Wi'itkitiin launched themselves from the rocks. And far, far below, an atevi in black came walking, climbing up among the rocks, alone. He thought it was Jago, but he couldn't prove it from this distance.

The Beast watched, head on paws, snarling now and again, because it would, that was all. And no matter how long the figure below climbed, it came no nearer, and no matter how anxious he became, he was afraid to get up and go down to it, because he knew his Beast would follow and hunt both of them. It was safe while he kept it fed. As long as sandwiches came from that mysterious place in dreams from which all necessities emerged. The figure below was safe as long as it followed the unspoken Rules of this dream, which demanded it make no progress.

So was he. That was what he was doing here. He did a lot of dangerous things. But he wasn't going anywhere. He was stuck on this hillside, overlooking things he couldn't have. And the sky was free to rain havoc. The sun was shining now, but it wouldn't in a few hours. The sun was the only thing that did progress, the only thing that was free to move — except his Beast, and it was waiting.

CHAPTER 11

The last thing he wanted in the morning on waking was a phone call, especially one from Hanks, before he'd so much as sat down to breakfast. Saidin notified him that Tano had notified her, and he asked for tea, went to the phone in the lady's small office, and took the call.

"This is Bren Cameron. Go ahead."

" I take it you're the one playing pranks with the phone, you son of a bitch."

For some things the nerves in the morning wanted preparation. And his weren't steady yet, nor was his diplomatic filter in full function.

"Deana, let me tell you, you've got a choice. You can be civil and get a briefing on what's going on, or you can sit it out until everything's beyond your useful input. Make a career choice."

"I'm not solving your problem for you! I'm here by Departmental mandate, I take everything that's happened including the damn phone as something you know about and something you arranged, and you listen to me, Mr. Cameron. You can hang yourself, you can work yourself in deeper and deeper, or you can listen to somebody."

"I'm listening, Deana." Past a certain point temper gave way to a slow simmer in which he could accept information, and he didn't give a particular damn about his source. "Give me your read on the situation. I'm listening with bated breath."

" Son of a bitch!" They were speaking Mosphei', Deana's choice from the moment he'd picked up the phone. " You're going to hear from more than me, mister. I heard your speech. I heard the whole damned sales job. You go off to the interior and hold secret meetings, you sell out to the atevi overlord that wantedyou back, and threatened my life to get it—"

"Sorry about that. But you weren't invited. You're playing with fire, Deana. This isn't our justice system. The aiji is well within his rights to remove a disturbance of the peace —"

"You —"

"You shut up, Deana, and get it figured this isn'tMospheira, it's not going to be Mospheira, and I don't care what you think your civil rights are on Mospheira, these people know their law, it works for them for reasons we don't have the biological systems to understand, far less come here and criticize. If youdon't know what you're asking for when you go against atevi authority, I assure you, you don't belong here."

"Oh, and you do. You're working real hard at belonging, and damned right they moved heaven and earth to get you back, you'll give them anything they want. I heard your speech, I heard every damned word of it. I get the news. You want a list of the regulations you've broken?"

"I'm fairly well aware of them."

" Our internal politics, our policy disputes, all out waving in the wind— that's not just against policy, Mr. Cameron, that's against the law! You've incited atevi to act against our government—"

"Never against our government. Against your political backers, maybe."

" Don't you talk aboutmy political backers. Let's talk about yours, let's talk about selling out, Mr. Cameron."

It wasn't getting anywhere. "What about lunch?"

"Lunch?"

"Let's have lunch."

" I'm locked in this damn apartment, you rang my phone for twelve hours straight—"

"Sorry about that."

"You've got the nerve to ask me to have lunch?"

"I think it might be productive. We've done rather too much shouting. And I'd like to know where you got the seal you're using."

Silence on the other end.

"You're not in office," he said, if she missed the point. "You're alive because Tabini-aiji is a patient and fortunately powerful man who can afford a nuisance. A less powerful aiji would kill you, Deana, because he'd have no choice. I suggest you have lunch with me, act less like a prisoner and more like an official guest —"

"And be in public with you. And compromise my interests. "

"Thank God you do understand. I'd begun to fear you'd nonotion of subtlety. In private, then."

" I'm not coming to your apartment— which I understand has scandalized the Atigeini as is, speaking of subtlety, Mr. Cameron. I'm not being gossiped about."

"Watch your mouth! There's no swearing there are no atevi that understand you. Edit yourself, for God'ssake, or I can't protect you."

"Protect me, hell! "

"You area fool."

" No." Evidently not quite such a fool. The tone was quieter. "No, I'll meet you for lunch. When?"

"Noon. In this apartment. And you will be courteous to the lady's and my staff or I'll pitch you out on your head, Ms. Hanks. We're not playing games. I'm trying to salvage your reputation and prevent you doing another foolhardy thing that may get you killed. I can't say at the moment I feel overmuch sympathy for the mess you're in, but if you want to continue to watch the news for reports on the situation, you're quite free to rely on that."

At times he shocked himself. Maybe it was atevi court manners that took over his mouth when he suffered whiteouts of temper — court manners with all the vitriol that attended.

" Barb Letterman's married," Hanks said. " Did you know?"

"How kind of you to let me know. Please bring me your seal. Or I'll have your apartment andyour person searched."

The receiver went down. Hard.

Which didn't make him calmer. But he had the phone, he had the moment. He took a sip of tea and called the Bu-javid operator.

"Nadi, this is Bren-paidhi. Please ring the Mospheiran operator."

" Yes," the answer came back; he heard the relays click.

And abort.

" Nand' paidhi," the operator began, " the connection—"

"Is having a difficulty at this hour. Yes. Thank you. Would you give me the telegraph service?"

" Yes, nand' paidhi," the operator said, and a moment later, a new operator came on, with:

"This is the telegraph, nand' paidhi."

"Please send to the following numbers: 1-9878-1-1, and to 20-6755-1-1, and to 1-0079-14-42. Please voice-record for transcription."