Shawmac sighed, seemed suddenly not very drunk at all. "I'm awriter. It's my d.a.m.n job." He took a swig from the bottle, emptying it. "Aretired writer," he said with sudden cheerfulness. "Itused to be my job." He smiled at her and looked carefully at the bottle. "Definitely empty. This conversation," said Terry Shawmac happily, "is ended."

Denice rose. "Okay. Can I ask you one last question?"

"I charge. I know I told you that."

"Can you call out on that handheld?"

Shawmac blinked. "Of course."

"Trade with me. This handheld doesn't call out; you'll need to remember not to try calling from it. Also, you'll need to for get that we made this trade."

Terry Shawmac blinked again. And then again. He seemed to have difficulty focusing his eyes. "Um. Well," he said after a long blank moment, "that seems reasonable."

Denice smiled at him.

After Shawmac had left, Denice hesitated just a moment, and then punched in 113102-KMET on his handheld. She licked lips that had gone suddenly dry, and said, "Ralf?"

She had had the impression that Jimmy intended to return for her the same day; she did not know what had prevented it. She could think of no reason that he would have left her unattended as he had.

The man in charge of the Reb soldiers, the second unit director, was a humorless j.a.panese-American named Joe Tagomi. Tagomi was coldly furious upon learning that Denice had been allowed to wander the location for most of a day without supervision. "Your name is Daimara?"

"Yes."

"From now on you're a soldier. You take orders from anybody who gives you one. Until I hear otherwise, and so far I haven't, you have no rank and no standing."

No response had seemed required of her; Denice did not give him one. Tagomi handed her over to a squad leader and headed back to his trailer.

It was not until later that evening, lying in the large trailer on the bunk bed she had been a.s.signed, that Denice realized what it was that disturbed her about Tagomi. Hemoved wrong. Walking away from her, he had held himself as though monocrystal rods connected his hips to his shoulders.

It was the way Peaceforcers Elite moved.

Denice spent most of a week on location with the sensable crew.

They shot the attack on the Camdem Protectorate four more times during the next six days, shooting at six o'clock every morning. The Reb troops rotated out in squads; where they went, and where they came from, Denice did not know. A bare few of the new troops she recognized from Iowa; the rest were complete strangers. Her second day on site, Denice found her self a.s.signed to play an extra; with the others in her squad, carrying a dummy laser rifle weighted and balanced to resemble the one Callia Sierran had demonstrated, wearing the gray PKF combat uniform, she stormed up the hillside toward the encampment where the tattered remains of the United States Army awaited them.

At night, the soldiers, Reb and Claw alike, were housed in a long row of trailers and tents. Denice slept in a trailer with a dozen other women. She was never alone except in the portable bathrooms, and she a.s.sumed those were bugged. After the first day, when Jimmy Ramirez was called away without warning, Denice was kept under moderately strict supervision, as were all the rebel soldiers.

They skipped shooting Sunday morning; about eighty percent of the Rebs were Christian, and many of the balance were Erisians, who had no set day of worship and were willing to use Sunday if that was what was available.

There were, to Denice's considerable surprise, six Wiccans, four women and two men. She considered joining them briefly, Sat.u.r.day night, when they held ceremony together, but decided against it after a genuine internal struggle. It surprised her, the suddenness and strength of her longing to partic.i.p.ate in their ceremony; until that moment she had not known how badly she missed her life at G.o.ddess Home.

Lying alone in her bunk on Sat.u.r.day night, she realized that in the last year she had had no spiritual life to speak of, realized with a certain genuine pain that she had not, since meeting Dougla.s.s Ripper, spent much time at all examining the state of her soul.

She closed her eyes, and with an effort, went to sleep.

If she dreamed, she did not remember it.

She awoke Sunday morning feeling as though her heart would break.

Monday afternoon, June 1, they shot a scene in which Jules Moreau led over two hundred PKF troops into pitched battle with an equal number of Johnny Rebs. For that scene Denice ended up in a Reb uniform covered with photosensitive patches.

Earphones were pa.s.sed out ahead of time.

Denice was not certain, but she suspected the historicity of the scene; she did not think Moreau had ever actually led troops in battle.

The officer who briefed them made it short. "This will be as realistic as possible. Your rifles will fire a low-power beam; if a beam touches your uniform, you'll be informed via earphone that you've been wounded or killed, depending on the location of the beam hit. If the beam gets you in the eye, close your eyes pretty quick and you'll be okay. You'll probably be 'killed' if you get touched at all; PKF beams are pumped pretty high. If you succeed in closing with the enemy, that's it for the exercise; we don't want you initiating hand-to-hand with your comrades. In the real world, if you ever end up fighting hand-to-hand against trained Peaceforcers, all but a very few of you are going to be dead meat anyway. Questions?"

"What do we do if we get killed?"

"Die. Lie down and stay still. If you're wounded, continue fighting; get wounded twice and you'll be notified that you're dead."

Denice spent most of that afternoon lying flat on her back in the hot summer sun, dead from a PKF laser, trying to remember what she was doing there in the first place.

They shot the sequence three times.

The first time through Denice died early on, and fell with perhaps half a dozen other rebel soldiers near her. In the second wave, she died even more quickly, within seconds after the PKF forces began firing at them.

It struck her, as she lay there on the hot gra.s.s for the second time, that the entire exercise, however helpful it might have been in preparing the rebels for combat, was very bad psychology. Two out of three rebels died in each of the attacks; Denice thought that the numbers must have some sort of effect on the confidence of the rebels when they finally faced real PKF.

It occurred to her that she did not think much of what she had seen of the rebel leadership, Johnny Reb or Erisian Claw.

The last time through the sequence, Denice killed two Peaceforcers while advancing, and lasted halfway across the open field before being killed.

Where she fell there were no other corpses around her for better than twenty meters in any direction. She shifted slightly, as though moving to become more comfortable, and turned Ferry Shawmac's handheld on. "Ralf?"

The handheld hung inside her coat; Ralf's voice issued from :he handheld instantly, slightly m.u.f.fled.

"h.e.l.lo."

"Speak quietly."

"Some news. I have uncovered an interesting datum; the Bank of America Building was owned and managed by the Shuwa Corporation of j.a.pan for over eight decades; several years ago they sold the building and related properties to a holding group that, as it turns out, is owned by Mitsubishi of j.a.pan.

They did this at the same time that the law firm of Greenberg and Ba.s.s leased office s.p.a.ce in that building. It seems clear that there is a strong relationship with the j.a.panese among the Rebs, extending considerably beyond Christian Summers's relationship with Mitsubishi Electronics. Beyond that, all is as it was. The last sighting I have of Jimmy Ramirez came as he landed atop the Bank of America Building in downy town Los Angeles. I have been planting avatars throughout local data structures, and polling them for information; to date this has not proven useful. I have had to be very careful; system security in the Bank of America Building is extremely good, the work of either a Player of the highest caliber, or a replicant AI."

"Ring?"

"I am unable to say. It is certainly a high-order possibility."

"Ralf, find out what you can about a man named Joe Tagomi. A Reb; he's ex-s.p.a.ce Force, apparently; but he moves like an Elite."

"A spy?"

Denice said, "I don't think so."

Wednesday afternoon Jimmy Ramirez came for her.

He seemed nervous. He spoke as Denice was getting into the AeroSmith VTL in which he had arrived. "

'Sieur Obodi wants to see you."

Denice nodded. "I've been wondering what happened to you."

Jimmy spoke as the AeroSmith lifted, before Denice had even seated herself. The takeoff pushed her down into the seat. "Obodi called me back, alone. We had a problem we had to deal with and he didn't want you there for it. Listen." He spoke intensely, looking into Denice's eyes. "Last night Obodi asked me to tell him everything I knew about you.Everything,"

"Did you?"

Jimmy shook his head rapidly. "No. I didn't. I told him about your dance background, about your martial arts background, I told him about the fact that you were Trent's lover, that Trent had stayed in some kind of contact with you, sent you letters." He took a deep breath. "I didn't tell him you were a genie, I didn't tell him you were a Castanaveras."

Denice said quietly, "Why are you afraid, Jimmy?"

It touched a raw nerve; she saw the muscles in his shoulders tense, and his answer was pure street. "I'm not" he snapped. "But the man isdangerous, Denice. You f.u.c.k up, sayone wrong thing and he's going to kill you and he's probably going to kill me."

"Why?"

"He doesn't know who you are and he doesn't know what you are." Jimmy looked out the window, at what Denice had no idea. "But he knows I lied to him when he asked about you."

"How could he?"

Jimmy shivered visibly. "He knows I lied to him."

The sun was setting when the AeroSmith landed atop the Bank of America Building.

Terry Shawmac's handheld, tucked inside Denice's fatigues, was closed but turned on, tuned to a band Ralf the Wise and Powerful had selected. It was not actually broadcasting; given the security inside the Bank of America Building, Denice did not think she would have more than one chance to broadcast from it, if that.

Denice was not even slightly amused by the parking sign on the downlot; she had lived in Sunland, at the edge of TransCon-free Los Angeles, for three years, and she had seen the sign before.

They were slowscanned as they entered the maglev. A pair of guards in blue Security Services uniforms ran the slowscan.

Denice noticed the bulge of a weapon tucked inside Jimmy's suit. The guards made no mention of it; one of them gestured at her handheld, a glowing solid ma.s.s in the slowscan holo. "May I see that?"

Denice handed it over.

Jimmy said impatiently, "It's Company issue, she got it at the Iowa branch. We're in a hurry, guys; Obodi is waiting for us."

The Security Services guard turned the handheld over and over in his hands; looking for what, Denice had no idea. He was clearly uneasy. Finally he pa.s.sed the handheld back, and waved them through.

The maglev sank down toward the forty-sixth floor.

At the forty-sixth floor the doors curled open upon a long lobby. The lobby was decorated in an archaic style from some-time in the prior century; walls with wood or pseudowood paneling, plants in pots at various points around the lobby. A flat panel of windows at the north end of the lobby, reaching from floor to ceiling, looked out toward the Hollywood Hills. The waiting area near the windows was laid out with pale blond furniture.

The north end of the city lay beneath them, orange in the last light of day. The lobby, including the quaint receptionist's desk, was entirely empty. At the south end of the lobby, a pair of holocams mounted high on the wall watched Denice and Jimmy approach the doors.

Small details leapt out at Denice, struck her with great clarity. The doors were real wood, mounted on hinges. The grain was very fine, the wood polished and gleaming beneath the lobby's gentle glowpaint.

A bra.s.s plate on the door said Greenberg & Ba.s.s.

Jimmy's voice shocked her with its loudness. "Ramirez and Daimara. We're here for the meeting."

The voice could have been Ring's, disembodied and inhuman as it was: "One moment." The doors unlocked with an audible click. "Proceed."

The feel of the cloth against her skin was like sandpaper.

" 'Sieur Obodi? Are you all right?"

The long, slender fingers touched the sides of Obodi's temples; just touched. "A slight headache, Christian. Nothing to concern yourself over."

Two guards, with flat Asian features, stood at each end of the hallway they walked down. Denice barely saw them as people; they were blue fire and dead matter, flesh and carbon-ceramic filaments. Lumps of gray silicon sat at the base of their skulls; the same spot the PKF Elite used.

Jimmy Ramirez's breath came short.

Through the doors at the end of the long hallway, past the cyborg Asian, and into a long, wide conference room.

Seated around the great oval table, watching as Denice was brought in, were, with one exception, people whom Denice knew. Callia and Lan sat together at the left end of the long table, with Domino Terrencia; at the right end sat Christian Summers, and next to him, Joe Tagomi.

The door to the conference room unrolled with a quiet snap, shut solidly behind them.

The exception sat at the center of the table, west-facing window at his back, the glowing sunset limning his form; rising to his feet as Denice approached him, moving with the restrained grace of a System-cla.s.s dancer.

Obodi.

The man who had, according to Ring, named himself Sedon of the Gi'Suei.

Staring into the setting sun, Denice could barely make out Sedon's features. Sedon's mouth opened as though he intended to speak.

Denice closed her eyes and stepped outside herself.

The grainy gray light lit the room with dispa.s.sionate clarity.

Denice stepped away from her body, walked around the long conference table. Domino and Callia were not armed; Lan was, with a pistol Denice did not recognize; small to begin with, the barrel's aperture was ridiculously small, too small to fire even a pellet. The barrel was extremely thick in relation to the size of the aperture, about eight centimeters wide.

She turned to look at the other end of the table, and without moving wasthere, standing behind Summers and Tagomi. Their images were very similar; Tagomi lacked the hand lasers of a PKF Elite, the subdural superconductor sheath, and some of the internal hardware; but his bones glowed with the same ceramic laminae as that of the legendary Elite deserter sitting next to him, and his eyes were lenses, more realistic looking than those of old PKF Elite, but just as false. Unlike a true PKF Elite, Tagomi still had his own hair. The skin of his face had not been stiffened at all, though most of the rest of his skin surface had been.

She had seen enough to know what she dealt with; she turned away from Tagomi with a dread in her soul she could not have explained, to- Where Sedon should have stood was a featureless gray mist.

The pull of his voice brought her slamming back into herself. "Denice Daimara, I have been waiting to meet you."

She opened her eyes; they had not been closed more than a few instants. Her eyes had adjusted slightly; Sedon's features came more clearly into focus.

Thin, absolutely free of fat. Almost gaunt. Eyes still shadowed by the setting sun, lips curved into a faint smile. Long blond hair tied in a tight tail.

"I have been waiting," said Sedon, "with great eagerness."

With the full strength of the Castanaveras Gift, Denice reached out toward Sedon, to Touch him- Emptiness. Nothing. She reached further... and suddenly found herself falling, out of touch with the world, out of reach of her body- She jerked back to herself feeling as though she had just struck a brick wall. Sedon was still looking at her, and now he moved around the table toward her with a grace that at once reminded Denice of, and was different from, that of her teacher Robert.

They might have been the only ones there. When Sedon spoke his accent had grown stronger, an accent unlike anything Denice had ever heard before. Nonetheless his voice remained smooth, insinuating. "I remember... yes. The Keepers of the Flame, they touched me so when I was young, as you tried to now. But their touch was not so strong. What are you, child?"

Joe Tagomi said roughly, "What's going on here? I thought-"