flashed over me from the next room.

Festina and I walked toward the concealed door. The Peacock, last seen going up my nose, didn’t come swooping out to stop us. No Tico, nago, wuto! and blocking our way. I took that as a good sign. If my Peacock could read mental processes, he’d overheard Xe’s confession to me… and he must have believed it, or he’d be screaming warnings in my face.

No excitement. No fuss. When we got to the door, Festina gave me a look, making sure I wanted to keep going. I nodded, then pushed my hand against the wall.

My fingers sank in. The pseudogranite was more viscous than the windows back in my office — thick as concrete slurry. I forced myself forward, using the strength of my legs: pressing hard, both arms burying into the surface. Festina stood back, watching; if need be, she could push or pull to keep me from getting stuck in the middle. Just before my head went in, I took a breath and closed my eyes. Then onward, through the thick muddy soup, reminding myself I wasn’t at all claustrophobic like daft old Ooloms.

My arms came free on the other side. Then my face. For some reason, I expected to have muck coating me, smearied over my eyes, crusting up my hair; but I was clean, maybe cleaner than when I went in — my cheeks felt scrubbed, like having a pumice rinse. I kept driving forward, pushing, till my feet pulled away from the wall with a soft sucking sound.

Ssss-pop.

The sound echoed in the dimly lit corridor. Xe coiled in front of me, all green and gold and blue. Her lights shone flame-bright; I didn’t need a link-seed to feel her rapturous anticipation.

Festina’s shoulder came through the wall, followed straight on by her head — she hadn’t reached out with her hands first, she’d slammed straight in as if she were body-checking the stone. I hurried to help her… nearly yanking her off her feet in my eagerness to drag her free.

Maybe not my eagerness. Maybe Xe’s. The same way her frustration had spilled over to give me the weepies, I could feel myself swimming with creamy anticipation — nothing to do with my own hormones. "The wet tingles," we called it when I was fifteen… and Xe had them so whipping-fierce they were leaking into me.

So to speak.

I moved forward. There was a good-sized rock in my hand — I’d picked it up from the rubble in the other room. The anchor machine sat straight in front of me, wisps of Xe’s body sticking to the horseshoe insets like hairs plastered onto a balloon by static electricity.

Festina waved toward the box. "You want to do the honors?"

I knelt. Up with the rock, down with the rock — hard enough that the outside of the box ruptured and something cracked inside.

Wisps of peacock light danced away from the box. Free. A wave of joy surged through me so burning hot, I almost wet myself. Cool down, Xe, I thought desperately. I know you’re happy, but you’re going to embarrass me.

Acknowledgment with apologies. Not that the excitement abated much.

Festina and I went around the room in opposite directions, smashing anchors. Pulling the pins that held the butterfly. Xe made sure we never came in contact with her body, leaning herself away as we broke each fetter. I don’t know what would have happened if we actually touched her; maybe we’d get sucked inside and spin through her innards in a never-ending swirl. Something to avoid.