He was standing over her when Kindervoort's people arrived. He did not know how long he had been there. The battle had died away while he waited. And he had reversed all the switches she had thrown, though he did not remember doing so. Operations was getting its desperately needed oxygen.

He was crying when they found him. He had wondered about that for a long time. Mouse sometimes shed tears afterward, as if the new corpse were that of a favorite brother. He supposed Mouse spent his stored emotion then, while it was safe, while no one could grab a handle on his soul.

Someone pried the torch from his bent rod fingers.

"Moyshe?" Amy asked. "Are you all right?"

He seized her, held her. She was a warm fire in a cold, dark, and lonely cavern. She let him cling for a second, then pulled away, retaining a grip on his arm. She seemed a little distant, a little frightened. And who wouldn't be, after what he had done? "Come on. You've got to talk to Jarl."

He nodded. Yes. Kindervoort would want to know all about it. Old Doctor Deathshead would poke and prod and try to pry open the lid of his soul. Even on a battle day Kindervoort would want to keep an eye on the blood of his ship. That was all people were to Danion. The harvestship was the real living thing here. The folks inside were just specialized cells.

He let Amy lead him away, but looked back at Marya as he went. They were taking pictures and nattering into recorders. Medics were piling bodies onto stretchers. Techs were weeping over the damaged console and impatiently trying to cajole readouts on atmospheric quality... But he had eyes only for Marya.

Marya. She was dead now. He could ease up and let her be more than just "the Sangaree woman."

He did not know why or how, but he must have loved her in some odd, psychotic way. Or maybe he was in love with the death she had symbolized. But, now that she was lying there, sprawled inelegantly, brokenly, he felt a little freer. And a little sadder.

Kindervoort's office was hectic. People came and went hastily, crowding its outer reaches. The chaos was probably typical of every office aboard, Moyshe thought. There would be plenty of work for everyone.

Kindervoort pushed through the crowd. "Moyshe. Amy. Come on in the office." He broke trail. Settling behind his desk, he said, "Thank God for this lull. I was in-suit for eleven hours. The damned things drive me crazy. Give me claustrophobia. You all right now, Moyshe? You look a little pale."

BenRabi sat with his elbows on his knees, staring into infinity. He shrugged.

"For a long time you had me worried, Moyshe," Kindervoort said. "You seemed so solitary, so introspective, so ineffectual. Not exactly up to advance billing. I don't know what I expected Beckhart's top man to be, but you weren't it. Not till today. Then you acted when you had to. Intuitively, quickly, correctly, efficiently. The way I was told to expect. And in character. All on your own. Except maybe you told Mouse?"

Kindervoort had steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. He seemed to be thinking out loud. "Now tell me what happened. An unedited version."

Moyshe started talking. It helped. He began at the beginning and told the whole story, presuming Jarl had enough details to catch any major deletions. He tried to be objective.

Kindervoort nodded, occasionally doodled, once made a call for corroboration. He asked Moyshe to go over several things twice. It was a brief and gentle holiday compared to a Bureau debriefing. He had Amy call to make sure Mouse was getting medical attention.

BenRabi left out nothing but the hiding of the weapons.

When he concluded, Kindervoort asked, "Did today change anything for you? You ready to cross over now?"

Moyshe considered it. Hard. He wanted to be part of what he had found here. But he could not. Not on Kindervoort's terms. "No, Jarl. I can't."

Amy was disappointed. He expected her to be. The signs were unmistakable. She had plans. Bells and white satin, a regular Archaicist extravaganza.

"Why'd you go after Gonzalez, then? We would've gotten her eventually. Maybe too late to have saved Ops, though," he conceded.

BenRabi could not bring himself to answer truthfully. Landsmen did not avenge friends. They had no friends to avenge. And he did not want them to know that a prime rule of the Bureau was that you let no blow against one of its people slide. "That's why. It meant my neck too." Briefly, he sketched what had happened on The Broken Wings.

"I wish you'd done it for us... If you change your mind... I really want you on my team, Moyshe."

"Not on your terms."

Kindervoort looked perplexed. He started to say something, but was interrupted by a comm buzzer. He pressed a button, said, "Kindervoort, Security." He stared at Moyshe, frowning.

"LeClare, Contact," a tiny voice said. "You got a landsman named... let's see... benRabi, Moyshe benRabi, down there?"

"Right. He's here with me now."

"Good. Been trying to track him down all over. He the one with the headaches?"

"The same."

"Has he been Warner tested, do you know?"

"No. He's landside."

"But he's a marginal?"

"I'd guess a strong full. Looks to me like repeated and intense spontaneous contact reaction."

Moyshe began to feel like a sample on a microscope slide.

"Good. I'm sending a man to pick him up. Priority Alpha. The Old Man's okay. The paperwork will come down later. Off."

"Off," Kindervoort said, puzzled. He leaned back, studied Moyshe speculatively, finally said, "Well. Things change. Desperate times, I guess. I just hope they know what they're doing. Moyshe, when you're finished in Contact I want you to get plenty of rest. Amy, see that he does. Then report back here."

Moyshe looked from one to the other. Both seemed shaken, disturbed.

What the hell was going on? That comm exchange made no sense at all, but it had gotten these two as antsy as a cat in heat. What was a Warner test? Why were his migraines so important? He studied Amy. His thoughts drifted back to the attack he had suffered after being switched on. She had become as nervous then.

He had tried a dozen times to discover why she thought his migraines important. She would not tell him.

They were important to him, heaven knew. They had become one of the central features of his life. He had had scores since coming aboard. So many that he had become conditioned to recognize the slightest warning symptom. He gulped his medication instantly.

For a while, though, he had not been bothered much. Till Danion had come here. He had been eating the pills like candy the past few days, at regular intervals, not waiting for symptoms to begin. What did it mean?

"Well," Jarl said, "I've got a ton of work. Have to sort things out, count the bodies, inform the next of kin. Amy, turn him over to Contact, then get some sleep. This break probably won't last."

She took benRabi's hand, guided him to the door. Why was she so quiet? Because of Marya?

As he was about to close the door behind him, Kindervoort called, "Moyshe? Thanks."