“That’s truth,” a man said, quiet voice, quiet manner, minding her of Jim. Faces all about took on a look of great relief, as if their entire world had suddenly settled into order: it had asked much of them until now, that azi alone hold the place. She saw their eyes fixed on her, with that deep calm that did not belong in the situation: contract-loyalty.

“The hives are moving,” she said. “Have you had trouble here?”

The manager-azi lifted an arm toward the south, the open fields. “Majat came in. We took a few. They went back again.”

She indicated the north-east. “Nothing from that direction.”

“No, sera.”

She nodded. “You’re on blue-hive’s doorstep; but they’re not human-killers. The others were golds, more than likely. You’ve already done your proper service, sitting here, guarding blue-hive. I have your contract. We go further now, but only azi that won’t freeze or panic.”

Their calm was disturbed by talk of blue-hive. She saw the ripple of dismay, turned and waved at Merry. “Out! We’re going afoot from here. Any who’ll come, any who are able.”

Her own azi climbed out, none hesitating, with rifles and what gear they had; weary as they were, she looked on them with some hope. “We’re going to fight fora hive,” she said. “For blue-hive, our own, back in the city. We have to go among them; into it, if we can. Stay, if that’s too much for you.”

She started walking…knew Merry, at least, would join her. He was there, at once, and hardly slower, the others, filthy, sorry-looking men; she looked back, and not one had stayed. The Tel estate azi were on their heels, plain by their clean clothing and their energy. In the rear, the managers and the domestics trailed along, perhaps reckoning now they were safer not to be left in the deserted buildings.

They climbed, pushing aside the high weeds, finding trails overgrown and forgotten in the hills. “Majat trails,” she said to Merry. “Abandoned ones.”

“Blue-hive?”

“Better be.”

Something urged at her hearing. She kept her eyes to the high rocks, the folds of the land.

A majat warning boomed out. She spun left; rifles jerked about, hovered unfired on the person of a Warrior, testament to azi discipline. She turned her fist to it, that stood against the sky.

“Meth-maren,” it intoned.

“Warrior, you’re too far for my eyes. Come closer.”

It shifted forward, a blue beyond doubt. Others appeared out of the rocks, jaws clicking with excitement.

“Here are azi of my-hive,” she said. “They’ve held the valley till now; now they’ll fight where needed.”

It lowered itself, offered touch and taste, and she took and gave it, moving carefully lest some new azi take alarm. “Good, good,” it pronounced then. “Mother sends. Come, come quick, Kethiuy-queen. Bring, bring, bring.”

She looked back; none who followed had fled; none offered to go back now. Warrior danced with impatience and she touched Merry’s arm and started after it, following the devious ways it led, over stone and through brush.

Suddenly the hive gaped before them, a dark pit, seeming void of defense; but Warriors materialised out of the weeds, the stones of the hills, boiled out from the darkness. She hesitated not at all, hearing their guide boom a response to them; and one Warrior touched her—by that move, one who knew her personally.

“Warrior?” she asked it.

“This-unit guides. Come. Come, bring azi.”

Blue lights bobbed in the pit. She went without question toward them, Merry beside her, others close at her heels. The darkness enveloped them, and majat-azi scampered just ahead, wretched creatures who no longer laughed, but stumbled and faltered with exhaustion. Blue light ran chaotically over the walls, showing them the way. Warrior-song shrilled in the dark.

And the majat-azi touched her, urged her on, breathlessly, faster and faster. “Mother,” they cried, “Mother, Mother, Mother.”

Raen gasped for air and kept moving, stumbling on the uneven floor, catching herself against the rough walls.

All at once the blue lights were not sufficient. Vast darkness breathed about them, and they streamed along the midst of it. A great pale form loomed ahead, that dragged itself painfully before them, huge, filling all the tunnel.

It was Mother, who moved.

Who heaved Herself along the tunnel prepared for Her vast bulk. The walls echoed with Her breathing. About Her were small majat who glittered with jewels; and before Her moved a dark heaving flood of bodies, dotted with azi-lights.

Majat-language boomed and shrilled in the tunnel, deafening. And, terrible in its volume, came Her voice, which vibrated in the earth.

Raen gathered herself and passed beside that great body, moving faster than ever Mother could. There was room, barely, that she and the men with her could avoid the sweep of Mother’s limbs, that struggled with even thrusts to drive Her vast body along, at every rumbling intake of Her breath.

“I am here!” Raen cried.

“Kethiuy-queen,” She answered. The great head did not turn, could not; Mother remained fixed upon Her goal.

“Am I welcome, Mother? Where are you going?”

“I go,” Mother said simply, and the earth quivered with the moving of Her. Air sucked in-again. “I go. Haste. Haste, young queen.”

Anxiety overwhelmed her. She increased her pace, moving now among the Drones, whose chittering voices hurt her ears.

Then the Workers, all that vast horde, azi scattered among them; and the strange-jawed egg-tenders, leaving their work, precious eggs abandoned.

She looked back. Mother had almost vanished in the shadows. She saw Merry’s bruised face in the faint blue glow, felt the touch of his hand.

“We’re going north,” she said, comprehension suddenly coming on her, the Workers who had plied the basement, the preparation of a way.

“To fight for them?” Merry asked hoarsely, and glanced back himself, for there were men who still followed. Perhaps they all did; strung out through the tunnel, it was no longer possible to see. Perhaps some collapsed in withdrawal, gone mad from fear; or perhaps training held, and they had no sensible dread.

“I belong,” she said, “where this merges.”

“Where, sera?”

“Home,” she said.

viii

A horde of steps approached the steel doors, a surge of panicked voices. Moth stirred, lifted her head, although to do so took more strength than she had left to spend on them, who troubled her sleeping and merged with dreams.

“Moth!” A voice came out of the turmoil. She knew this one too, old Moran, and fear trembled in that sound. “Moth! Thon is gone— gone. The hive-masters couldn’t hold them. They’re in the City. Everywhere—”

She touched her microphone, braced before her on the console, beside the wine bottle and her gun. “Then lock your own doors, Moran. Follow my example.”

“We need the codes. Moth, do something.”

She grinned, her head bobbing slightly with weakness. “But haven’t you figured it out yet, Moran? I am.”

“The city’s in wreckage,” the voice from Moriahsaid. “Leo, Leo, we’ve still had no contact with him. There were majat here. Even they’ve left, moved elsewhere. He should have been in contact by now.”

“Hold the ships,” Leo repeated, and looked up at the other azi, his own and the station’s. They were exhausted. There had been no food, no off-shift. He thought that he ought to send for something to eat. He was not sure that he had appetite for it.

The betas sat in a knot over to the side of the door. One of them had become ill, holding his heart. He was an older beta. They fed him medicines and he seemed to have recovered somewhat; this was of no concern, for he was not a necessary beta. None were, individually.

“Call the galley,” Leo said to one of the others. “Have food brought up here.”