Full moon? I tried to remember what phase the moon had been when Gordon Ho and I had stood watching the Thor attack from the window of New Foster Tower. I found I couldn't recall details-of that night, or of just about anything else, for that matter. Some part of me knew that this should disturb me, but at the moment I didn't have the energy to give a frag. I was pretty sure the moon had been new or close to it even though I couldn't pin it down exactly.

Which meant I'd been out of it for two weeks'} Remembering the last time I'd woken up in a hospital after a protracted unconsciousness, I quickly ran a kind of mental inventory of my body. Did anything feel strange, numb or- worse-absent?

No, I realized after a nasty moment, letting myself relax back into the bed with relief. Everything felt just about right… which meant it hurt like frag. If I had lost something and the docs had replaced it with chrome-as had happened to me the last time-they wouldn't have gone to the effort of perfectly replicating posttrauma pain, would they?

I rolled my head again for another look at the moon. Good old moon, I thought foggily. Thank whatever gods there be that you remain unchanged, at least. We can frag up our own world all we want, but at least we can't jack with you… not bad enough that we can notice it, at least.

I closed my eyes, and for some unmeasured time I listened to the soft soughing of the air-conditioning. When I opened my eyes again, it was day. I blinked, and it was night again. Like my blurring of memory, I knew that should have worried me, but again I couldn't generate a sense of outrage or concern. All in its own good time, thank you very much.

Again the man in the moon did his Peeping-Tom act in my window, and I listened to the sighing of the ventilation. That was all I could hear-artificial wind inside, real wind stirring the palm trees outside. No explosions, no gunfire, no screams. The gate had to be closed, then. I couldn't imagine that any night could be this peaceful if that rent in reality hadn't been sewn back up.

"The gate is closed."

The soft voice from somewhere to my right fragging near stopped my heart then and there. I let out a yelp and jumped like someone had jolted me with a cattle prod. When I'd gotten my heart rate back under the five hundred mark, I turned my head to the right and scowled at the silhouette-black on deeper black-of a seated figure. "I didn't think I spoke aloud," I said accusingly.

I heard Akaku'akanene's smile, rather than saw it. "You should continue to surprise yourself, maybe, as you do others."

For a moment I mentally chewed on the twisted grammar of that statement, then I gave up. "How?" I asked.

"How much do you know of the workings of magic?" the old woman began elliptically.

I couldn't help but smile. "Do you have any elven blood?" I asked wryly.

Again I heard her smile broaden. "Why, because I answer a question with a question?"

I sighed. "Word games later," I told her. And I repeated, "How?"

"Guardians," she said simply. I waited for her to amplify, but she didn't.

'The spirits, you mean?"

"Yes, the spirits. And other guardians as well. Guardians of Haleakala, guardians of the pattern."

She had to mean the rock dogs, didn't she? I nodded. "Go on," I suggested.

"The kahunas, they had to keep the guardians out to unravel the pattern."

Again I waited; again, I had to prompt, "And…?"

I saw the silhouette shrug, as if to say, "That's it!"

And I guess it was. I'd wrecked the Dancers' protective circles, which let the "guardians of the pattern" in to do their thing. Simple.

"Okay," I admitted, "I scan it. But"-I gestured at my body, the bed, the hospital room-"what's wrong with me? I feel drek-kicked."

Silence for a moment, then Akaku'akanene said softly, "Do you understand the powers you were close to?"

Something in her voice made my skin crawl, but I pressed on anyway. "The Dancers were closer than I was," I pointed out.

"Yes. Shielded by protective wards. Skilled in the working of magic. You?" She snorted. "You are lucky Nene watches over you."

"What would it have done to me?" I didn't really want to know, but I had to ask. "Killed me?"

"Worse," she said, her voice a chill whisper. "Much worse."

I lay back and stared at the ceiling. I blinked. After a few moments a memory jarred me. "Hey," I said, "what was that drek with Pohaku-that goose ex machine?"

I didn't look at her, but still I felt her smile. "When the spirit sings, the shaman answers," she said softly. "But sometimes it is the shaman who sings."

Typical spiritual mumbo jumbo, is what I didn't say. I blinked…

And it was day again, and Akaku'akanene was gone. I never saw the old goose again.

Maybe it was the old shaman's visit, or maybe it was my own indomitable strength of will (yeah, right). But after that my rate of improvement increased drastically. Within two days of Akaku'akanene's nocturnal admissions, I was on my feet and taking mild exercise, and "two days after that 1 was rolling toward the main door of the hospital-the Kuakini Central, I'd learned its name was-in a powered wheelchair. (Why do hospitals, even in this day and age, insist that patients can't leave the premises under their own power? In case other prospective "clients" think they're actually cured…?) My escort-the practical nurse assigned to my rehabilitation, a big, jovial ork called Mary Ann-pressed the Door Open button for me and stood clear as I rolled out into the sunshine. She bent down and planted a wet, tusked kiss on the top of my head. (We'd gotten along just fine, me and Mary Ann-when she wasn't threatening me into one more rep on some exercise-torture machine, that was.)

"So, what now?" I asked her. "And can I finally get out of this thing?"

Mary Ann gave me one of her best child-terrifying grins. "You're through the doors," she pointed out. "Now give us our fragging wheelchair back, hoa."

I chuckled as I extricated myself from the depths of the powered chair. I drew breath to repeat the first part of my question.

But she cut me off with an inclination of her head. "You're expected," she said quietly.

I looked where she indicated. A limousine-not a Phaeton, not this time-had pulled up at the curb, the rear door opening with a hydraulic hiss. "No space for me at your house?" I asked the ork mock-hopefully.

"Always, lover," she purred. "But my husband, see, he's kinda touchy about these things."

I laughed freely. It felt good. "Well, far be it from me to jack with your marital bliss." And then I let my face grow serious for a moment. "Thanks, Mary Ann. I mean it."

She hugged me. And if you've never been hugged by an ork who's been trained as a practical nurse… bruddah, you ain't never been hugged.

When I could breathe again, I gave her a last smile and went slowly down the stairs toward the limo.

All the windows were tinted and polarized. The driver could as well have been that thing that had tried to come through the gate, for all I could see. I sighed. Well, if anyone out there in the big, wide world wanted me dead, they wouldn't have had to pay for a limo to arrange it I climbed inside and closed the door after me.

The kevlarplex screen between the passenger and driver compartments was in place-no surprise there-and it was also fully polarized. I couldn't see so much as a silhouette of the driver's head. I sat back as the limo accelerated away from the curb, and I waited.

Nothing, so I waited some more. Still nothing. So this time I rapped on the divider with a knuckle. "So what gives, huh, brah?" I asked the kevlarplex.

More nothing. I was winding up for another, harder rap when the telecom screen in the limo's entertainment/commo suite lit up and filled with a familiar face.