"And if I couldn't? What Krinata almost did to you would be nothing by comparison."

Theoretically she was right. He glanced at Darllanyu, curled around her mug and into herself, and was tempted to do or say anything to get Trinarvil to agree to help them.

"Isn't there someone else?" asked Trinarvil. "If you're not going to work, it doesn't take a great deal of skill to hold Outreach during Dissolution."

"I've tested every Aliom student here. There isn't one who could tolerate anything more than a tetrad now. If one of them volunteered, it would take at least another year's nonproductive drill in subforms before I might attain enough of a balance to Dissolve. Trinarvil, you can see we don't have a year."

She didn't deny it. "You don't trust Krinata—even if she gives her word not to do that again?"

"I've had experience with—" He'd never told Trinarvil about the Desdinda loop and all the promises Krinata couldn't help but violate because she had the "Aliom strike"—the trait that caused instantaneous, uncritical reaction in an emergency and, when properly trained, always resulted in an optimal resolution. From all the promises Krinata had violated they had both learned that she would always "strike" under stress, promise or no promise, though she was not well trained. They had given up on promises.

He started over. "I do trust Krinata. But I made a mistake in taking her into Oliat. I should have known that the Takora nexus had to surface—and cause her to 'strike' for Center." Which was odd considering that the nexus had been lifted from his own mind and thus could not encompass the Center reflexes—because he, himself, hadn't had them when he'd been Takora's Protector. The nexus could contain only that part of Takora he could accept—just as his own Oliat was absorbing his qualities, filtered through their own limits.

He fell silent, wrestling with the idea of a Dushau reincarnating as an ephemeral.

Darllanyu stood up. "It's not Krinata that has to be replaced. It's me. Krinata only reacted when I lost attunement and blew the balances. Don't blame her." Without even glancing at

Jindigar she left the room, but a swirling turbulence wafted behind her.

Jindigar was on his feet before he thought, but Trinarvil stayed him with a gesture. "She needs some time alone." And the unspoken implication was clear—certainly not with you too close by!

She was right, but Jindigar was afraid what Dar might do if left alone long enough to realize that they were trapped. The pensone dose she'd planned to take was still at the Temple, and it offered at least relief enough to die in peace. He had to go to her—but he dared not. Her need—his own need—tore at him, eroding his will to endure. He needed Dar's deep understanding. Her presence would be more enriching than the Dushauni lighting. And such things always worked both ways. He had to go, yet he dared not.

He found himself poised in the open door, staring after Darllanyu, his Oliat tensed to stop him, when the Historian Threntisn emerged from a group gathered at the other end of the hall. They'd no doubt been speculating on the Oliat's problem. The Historian approached warily. Jindigar made himself meet Threntisn's gaze as Trinarvil looked over his shoulder and called, "Greetings, Archivist."

"Greetings, Healer. May I speak to Jindigar's?"

"We have adjourned," said Jindigar, finding suddenly that the words had to be forced into a straight sentence. He retreated into the office and busied himself collecting the mugs, lingering over Dar's where she'd abandoned it half full on the floor by her seat. He had to get hold of himself.

Zannesu met Threntisn. "We listen, Historian."

"I seek a formal courtesy. The odd occurrences in the cave today—it's said that despite dysattunement, you've found a food for the Holot. It's vital that this be recorded in the Archive, so I've come to request a debriefing—"

Jindigar rose to stare at the Historian. He was bareheaded, even in the evening chill, and by the Dushauni lighting, his skin showed the indigo of young middle-age. The skin nap of his face and head was sleeked down. His nose was almost as sharp-bridged as some humans'. His eyes, wider set than most Dushau's eyes, gave him a wary look. But Jindigar's raw sensitivity picked up the bottomless depths of Grisnilter's Archive. He had a poise, an intensity, that characterized Archivists– and hadn't been in Threntisn a year ago. Hosting Grisnilter's Archive had changed him and had not catapulted him into Renewal.

In the painful silence Trinarvil said, "I doubt if the Oliat can do an Archive debriefing. Their health is—•"

Jindigar interrupted her, forcing out words by averting his eyes. "It could be dangerous—to the Archive, Threntisn—but if you're willing, we will."

The others stirred in alarm. He turned to them and said, "If we are doomed, what we have learned must be preserved– even though it means reliving it."

"Jindigar!" exclaimed Trinarvil. "Krinata couldn't—"

"Does any of us know what a human can or cannot do?" He stared her down and turned to Threntisn, whose eyes gleamed . with the eagerness of a true Historian, and Jindigar had an idea. He turned his back and fixed his gaze on Zannesu as he addressed Threntisn, explaining in layman's terms how Krinata's grabbing of Center trapped them in Oliat.

Threntisn had grieved his son in the full linkage with Jindigar and Krinata. He knew of the Takora nexus. "Takora was surely experienced at debriefing to an Archive."

"But Krinata has never worked Outreach at a debriefing, and she has been a professional Oliat debriefer, responsible for making publishable recordings from Oliat memories. She might become disoriented, confused—anything might happen.

"But it's worth the risk," continued Jindigar. "If we can record her grab, I can study it in slow motion and high resolution to discover how to Dissolve us safely." The memory would reside in the Archive but would not be accessible to Historians. It was an Oliat function trace, available only with

Aliom keys. If he'd had such a tool last year, he could have saved Krinata a lot of suffering.

"Alternatively," put in Trinarvil, "reliving it could kill you all."

"It didn't the first time," argued Eithlarin, but without conviction.

Jindigar came to Trinarvil's desk. "Since you can't replace Krinata, what else should we try?"

"Do you really think," said Threntisn, "that you can convince Krinata to do it for us?"

Jindigar turned and spoke directly to the Archivist. "Yes. Don't underestimate her courage."

"Then we'd better get started. It'll take some time to set it up." He glanced at Venlagar and Llistyien. "Jindigar's right– I must protect the Archive carefully. It will take me at least a day to shut it down and another day or two for a Conclave to put me into the best state for this. Can you afford to wait that long?"

Too long, thought Jindigar. They ought to do this now. But Darllanyu could not work tonight—or even tomorrow. And she had to fight her battle alone—for any attempt by him to help her would only fuel the forces she was straining to subdue.

Threntisn moved about the office, inspecting the medical charts on the walls, peering into the cabinets, handling the restraining belts on the cots, as he planned aloud. "I'll have a team of Historians tune the apparatus. Trinarvil, we'll provide you space for your vibration therapy in case Krinata freezes again. So we'll need extra power lines—" He scanned Zannesu and Jindigar. "I'll get on it right now."

He was at the door when Jindigar said, "I'll let you know definitely by dawn if we decide to do it."

And then the Historian was gone.

Jindigar turned to Eithlarin. "It would be good if you could find that pensone before Dar does. The rest of you—the Historians will need help focusing the equipment—" He sighed. "I've got to talk to Krinata."