“Have you… back for me come, then?”

She looked up, saw the off worlder struggling to open his eyes. “I — I never left you.” He frowned, shook his head as though it didn’t make sense. “I’ve never away gone.” She repeated it in Sandhi.

“Ah.” He watched her through slitted eyes. “Then I’m not afraid. When… when will we go?”

“When? Soon.” She smoothed his wiry hair, and saw him smile. ;^,. Not knowing what he was asking, she said, “When thou art “‘* stronger.” She used the familiar form unthinkingly.

“I didn’t think you so fair would be. Stay by me… until then?”

“I will.” Glancing down, she saw the untouched mug of thick medicine broth on the floor by her knee. She picked it up. “Thou must this drink.” She put her arm under his shoulders, rolled him onto his side. He worked a hand free obediently, but it could not hold the cup; she saw the livid scars along the inside of his wrist again. She held the cup for him, helped him drink it down. Coughing took him as he finished it, rattling in his chest like stones. The plastic mug slipped from her hand and rolled under the cot. She held him tightly in her arms, sharing her own strength with him, until the attack passed; and then a little longer.

“Thou feel… so real.” He sighed against her shoulder. “So kind…”

She let him slip back onto the cot, already asleep. She sat for a long moment watching him, before she settled against the cot frame, resting her head on her arm, and closed her eyes again.

“You are real.”

The words greeted her like old friends as she woke again, slowly raised her head from her sleep-deadened arm. She sat back, disconcerted, blinking.

The off worlder slumped against the wall, propped into place by a knot of blankets. “Did I it dream, or… did you to me in Sandhi speak?”

“I did,” in Sandhi. Moon worked her fingers, felt the needles starting as circulation stirred in her arm. “I — cannot it believe. You were so sick.” She felt a shining warmth fill her. But the power came through me, and I healed you.

“I thought you the Child Stealer were. When I was young, my nurse said she as pale as aurora-glow is…” He leaned more heavily on the heaped blankets. “But you’re no ghost. Are you—?” As though he still half doubted his senses.

“No.” She massaged her twisted neck muscles with her other hand, wincing. “Or I wouldn’t so much hurt!”

“You’re a prisoner too, then.” He leaned forward slightly, squinting his eyes were still inflamed. She nodded. “Your face. They didn’t you… molest?”

She shook her head. “No. They haven’t me hurt. They — fear me; so far.”

“Fear you?” He glanced toward the gate, and what lay beyond it. The distant sounds of a new day out in the camp reached them like an echo of another world.

She lifted her chin, saw him grimace at the wound on her throat, before his face went slack: “Sibyl?”

She lowered her head again.

“Gods, this moves too fast.” He lay down again, resting on his side through another attack of coughing.

Something out of place caught the corner of her eye. She twisted, found a pile of blue-black cloth trimmed with braid behind her, a jug, and a bowl of dried meat. “Someone brought us food.” Her hands were reaching for it even as she spoke. “Food—” not even knowing how long it had been since she had eaten anything.

“Blodwed. Hours back. I pretended to sleep.”

Moon took a long drink from the pitcher, a creamy blue-white liquid that slid down her parched throat into her shriveled stomach like ambrosia, “Oh—” Suddenly ashamed, she lowered the pitcher, pushed up onto her knees. “Here.” She filled the plastic mug, held it up to him.

“No.” He put an arm across his eyes. “I don’t it want.”

“You must. To heal, you need strength.”

“No. I don’t—” The arm came down from his eyes, he lifted his head to look at her. “Yes… I guess I do.” He took the drink in his good hand; she saw scars on that wrist, too. He caught her looking at him, raised the mug to his mouth without comment and sipped slowly.

Moon chewed a mouthful from a strip of dried meat, swallowed it whole before she asked, “Who are you? How did you here get?”

“Who am I…” He looked down at his uniform coat, touched it; his face changed with a kind of wonder, like a man coming out of a coma. “Gundhalinu, sibyl. Police Inspector BZ Gundhalinu—” he grimaced, “from Kharemough. They shot down my patroller, and took me.”

“How long have you here been?”

“Forever.” He opened his eyes again. “And you? Did they you from the star port kidnap? Where are you from — Big Blue, or Samathe?”

“No, Tiamat.”

“Here? But you’re a sibyl.” He lowered the cup from his lips. “The Winters don’t—”

“I’m a Summer. Moon Dawntreader Summer.”

“Where did you Sandhi learn?” Something darker than curiosity shadowed it.

Moon frowned uncertainly. “On Kharemough.”

“You’re proscribed, then! How did you back here get?” His voice broke, too feeble to support the weight of an authoritarian demand.

“The same way I left — with tech runners She slipped into her own speech without realizing it; taken by surprise, indignant at his indignation. “What are you going to do about it, Blue? Arrest me? Deport me?” She put her hands on her hips, clenched with resentment.

“I’d do both… if I were in any position to.” He followed her doggedly from language to language. But the righteousness drained out of him and left him limp on the cot. He laughed, a hoarse, hating sound. “But don’t worry. Flat on my face… with the cosmic crud, and living in a kennel… I’m not in any position.” He finished the liquid in the mug, let it hang empty from a finger over the cot’s edge.

Moon refilled the mug and put it into his hand again.

“A smuggling sibyl.” He sipped carefully, watching her. “I thought you were supposed to be serving humanity, not yourself. Or did you have that tattoo… put on purely for business reasons?”

Moon flushed with fresh anger. “That isn’t allowed!”

“Neither is smuggling. But it’s done.” He sneezed violently, spilling his drink on himself, on her.

“I’m not a smuggler.” She flinched, brushed droplets from her parka. “But not because I think it’s wrong. You’re the ones who are wrong, Gundhalinu, you Blues — letting your people come here and take what they want, and give us nothing in return.”

He smiled mirthlessly. “So you’ve swallowed that simplistic line bait and hook, have you? If you wanted… to see real greed and exploitation, try a world that didn’t have our police force to keep the peace. Or to keep… people like you from coming back to make trouble, once you’ve been off world

Moon settled back on her heels, saying nothing, holding the words prisoner. Gundhalinu matched her silence; she sat listening to the breath wheeze in his throat. “This is my world, I have the right to be here. I am a sibyl, Gundhalinu, and I’ll serve Tiamat any way I can.” Something harsher than pride filled her voice. “I can prove my claim any time you ask. Ask, and I will answer.”

“No need, sibyl.” A whisper of apology. “You already have. I ought to hate you, for curing me—” He rolled onto his stomach, looking down at her; she blinked at his expression, her hands closed over her own wrists. “But knowing I’m alive and not alone, seeing your face… hearing you speak a civilized language, my own language: Gods, I never thought I’d ever hear it again! I thank you—” his voice broke. “How long… how long were you on Kharemough?”

“Almost a month.” She put another piece of dried meat into her mouth, let the juices begin to dissolve, easing a throat closed by sudden empathy. “But — I might have stayed longer, maybe all my life. If things had been different.”

“Then you liked it there?” There was no sarcasm now, only a hunger. “Where were you? What did you see?”

“The Thieves’ Market, mostly. And the star port city.” She sat cross legged, pulling her feet into place, and let her mind see only the days that had feasted her eyes; see Elsevier and Silky and Cress alive and sharing her feast; the journey down to the planet surface, and KR Aspundh’s ornamental gardens… “And we drank lith and ate sugared fruits… Oh, and on the screen we saw Singalu raised to Tech.”