The Summer Queen

NUMBER FOUR: World’s End

“Good news, Reede. We have our clearances. We can go in.” Gundhalinu let the words precede him as he strode into the office of Reede Kullervo’s private lab.

Kullervo raised his head, startled out of what looked like an early nap. “Come the Millennium!” he said, sitting upright in his seat. Relief and pleasure mixed with surprise filled his face.

“Yes, gods willing,” Gundhalinu murmured, with a smile, “come the Millennium.” Kullervo understood the irony of those words as well as he did. He had spoken them for years, like everyone else, meaning the day the Hegemony had a stardrive again—and that he never expected he would live to see that day.

Kullervo grinned and cocked his head. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say anything before you said hello.”

Gundhalinu smiled and stopped moving as he reached Kullervo’s side. “Another unique observation …”he said, his smile widening. As usual he was both amused and nonplussed by Kullervo’s oblique mental processes. “Hello. Good afternoon. I hope you slept well last night, Kullervoeshkrad.”

Kullervo laughed, pushing up out of his seat. There was an audible smack as he met Gundhalinu’s upheld hand with his own; returning the sedate gesture with a greeting that was more like a slap on the back. “I never sleep well, but who cares? Damn …”he murmured, “it’s coming together. You can feel it too, can’t you—?” His hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach out again; but he didn’t. Gundhalinu felt Kullervo’s unnervingly bright eyes strip his thoughts naked: his eagerness, his aching need to find the answer that would set him free.

But then, abruptly, Kullervo was looking through him again. Kullervo swung back to the desk terminal, to the three-dimensional data model that floated in its surface like an hallucination, a portrait of the information storage within a single microcomputer cell of the technovirus. “You’re mine,” he whispered to it, as if there were no one else in the room, “and you know it.”

He murmured a few more words, unintelligible orders to the terminal, and the image altered subtly. Before Gundhalinu could begin to analyze what had changed, the whole image vanished and the desktop was only an empty surface of impervious graygreen. “No,” Kullervo said, turning back to Gundhalinu as if he were responding to some unspoken question, “I was not taking a nap.”

Gundhalinu blinked, and forced his brain to take another blind leap of faith as he tried to follow Kullervo’s quicksilver chain of thought. He had grown used to the plodding, narrow-focus, too-literal analysis of the scientists who had worked on this project with him before Kullervo arrived. They were the best minds that Four could provide … but all the really superior minds tended to emigrate to Kharemough, or to have been born there in the first place.

Once he had believed, like most Kharemoughi Techs, that Kharemough produced citizens superior in every significant way—moral, intellectual, social—to any world in Hegemony. He had learned a painful humility over the years, and he was grateful for it. But his experience here had given him back the belief that he was in fact as worthy of his ancestral name as his instructors at the Rislanne had insisted he was; that he had been given the best education money could buy, and been born with the skill to use it well.

But he had been trapped for nearly three years among uninspired and uninspiring pedants, in a bureaucratic maze of obsessive security and militaristic paranoia. There were only a handful of Kharemoughis onworld, all a part of the Hegemonic judiciate, none of them trained researchers. Once he had transmitted the news of his discovery to Kharemough, he had been promised through the hidden channels of Survey that he would be sent the help he needed to unravel the maddening microcosmic riddle of the stardrive. And for nearly three years he had waited, learning humility once again as he tried to solve the seemingly insoluble, virtually alone.

And then at last his promised aid had arrived. He had expected a dozen top Kharemoughi researchers, two dozen They had sent him one man, not even Kharemoughi—a total stranger who looked barely old enough to have finished school. Once he had recovered from the shock, he had acknowledged that if Kullervo was their chosen offering, he must be extremely qualified. Many important researchers did their best work when they were in their early twenties. But all that had hardly prepared him for his head-on collision with the brilliance of Reede Kullervo. Kullervo’s grasp of how smartmatter functioned verged on mystical, and Gundhalinu was not a believer in mysterious powers. It was as if Kullervo understood the technovirus with his gut, instead of his brain; he didn’t so much analyze data as invent it … and yet, his undisciplined flights of fantasy were almost invariably, terrifyingly on target.

Gundhalinu had felt his own mind come alive again, felt himself stimulated almost unbearably by his contact with Kullervo. He was pushed to the limits of his Perception and past them every day, stimulated into blinding flashes of insight all his own. He had realized almost from the first that his own mind would never be more than a dim reflection of Kullervo’s blazing brilliance; and yet, at the same time, he had realized almost gratefully that he had something to offer Kullervo that Kullervo actually needed: pragmatism and discipline. He was not so much a drone, or even a mirror, as he was a stabilizer, a ground, a focus for Kullervo’s wild energy. He saw the proof of it sometimes in Kullervo’s sudden appreciative glance … he saw it in results. These past few months while they had worked together had been like nothing he had ever experienced in his life—a kind of ecstasy that was purely intellectual, but made him wake up every morning glad to be alive, and hungry to be in Kullervo’s presence.

And yet in all this time he had learned almost nothing about Reede Kullervo the human being, as opposed to the scientist. When Kullervo had arrived, Gundhalinu had found himself drawn to the other man with an unexpected intensity. His reaction had surprised him, until he thought about it. He realized then that his life had come to resemble the hermetically sealed world of the Project in which he spent all his time. Kullervo was someone to whom he could actually talk as an equal, after so long in this place where he had little in common with anyone. On top of that, Kullervo was unique, with a mind full of brilliant fireworks. He had wanted almost painfully to become friends with the man.

But Kullervo had rebuffed all his attempts at friendship, or even at personal conversation. Finally Gundhalinu had accepted the obvious, and let it drop. He had never been inclined to force intimacy on strangers; and he had realized eventually that Reede’s reluctance to meet him halfway was not personal, but instead somehow oddly defensive. Observing Kullervo, witnessing his unpredictable moods and dysfunctional manners, Gundhalinu had realized that the man had problems, which he probably preferred to keep to himself.

He had pushed aside his disappointment, told himself that it didn’t matter, they didn’t need to be friends to be colleagues. As long as their relationship was focused strictly on research, they communicated flawlessly; they had worked for weeks now in near perfect harmony. But after all this time Kullervo was still an enigma, a cipher, a bizarre mass of contradictions that reminded Gundhalinu every day of the fine line between genius and insanity.

Standing here in Kullervo’s office, Gundhalinu remembered with sudden vividness the day of their first triumph as a team, over a fortnight ago. Adrift in the null-gravity chamber, side by side, they had tried yet another recombinant of their key, the encoder that would unlock the molecular structure of the damaged technovirus in the minuscule sample lying somewhere at the heart of the incredibly massive, complex, and expensive array of equipment and processors below them— that would make the stardrive plasma controllable, biddable, sane… . They had waited, as they had waited before, side by side but solitary, while the subtle, probing fingers of their fields performed analyses of surpassing delicacy. Waiting for the words that would change history—or send them out of the chamber again, defeated, back to their programs and imagers …

We have confirmation. The words had echoed the readouts flashing across his vision inside his helmet. Kullervo’s cry of triumph had cut through the monotonal message; the figure beside him, semi-human inside its protective suit and stabilizer fields, jigged in a footloose, impossible dance. “—did it this time, BZ! We fucking did it!” The words became intelligible as Kullervo reached through Gundhalinu’s field to catch him in an awkward embrace. “I told you—! Laugh, yell, you overcivilized son of a bitch—we did it!”

He laughed, as belief caught him up at last; he shouted, inarticulate with elation. And then he lunged after Kullervo, who had started down into the depths as if he intended to fetch the sample out of the core with his bare hands. “Reede—!” He had come up under the other man, slammed him to a halt. “Wait for the servos, damn it. They’ll bring it up as fast as you could… . You may be bloody brilliant, but the fields will still fry your brilliant brain like an egg.” He put his hands on Kullervo’s shoulders, holding him in place, their merged stabilizer fields glowing golden around them like a misbegotten halo.

Kullervo stared at him, the dazed astonishment on his face slowly replaced by something more recognizable, and yet equally strange. “Ilmarinen—” he murmured.

“No,” Gundhalinu said, shaking Kullervo slightly, unnerved. “It’s me… . Reede?”

Reede blinked at him, shaking his head independently now. “I know,” he snapped, brushing off the contact of Gundhalinu’s hand.

“Why did you call me Ilmarinen?” Gundhalinu asked softly, curiosity forcing the question out of him against his better judgment.

Kullervo shrugged, “Some of my … associates have been known to call me ‘the new Vanamoinen.’ I guess that makes you Ilmarinen… . Bad joke.” His gaze broke, and he shook his head, still looking away as the cylindrical servo appeared out of the depths, bringing the now-obedient, quiescent milligram of stardrive with it.

Gundhalinu watched it come, breathless with anticipation. Kullervo hung motionless beside him. And then, with slow, almost deliberate grace, Kullervo turned a somersault in the air… .

“Ananke!” Kullervo’s voice in realtime pulled Gundhalinu back into the present.

“Yes, Dr. Kullervo.” The voice of the Ondinean student who was his lab assistant materialized out of the air.

“Find Niburu for me. Tell him I want to see him. We have our clearance.”

“That’s great, Doctor! Right away—”

Kullervo turned back to face Gundhalinu. “When can we leave for Fire Lake?”

“Tomorrow,” Gundhalinu said, hardly believing the answer himself. “I requisitioned everything we’ll need weeks ago.” They had perfected the viral program that effectively stabilized the stardrive plasma; they had tested it successfully. The obvious next step was to make the journey to Fire Lake itself, where a vast semisentient sea of stardrive material waited for them to answer its need, to make order out of its chaos… . Gundhalinu looked toward the doorway, remembering the touch of its tormented mind, remembering the hot breath of madness, and the chill of winter snow.

“About goddamn time,” Kullervo muttered, oblivious. “You’d think somebody around here besides us would want to see this thing work!”

Gundhalinu glanced back at him. “There are plenty who have been aching for this moment as long as I have, believe me,” he said. But not aching like I have…. “You met some of them back in Foursgate, at the Survey Hall.” He had taken Kullervo to a special meeting of his local cabal a few weeks back, when he had known that the breakthrough in their research was imminent. Kullervo had been quiet, oddly subdued, during the meeting; even though it had been clear from his responses that he must be at a fairly high level within the inner circles of Survey. “Unfortunately the ones with any vision are all still back in Foursgate. And we are here—out where the bureaucracy is its own reason for existence. The greatest scientific breakthrough in a thousand years becomes nothing but a glitch in the program, to them. They’re expecting us in the departure screening area this afternoon for the final certification of our itinerary and proposed goals.”

Reede made a rude noise. “Pearls before swine,” he muttered. He shut down his terminal with an abrupt gesture, turning back to face Gundhalinu. “Let’s get it over with, then.” He peered through the doorway into the larger lab space. “Where’s Niburu?” he snapped.

Looking past him, Gundhalinu saw Ananke glance up from whatever he had been studying. “Coming up, Doctor.” He nodded. “He’ll meet you at the usual place out front.”

“You’re coming too,” Kullervo said. “We all have to go.” The boy stood up, looking vaguely surprised, or maybe apprehensive. He was not wearing his pet slung at his chest, for once. Gundhalinu glanced around the room, until he found the quoll sitting placidly in a box underneath the desk. He shook his head, imagining the kind of stares that pair must have attracted on Kharemough. He looked back at Kullervo again.

Kullervo swung around, almost as if he could feel himself being stared at Gundhalinu glanced down, turning away toward the door as Kullervo came back across the room, followed by Ananke. They went out together through the muted hive of research cubicles and labs, through the symmetrical green-lit levels of security, like swimmers rising through the water. They arrived at last in the sudden brightness and noise, the heat and humidity and rank vegetation smell of World’s End, which were always there waiting, just outside the Project’s doors.

Kedalion Niburu, Kullervo’s other assistant, was waiting for them as promised outside the compound, in the noise and heat. He was comfortably insulated from the environment, sitting behind the controls of the triphibian rover Kullervo had requisitioned as soon as he had learned that it was what they used for travel into the wilderness. Since then, Niburu had been learning to handle one in preparation, Kullervo insisted that Niburu could pilot anything, and was the only one he would trust to take them in. Gundhalinu had acquiesced, knowing that he himself was not capable of piloting a rover, and that at least Kullervo trusted this man with his life It reduced one factor of randomness to have a pilot he at least knew somewhat, and not a stranger assigned by Security. His own gut feeling about Kullervo’s other assistant, once he had gotten past the startling visual interference of meeting a man so much shorter than himself, was that Niburu was competent and dependable, and a good deal more stable than Kullervo. And stability was something he valued over anything else, when he went into World’s End.

Gundhalinu climbed into the rover, grateful for its shelter after walking even a few meters through the steaming heat of the day. Kullervo and Ananke got in behind him and the door hissed shut, sealing them into its climate-controlled womb. Gundhalinu wiped sweat from his face. The uniform he was expected to appear in during most of his waking hours had been designed for wear in climatized offices, not for practical use in a place like this … something he would have to take up with the Hegemony’s establishment when he got back to Kharemough. He glanced at Kullervo, who had settled into the copilot’s seat next to Niburu. Kullervo’s face was flushed; Gundhalinu had never seen him wear anything but a long-sleeved tunic or shirt, even though there was nothing that required him to dress formally. Gundhalinu wondered absently why he didn’t use sunblock for protection instead.

Niburu took them up with what seemed to be effortless skill, rising above the nervous dance of ground traffic even though the distance they had to travel was short. Niburu seemed to know his employer’s temperament well; Gundhalinu supposed that it was an occupational requirement when working with Kullervo.

Gundhalinu stared out at the crazy-quilt of old and new structures down below. It reminded him of a three-dimensional data model, showing the town’s uncontrolled spread like some aberrant lifeform, a runaway virus, the stardrive plasma itself … He forced his mind away from the image, focusing on the concrete fact of the town’s explosive growth, for which he was largely responsible. When he had first arrived here to search for his missing brothers, this town had barely existed. It had been the only legitimate access to World’s End for prospectors and other riffraff foolhardy enough to dare the wilderness. At that time it was run by Universal Processing Consolidated, the multinational that had controlled World’s End mineral rights, and it was more a surreal bureaucratic nightmare than a genuine geographic place existing on real-world maps. It had not even had a name, then. Out here they called Universal Processing Consolidated “the Company,” and this was the Company’s town.

But he had gone into World’s End, and come out of it with news that was still sending shockwaves through the Hegemony. The shock had been felt, the changes had begun first, here, at the epicenter on Number Four. He watched the town pass below, the sullen core of squat, heavyset colonial structures overwhelmed by the gleam of the prefabricated highnse hives the government of Four had dropped here to house the influx of technicians, researchers, and workers who were responsible for the Project and its physical plant.

Down in the warren of its streets, it seemed to be a place completely transformed, reborn, like the future itself. But from up here he could see beyond its perimeter, see the rank frenzy of the jungle that surrounded it on all sides, stretching to the horizon. The jungle was constantly trying to reclaim the earth from this infestation of alien sentience, giving ground slowly, but never willingly…. Chaos against order. A microcosm of life, of progress, of the human soul.

He shut his eyes for a moment, against the vision, against the resonance it started in his memory. Tomorrow he would be going to Fire Lake with knowledge that, gods willing, would begin to bring the Lake back from the heart of madness, as he had barely brought his brothers back … as he had barely brought himself back to sanity* to civilization, the first time. He shifted in his seat, relieved to see that they were already descending again, falling back into the illusion that progress and order were winning.

Not that order and progress had any claim to moral superiority, he thought wearily, as Niburu set them down on the designated spot in the security area of the departure center. Ugliness and banality were all that he could see, rising up on every side, as they got out of the hovercraft and stood on the cercreted landing field. Looking down, he saw the fleshy excrescence of some nameless fungal growth oozing up out of a crack in the inadequately laid ceramic pavement beside his boot, chaos seeping in through civilization’s pores. Nothing here had been built to last. It’s frightening, the sibyl Hahn had said to him once, how precariously we float on the surface of life.

He tugged habitually at the hem of his uniform jacket, as the uniformed guard came toward them across the field, bristling with an array of weapons: more a symbol than a threat, a reminder that was easy for the average human mind to grasp of the far more subtle and effective forms of weaponry that now defended the Perimeter, barring the uninvited from access to World’s End.

When the Company alone had controlled access to World’s End, getting m uninvited had been difficult enough. Now Gundhalinu was certain that it was all but impossible. After word of his discovery had become public, Four’s powerful World Enclave had forcibly nationalized them, with the backing of the Hegemonic Police. Universal Processing Consolidated had been one of the major economic forces on the planet; for the world government to take them over under any other circumstances would have been unthinkable. Without the full support of the Hegemony, it would probably have been impossible. But Universal Processing Consolidated owned World’s End, where Fire Lake lay. He had found the impossible there, and so the unthinkable had suddenly become the inevitable….

As the security guard approached them, Gundhalinu saw how big the other man really was; not simply tall but massive, moving toward them with the inexorability of a landslide. Something about the guard’s broad, bronze face seemed familiar; Gundhalinu wondered if they had crossed paths before. Nothing in the man’s sullen expression—or lack of it—suggested anything more than a general resentment of foreigners, which they all plainly were. He wore the uniform of the Enclave’s military, but Gundhalinu was sure he had worn the Company’s uniform before, like most of the workers here. Their masters had changed, but nothing else had—except that now the totalitarian bureaucracy that had run the lives of virtually everyone on this particular continent for a century had even better tools of oppression, and even less fear of government intervention controlling their excesses; because now they were the government.

Gundhalinu watched the guard raise a callused hand to make him a grudging salute. He returned it, keeping his equal reluctance to himself. Waves of heat reflected up from the pitiless, glassy pavement beneath his feet. He remembered how once he had watched hands like those casually break all the fingers of a would-be prospector, in a bar called C’uarr’s.

“Commander Gundhalinu,” he said, too brusquely, “to see Agent Ahron “

“And them?” the guard asked, intentionally insulting, as his black, hooded eyes darted at the three other men.

Gundhalinu felt Kullervo frown beside him. “Them too,” he said gently. He took a step forward, forcing the guard to take one step back; the guard turned and started away without another word. Kullervo glanced over at him, a brief, measuring glance; but he said nothing as the guard led them toward the administrative complex where Agent Ahron waited.

Inside they were loaded into a secured tram and sent like human baggage through the characterless repetitions of the complex to their destination. The distance was short, but Gundhalinu was still grateful that they did not have to walk, under guard, like criminals. Ananke sat beside him, staring at the identical doorways as if they were a revelation. Gundhalinu looked across at Kullervo, who sat frowning and pulling at his ear, at the crystal-beaded ear cuff that was one of the more obvious manifestations of his unpredictable personal style.

Nibum sat beside Kullervo; his short legs jutted from the seat like a child’s. Gundhalinu imagined that Niburu felt more relieved even than he did not to have to walk this distance, since Niburu was always pressed to keep pace, in a body that was instantly inconvenienced by the conventions of others. He had dared to mention the natter to Niburu one day, as he had watched him standing on a chair to access a simple data run that Kullervo had left for him to confirm. Niburu had only shrugged in apparent resignation, and murmured that on board his ship the proportions were to his specs, and not anyone else’s.

Gundhahnu stole another glance at Niburu and Ananke. They watched the color-washed walls pass, sitting in an unlikely symmetry of pose. He had wondered to himself whether Kullervo had chosen his staff simply for their shock value. He suspected it was possible. And yet he was almost certain that it was not because of their appearance, but rather in spite of it, that Reede had hired them.

The tram spat them out directly into the mouth of a doorway that was more like an airlock leading into an isolation chamber. The security was hardly this elaborate at the Project itself.

“Overkill,” he heard Kullervo mutter to Niburu, behind him. “What do these shitheads think this is saving them from?”

Gundhahnu glanced back at them, his mouth curving slightly. “Spontaneity,” he murmured. Kullervo said something unintelligible, as the inner doorscreen demate rialized before them.

A thickset middle-aged woman with golden skin and iron-colored hair looked up at them from across the barren expanse of room. Gundhalinu recognized her as Agent Ahron, who had approved his departure permits and itinerary on several previous journeys to Fire Lake. She wore a variant of the same uniform they had seen on almost everyone they passed, and an expression that was as familiar to him as her face: alert without being at all interested in what she saw. There were three men with her; he knew without having to be told why they were here. “Commander Gundhalinu,” Ahron said, managing to give his name a slight querulous lilt, as if she wasn’t certain she remembered his face.

“Yes,” he said, as ingratiatingly as he could, “back for one more try. For the last time, I hope, thanks to my colleague here.” He gestured at Kullervo, who stood stiffly beside him, eyeing the room and its inhabitants.

She said nothing, still gazing at him without the slightest trace of curiosity. The three men stood silently behind her, like afterthoughts.

“We believe we’ve found a way to control the stardrive. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what that means—”

“Yes, Commander, I’ve reviewed your documents. Also your permits and supply lists,” she said, glancing away at the display surface of the dust-colored desk/terminal beside her. “Everything seems to be in order here, for once. There’s no reason that I can see why you shouldn’t be able to depart as planned.”

He realized with a prick of irritation that the “for once” referred to his input and not Security’s response to it. “I’m very glad to hear it,” he said, with excruciating politeness. He felt Kullervo begin to relax, infinitesimally, beside him.

“How much time do you expect this expedition to take?”

“It’s hard to say. If the tests are successful—”

“I need a precise length of stay.” She tapped impatiently at the display.

“Yes, of course. One week.” They should know whether Reede’s restructuring Program worked or not almost immediately. Even with the question of systems setup ^d the vagaries of time around Fire Lake, that should give them enough slack.

“That’s all? You realize that you will have to return in one week, whether your work is finished or not—”

“Two weeks, then,” he said, with faint impatience, “make it two weeks.”

“All right. But in that case, should you finish your study in less time, you will have to notify us that you are returning ahead of schedule.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Would you please input your security clearance code, then, to indicate your personal testimony that the data is accurate to the best of your knowledge.”

He nodded, touching the remote on his belt, silently transferring the code numbers to the waiting document. After a moment he heard the piercing tone that indicated the security databank had accepted his verification.

“These will be your crew,” Ahron said, gesturing toward the three men waiting like stones behind her—her first acknowledgment that there was anyone else in the room.

Gundhalinu nodded, stepping forward as the three government troopers came reluctantly to life. But Kullervo’s hand closed over his arm, pulling him back.

“What is this—?” Kullervo whispered, suddenly angry. “You didn’t say anything about anyone else coming with us!”

Gundhalinu looked at him, surprised by his vehemence. “It’s all right,” he murmured, trying to find the right words to make Kullervo ease off. “It’s government policy. They always provide the pilot and two troopers for security.”

“We’ve already got a pilot,” Kullervo snapped, nodding at Niburu. “And we have all the assistance we need. This is a risk-filled project. We don’t need bumbling total strangers getting in the way. You said yourself that the more people we have with us, the more dangerous the Lake is.”

“It’s a regulation,” the agent said flatly.

Gundhalinu watched the expressions harden on the faces of Ahron and the three troopers. If Kullervo lost his temper, they could very quickly lose the clearance he had so painstakingly put together too. “Agent Ahron,” he said, sending a sharp glance of warning at Kullervo. “Dr. Kullervo is right when he points out that a larger group would be potentially dangerous, given the unstable nature of the Lake. We’ve lost several teams out there in the past two years, as you know. We have a full team this time already—”

“It’s a regulation,” she repeated. She folded her arms. “A certified pilot and two troopers for security.”

“It’s bullshit,” Kullervo muttered. This time it was Niburu who caught at his sleeve and murmured something. “Security from what,” he added sourly, “ourselves—?”

Gundhalinu turned back to face him, said softly and swiftly, “This is the way it’s done here. I have no problem with this.” He put a hand on Kullervo’s arm, made Kullervo meet his gaze, and keep it. “What is your problem—?”

Kullervo went rigid under his hand. “I’ll tell you very bluntly what your problem will be,” Gundhalinu whispered, cutting Kullervo off before he could speak. “If you push these people any more, Reede Kullervo will be permanently banned from entering World’s End; or else this entire expedition will end up a beached klabbah, and I don’t know if even your gods or mine—” he touched the trefoil hanging at his chest pointedly, “will be able to get it back afloat. A viable stardrive now means nothing to those people over there. It means everything to me. How much does it mean to you—?”

Kullervo stared at him, and Gundhalinu watched the wild light fade from the other man’s eyes. Kullervo said nothing more; he shrugged off the contact of Gundhalinu’s restraining hand with an abrupt motion.

Gundhalinu turned back to face Ahron, glancing at the three troopers again. He knew the designated pilot from a previous trip inside—a corporal named Ngong, a capable man, but no more enthusiastic about making the journey to Fire Lake than anyone in his right mind would be. “Agent Ahron,” he said, “let me propose this. We use our own certified pilot, who is also one of Dr. Kullervo’s assistants, but we take the two others. That way our team will be slightly smaller, which somewhat reduces our risk from the Lake; but we will still have adequate security. I don’t expect Corporal Ngong will be too disappointed to take some other duty. Will you, Corporal?”

Ngong stole a slightly nervous glance at the sergeant standing beside him, before he answered. “No, sir!”

“I am a Police Commander after all.”

Ahron eyed him suspiciously for a long moment, as if she was trying to fathom whatever conceivable plot he was devising against her. “It isn’t in the regulations—”

“I know your only thought is for our safety, Agent Ahron, and the success of the project we’ve all been working on for so long together… .” He took a deep breath. “Of all the agents I’ve had to deal with, you’ve been the most dedicated and diligent—qualities I value highly.” Gods, he thought, lay it on with a shovel, you hypocritical bastard; hating the taste of his own words. “World’s End is a terrifyingly treacherous environment. I know you, of all people, would not want us to risk our lives, or the success of the stardrive project, needlessly—”

“All right,” she said abruptly, spitting out her decision like a clot of phlegm. “You may use your own pilot, Commander Gundhalinu. If it was anyone else—” she glanced at Kullervo, “I wouldn’t allow it. But you will take Sergeant Hundet and Trooper Saroon with you.”

“Thank you,” Gundhalinu said, with heartfelt sincerity. He dared to look at Kullervo. “I hope that’s a more acceptable risk to you, Doctor?” Kullervo looked at the two troopers with narrowed eyes. Gundhalinu followed his gaze. He had never seen either of the two men before. The sergeant was short and whip-thin, but all muscle, with a narrow, mean face and impenetrable eyes. Gundhalinu disliked him on sight. The private was hardly more than a boy, probably a conscript; he looked right now like the prospect of being sent to Fire Lake was about as appealing to him as his own castration. Gundhalinu sighed.

Kullervo glanced away, down at Niburu. “I guess I can handle that,” he murmured. Niburu looked more uncomfortable than relieved; Ananke looked back and forth between them as though they were speaking some language he didn’t know. Kullervo looked up at Gundhalinu again. “Thank you, Gundhalinu-eshkrad.” He smiled, unexpectedly.

Something fluttered and dropped in the pit of Gundhalinu’s stomach, as if he were some form of small vermin that was being considered by a cat. He shook off the feeling, annoyed at himself. It was not the first time Kullervo’s unpredictable responses had set off alarms in his brain. He had been a Police officer for too long; he read other people’s body language almost instinctively. Kullervo’s body language was eloquent, and it read all wrong: His volatility and, when he wasn’t thinking, his manners and his speech, were better suited to a hotheaded young street thug than to a respected scientist. But he was, undeniably, a brilliant researcher.

Gundhalinu nodded, looking away. He reminded himself that he had grown up with Kharemoughi researchers, the men and women who had been his father’s friends and colleagues—scientists whose refined behavior reflected their position at the top of a highly structured, classist society. Kullervo was not a Kharemoughi. Gundhalinu had learned nothing more about his background, perhaps because Kullervo was ashamed of it. That was not an unreasonable response for a man with a mind so superior that it had lifted him out of the gods-knew-what kind of life and dropped him into a nest of elitists. But no one ever left their past behind completely; he knew that, if anyone did.

He looked back at Agent Ahron, at the troopers waiting beside her. “We’ll leave from the yard tomorrow at first quarter. I’ll expect you to be waiting when I arrive I believe everything we’ll need has already been assembled there—?”

“Everything is in order, Commander,” Agent Ahron said. The troopers returned his salute perfunctorily, and he started for the door. Kullervo and the others followed him out without a word. He did not speak again, and neither did they, until they were safely back in the rover, and rising over the town.

“That was impressive,” Kullervo said finally. “You’re one slick manipulator, Gundhalinu-eshkrad.”

Gundhalinu looked up, frowning, as irritation and resentment took root in his festering self-disgust. But to his surprise, Kullervo’s face showed him no mockery, no emotion that he could name except perhaps curiosity. “It’s not something for which I hope to be venerated by my descendants.” He looked away again, out the window.

“You should,” Kullervo said. “You should be proud of it. It means you’ve got a real talent for reading a bad situation. You knew just how hard you could push them … and me. It’s not something I’m good at, obviously. I’m sorry. Bureaucrats make me nervous … World’s End makes me nervous.” He grimaced, shrugged. “I didn’t think you were that perceptive, frankly. It’s not a trait Kharemoughis seem to value highly.”

Gundhalinu fingered the trefoil hanging at his chest, and said nothing.

“That was a compliment,” Kullervo said at last.

“Thank you,” Gundhalinu murmured, automatically. He looked down at his hands, at the insides of his wrists, the smooth brown skin that had once been covered with the livid marks of his suicide attempt. His mouth pulled down. “I suppose I’ve come to deserve some sort of credit, these past few years.” He looked out at the jungle, thinking about what lay beyond sight, beyond the distant mountains … what lay beyond spacetime, waiting for him.