Smash. Smash. Smash. Till we came to the final anchor, holding the last threads of Xe’s being. She was mostly up on the ceiling now, like a streamer ribbon taped in this one spot to the floor but blown by a fan so it fluttered up and flapped. I lifted my rock for one more smash… but Festina wrapped her fingers around my hand.

"Before you do that," she said, "get Xe to stop the germ factory. Deactivate it, dismantle it. If she’s in touch with all nano on the planet, she should have no problem doing whatever it takes."

I didn’t even have time to phrase a command before Xe acknowledged the deed was done. The germ factory, far to the north, was shut down forever, nanites dispersed.

Just like that. All Xe ever needed was for someone to make the request.

"It’s done," I said. And brought the rock down hard.

Xe’s bliss was so strong I nearly fainted — a bursting-blazing headrush that drenched me with sweat. Colored lights filled the room like a blizzard of blue and green as Xe danced, pranced, soared, everywhere all at once… till my foggy brain realized the dance was not one peacock but two. My Peacock had slithered out to join her, to celebrate — so many emotions shooting off sparkles I was too giddy to appreciate a thousandth of them.

Two peacocks. Old lovers. Old enemies. Dancing.

Then suddenly, it stopped. The blur of lights snapped into focus, straight in front of Festina and me: two Sperm-tubes open side by side, flowing out of the room, down the corridor, and off God knows where.

"This would be our ride out of the tunnel," Festina said. "To where?"

"Don’t know," I answered. "But we’d better go — there’s still work to be done."

"You mean tracking down Maya?"

I nodded. Feeling breathless. Realizing Xe had planted more facts in my mind than just her own history.

"What’s wrong?" Festina asked. "Something to do with Maya? Something that… oh shit."

She bit her lip. She knew.

"Maya and Iranu," Festina whispered. "They’ve both been exploring Greenstrider bunkers." She took a deep breath. "They both met the germ factory, right?"

I nodded again. "Iranu met it six months ago. The factory analyzed him, then created the Freep disease. The disease killed Iranu and nearly did the same to Oh-God."

Festina steeled herself. "When did Maya meet the factory?"

"Four months ago," I said.

"And the factory created a disease that’s absolutely lethal to humans?"

"Yes. Xe says this version of the plague affects the brain."

"Shit." Festina’s face had grown pale. "So Maya’s been spreading the infection for ages. In Sallysweet River. And in Bonaventure."

"You’re forgetting Mummichog."

"Damn," Festina said. "Maya stayed with Voostor and your mother for days. Your mother must have caught the disease. The whole house has to be filled with it."

"All over the place," I agreed. "Xe says we’re both infected. And the olive oil cure won’t work this time. It’s a brand-new disease. Old medicines mean bugger-all."

There. There it was.

After twenty-seven years, the other shoe had dropped: a disease to kill humans without touching Ooloms. Scary having that inside me… and yet.

And yet.

I had a queer sense of completion. Botjolo Faye — waiting all this time for a death of her own. Finally belonging.

Relief. Sick dread, and scalpelly relief.

In front of us the peacocks still twinkled, ready to carry us somewhere they thought we should go. I reached out, took Festina’s hand, squeezed it. Our palms were both damp with fear sweat. "Sorry," I said, "this wasn’t meant for you. But it’ll still be all right. There’s time."

Whatever I meant by that.

I tugged her hand gently, pulling her toward the open peacock tubes. She squeezed back, a strong brave grip; then she let me go and we dived forward, side by side.

FUNERAL INVITATION

From the torch-dim bunker in Mummichog, through the twisty bends of a peacock’s gut, and out again into blackness: skidding to a stop facedown, with the lye-soap smell of yellow-grass close under my nose. I lifted my head to see the Henry Smallwood Guest Home, backlit by the million stars in a Sallysweet River night.

Something thumped the ground beside me. Then Festina’s voice. A growl. "Bloody hell. Back into the fucking cold."

We stood up. The peacocks rippled in front of us, glimmering softly in the darkness. I couldn’t tell which was Xe, which was my own guardian.

Or should I say, former guardian.

Uchulu, said my father’s voice inside my head. Goodbye.

Uchulu, said another mental voice — Tic’s voice. Xe always liked Tic; so why shouldn’t she decide to sound like him? Uchulu i jai. Good-bye and thank you.

Then the two of them began to rise, slowly at first, staying horizontal to the ground till they were above the treetops, then suddenly swooping straight up toward the sea of stars.

"Will the League let Xe leave?" I whispered.

"The League isn’t noted for forgiveness," Festina replied. "But who knows?"

We watched till the peacocks were out of sight. It didn’t take long. Then Festina shook herself; the gesture turned to a theatrical shiver. "Very touching, I’m sure. Now can we get inside where it’s warm?"

The same Oolom hostess stood on duty behind the registration counter. I gave her a vague smile, glad there weren’t humans in the room; it’d only been an hour since we contacted the plague from my mother, but Festina and I might be contagious already. As for the hostess, she’d be safe from us — this disease was sole property of Homo saps.

"Welcome back, Proctor Smallwood," the hostess said. "And Admiral…" She gave a small bow… very gracious of her, considering how we were grimed with grass stains, dirt, and jungle dung. "What can I do for you tonight?"

"A room, please," I told her. "Just one."

Festina raised her eyebrows. I ignored her, rather than explain in front of the hostess. We needed a place to hole up for an hour, somewhere we wouldn’t infect other humans; but I doubted we’d stay the whole night. I’d make my report as soon as we locked ourselves away from healthy people. The medical authorities would come screaming in and cart us off to an isolation ward, then burn everything we’d touched in the guest home. Why force them to sterilize two rooms, when Festina and I could make do with one?

"One room," said the hostess. "Certainly. And will this be billed to the Vigil?"

"Let’s have the Admiralty pay," Festina replied. "I love making them foot my bills."

I lay down on the bed before starting my report. Might as well make myself comfortable. "This may take a while," I told Festina. Then I closed my eyes and linked in.

Protection Central, please. Emergency.

The acknowledgment came back straightaway… and even in that short interaction, I could feel the difference. No personality on the other end of the link — just an empty machine. Xe was gone; the world-soul had lost its soul.

Poor Tic. Poor lonely old bugger. He’d never hear nanites giggle again.

First: a message to Argentia health authorities warning that Mummichog was a ticking bomb. The world-soul told me a med team had already picked up Oh-God and were beetling back to Pistolet… but they hadn’t got home yet. There was time to warn them of Pteromic C, the Homo sap variant. Anyway, they’d followed high-infection protocols right from the start, because of Oh-God; yes, it was good to tell them they might be carrying a human disease, but it wouldn’t make much difference in what they did. They were already walking on eggs.

As for Maya… Tic had reported her escape and police were searching for her through a million hectares of rain forest. The world-soul estimated only a five percent chance they’d find her; but if they did, they now knew to treat her as a plague-carrier.