Sparks jerked the medal off over his head. He threw it out to land at Sirus’s feet, his voice harsh with disbelief. “Then this must belong to you, hero — it sure as hell doesn’t belong on Starbuck. It took a lot of guts to come here and stick a knife into me… here’s your reward. Take it and get out.” He shut his eyes, trying not to look for resemblances. He heard Sirus lean over and pick up the medal. “‘To our noble son Temmon…’” The resonant voice grew transparent. “How is your mother? I gave her this on the Mask Night… your legacy.”

“She’s dead, foreigner.” He opened his eyes deliberately to watch Sirus’s face. “I killed her.” He let the shock recoil. “She died the day I was born.”

The shock turned to grief, disbelief. “She died in childbirth?” as though he actually cared whether it had happened.

Sparks nodded. “They don’t have all the modern conveniences in Summer. They won’t have them here either, after the Change.” He ran his hands along the rough cloth of his pants. “But that won’t matter to me. Or you.”

“Son. Son…” Sirus turned the medal over and over between his fingers. “What can I say to you? The Prime Minister is my own father, your grandfather. When he came back to me, it was all so simple. His blood in my veins made me royal in the eyes of my league — it made me a leader; gave me a right to rule, nothing but success and happiness. When he returned again to Samathe, he gave me this medal with his own hands, and took me into the Assembly.” He let the medal slip through his fingers. It circled on its chain, catching light, like a fiery wheel. “I gave this to your mother because she was so like my mother’s people, with her eyes as blue as a woodland lake, and her hair like sunlight… She carried me back to my homeworld for a night, when I was lonely and it was far away.” He looked up, offering the medal from his outstretched hand. “This was hers, yours, and it always will be.”

Sparks felt his bones dissolve and his body turn to smoke. “You bastard… why did you come here now? Where were you then, years ago, when I needed you? I waited for you to come back, I tried to do everything to be what I thought you’d be, so you’d want me when you saw me.” He spread his hands, surrounded by the technological mysteries he had solved so painstakingly, so pointlessly. “But now, when it’s all gone, and I’ve ruined my life… you come and see me like this!”

“Sparks, your life isn’t ruined. Your life isn’t over. I’ve come to — to make amends.” He hesitated; Sparks turned back to him slowly. “Your cousin Moon told me about you. It was Moon who sent me here.”

“Moon?” Sparks swallowed his heart.

“Yes, son.” Sirus’s smile filled with encouragement and reassurance. “Her mind is behind this reunion, and her heart, I think, is waiting for another one… Having met your cousin, I know that you come from a fine family line.” Sparks glanced away, silent. “And having collided with her belief in you,” ruefully, “I don’t think there could be anything that would make me ashamed to have you for a son.” Sims gazed past him and around him at the instruments and machines, the silent testimony of their common blood, their shared heritage.

Sparks got to his feet as his father came toward him. Sirus hung the medal around his neck again, looking at his face and deeply into his eyes. “You favor your mother more… but I can see that you have a Technician’s need to know why. How I wish there were an answer for every question…” He put his hand on Sparks’s shoulder tentatively, as though he was not sure that it would be allowed to stay.

But Sparks held his father’s eyes, absorbing the moment and the touch, as the cold empty cell where a part of his wholeness had been captive for years was thrown open at last, to let light and warmth pour in. “You came. You came for me — Father…” He spoke the word he had never expected to hear from his own lips; put his own hands over Sirus’s hand on his shoulder, clinging to it like a child. “Father!”

“Very touching.” The second man shuffled back into the room, breaking apart the moment. “Now, if you don’t mind, Your Holiness, I want to get this over with.”

Sparks released his father’s hand, turned resentfully to see the other man unfasten his cloak and take it off. “Herne! What—?”

Herne grinned darkly. “The Child Stealer sent me. I’m your changeling, Dawntreader.” His paralyzed legs were meshed in a clumsy exoskeleton.

“What’s he talking about?” Sparks looked back at his father. “What’s he doing here?”

“Your cousin Moon brought him to me. She said he was willing to take your place at the sacrifice of the Change.”

“Take my place?” Sparks shook his head. “Herne? You?… Why, Herne? Why would you do that for me?” Not letting himself hope.

Herne laughed once. “Not for you, Dawntreader. For her. They’re more alike than you know. More than you know…” His eyes turned distant. “Moon knew. She knew what I needed, and wanted: Arienrhod, my self-respect… and an end to it, the last laugh. And she’s given it all to me. Gods, I want to see Arienrhod’s face when she learns she’s been cheated in everything! I’ll have her to myself forever, after all… that should be enough of hell, and heaven, for both of us.” His vision telescoped back to their faces. “Go to your flawed copy, Dawntreader, and I hope you’re satisfied with her. You never were man enough for the real thing.” He held out the cloak.

Sparks took it from him, threw it around his own shoulders. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.” He fastened the catch at his throat. His father held out a small jar of brownish paste. “Stain your face and hands, so that the guards will take you for a Kharemoughi.”

“One of the galaxy’s Chosen.” Herne smirked.

Sparks went to the mirror, smeared the stain over his skin obediently, watching himself disappear. Behind his own reflection he saw Sirus waiting, and Herne searching the room with eager possessiveness — saw Starbuck in his element, and a son with his father, and they were two different men. Two different men, who had been the same man; who had loved the same woman who was not the same woman, and loved her now for the ways in which she was different. One of them ready to return to life, and one of them ready to die…

He finished coloring his skin and raised his hood, went back to Sirus’s side. “I’m ready,” smiling at last at his father’s smile.

“Son of a First Secretary, grandson of a Prime Minister… you suit the role admirably.” His father nodded. “Is there anything you want to take with you?”

Sparks remembered his flute lying on the couch, picked it up. “This is all.” He glanced at the clutter of hardware briefly, and away again.

“Herne—” Sirus said something humbly in Kharemoughi, and for Sparks repeated it: “Thank you for giving me my son.”

Sparks took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

Herne folded his arms, enjoying something that Sparks did not fully understand. “Any time, sadhu. Just make sure you remember that you owe it all to me. Now get out of my chambers, you bastards. I want to start enjoying them, and I don’t have much time left.”

Sirus tapped on the door; it opened. Sparks looked back quickly at Herne standing in his element, taking his own place. Goodbye, Arienrhod… Sirus went out with his shuffling servant, leaving Starbuck alone.