He nodded. His eyes were beginning to dilate with the drug. He was not ht for conversation—fumbled after the switch, in token of this. She pushed it for him.

There was delay enough for him to compose himself. He settled back, folded his arms across his belly, eyes glassy. Then the machine began to activate, and it was as if every nerve in his body were severed: the whole body went limp. It was time to leave; the machine was a nuisance without the drug, and she never liked to look at someone undergoing the process—it was not a particularly pretty sight, mouth slack, muscles occasionally twitching to suggestion. She double-checked the timer to be sure: there was a retreat function, that could be turned to suicide—dehydration, a slow death as pleasant or as terrible as the tape in question; it was not engaged, and she turned her back on him and left, closed the door on the unit and its human appendage.

Every tape she had had since she was fifteen was in that box, and some she had recovered in duplicate for sentiment’s sake. If he knew them all, she thought wistfully, he might be me. And then she laughed, to think of things that were not in the tapes, the ugly things, the bitter things.

The laugh died. She leaned against the rail of the stairs and reckoned another thing, that she should not have meddled at all, that she should ravel at other knots that had importance, and let this one alone.

No more than the hives, she thought, and went downstairs.

iii

Ab Tallen brought a different pair with him…an older woman named Mara Chung and a middle-aged man named Ben Orrin. Warrior was nervous with their presence: what Warrior could not touch made it entirely nervous, and the police had liked Warrior no better, having the duty of escorting the Outsiders to the safety of the house.

Max served drinks: Jim was still upstairs, and Raen was content with that, for Max managed well enough, playing house-azi. She sipped at hers and watched the Outsiders’ eyes, what things drew them, what things seemed of interest.

Max himself was, it seemed. Ser Orrin was injudicious enough to stare at him directly, glanced abruptly at some point on the glass he held when he realised it.

Raen smiled, caught Max’s eyes and with a flick of hers, dismissed him to neutrality somewhere behind her. She looked at her guests. “Seri,” she murmured, with a gesture of the glass. “Your welcome. Your profound welcome. Be at ease. I plan no traps. I know what you’ve been doing on Istra. It’s of no moment to me. Probably others of the Family find it temporarily convenient. A measure which has prevented difficulties here. How could the Reach complain of that?”

“If you would be clear, Kont’ Raen—what interests you do serve, forgive me—we might be on firmer footing.”

“Ser Tallen, I am not being subtle at the moment. I am here. I don’t choose to see anything of the transactions you’ve made with Istra. Pursuing that would be of no profit to me, and a great deal of inconvenience. Some interests in the Family would be pleased with what you’re doing; others would be outraged; Council would debate it and the outcome would be uncertain, but perhaps unfavourable. Myself, I don’t care. The hives are fed. That’s a great benefit. Azi aren’t starved. That’s another. It makes Istra liveable, and I’m living on Istra. Plain?”

There was long silence. Tallen took a drink and stared at her, long and directly. “Do you represent someone?”

“I’m Meth-maren. Some used to call us hive-masters; it’s a term we’ve always disliked, but it’s descriptive. That’s what I represent, though some dispute it.”

“You control the majat?”

She shook her head. “No one— controlsthe majat. Anyone who tells you he does…lies. I’m an intermediary. An interpreter.”

“‘Though some dispute it,’ you said.”

“There are factions in the Family, seri, as aforesaid. You might hear others disputing everything I say. You’ll have to make up your own mind, weighing your own risks. I’ve called you here, for one thing, simply to lay all things out in open question, so that you don’t have to ask ITAK questions that are much easier to ask of me directly. You had to wonder how much secrecy you needed use with certain items of trade; you could have wasted a great deal of energy attempting to conceal a fact which is of no importance to me. I consider it courtesy to tell you.”

“Your manners are very direct, Kont’ Raen. And yet you don’t say a word of why you’ve come.”

“No, ser. I don’t intend to.” She lowered her eyes and took a drink, diminishing the harshness of that refusal, glanced up again. “I confess to a lively curiosity about you—about the Outside. How many worlds are there?”

“Above fifty around the human stars.”

“Fifty…and non-human? Have you found other such?”

Tallen’s eyes broke contact, and disappointed her, even, it seemed, with regret to do so. “A restricted matter, Kont’ Raen.”

She inclined her head, turned the glass in her hand, let the melting ice continue spinning, frowned—thinking on Outside, and on the ship at station, Outbound.

“We are concerned,” Tallen said, “that the Reach remain stable.”

“I do not doubt” She regarded him and his companions, male and female. “I doubt that I can answer your questions either.”

“Do you invite them?” And when she shrugged: “Who governs? Who decides policies? Do majat or humans dominate here?”

“Moth governs; the Council decides; majat and humans are separate by nature.”

“Yet you interpret.”

“I interpret.”

“And remain separate?”

“That, ser,” she answered, having lost her self-possession for the second time, “remains a question.” She frowned. “But there remains one more matter, seri, for which I asked you here. And I shall ask it and hope for the plain truth: among the bargains that you have made with concerns inside the Reach—is there any breach of quarantine? You’re not—providing exit for any citizens of the Reach? You’ve not agreed to do so in future?”

They were disturbed by this, as they might be.

“No,” Tallen said.

“Again, my personal position is one of complete disregard. No. Not complete. I would,” she said with a shrug and a smile, “be personally interested. I would be very interested to see what’s over the Edge. But this is not the case. There is no exit.”

“None. It would not be tolerated, Kont’ Raen, much as it is regrettable.”

“I am satisfied, then. That was the one item which troubled me. You’ve answered me. I think that I believe you. All our business for my part is done. Perhaps a social meeting when there’s leisure for it.”

“It would be a pleasure, Kont’ Raen.”

She inclined her head, set her glass aside, giving them the excuse to do the same.

There were formalities, shaking of hands, parting courtesies: she went personally to the door and made sure that Warrior did not approach them as they entered their car and closed the doors.

“Max,” she said, “see to the gate out there. Make sure our security is intact.”

He was over-zealous; he went without more than his sunvisor, and she frowned over it, for Istra’s sun was no kinder than Cerdin’s. New azi. Anxious and over-anxious to please. It was worse in its way than dealing with housecomp.

The car reached the gate and exited; Max saw to the closing and walked back, Warrior gliding along at a little distance, keeping a critical majat eye on all that passed.

Max entered, sought more instruction. “Just protect yourself when you go out, after this,” she said peevishly, and dismissed him. She was depressed by the encounter, had hoped otherwise, and logically could not say why.

She closed and sealed the door, blinking somewhat from the change of light, from the portico to the inner hall—looked up, for Jim was on the stairs, watching her.