Five, four, three . . .

Something buzzed about him gnatlike, then clinked against the gun, putting him off balance. He turned, trying to shoo it off, and as he did the gun went off, the explosion deafening, a shower of hot, splintered metal hitting him full in the face and chest.

THE COLUMN HALTED. Slowly, hesitantly, Haavikko walked toward the fallen man. He was dead.

Haavikko could see that at a glance. No one could have survived an explosion like that.

"Aiya!" he said softly, stooping over the bloodied mess."He's the Myghtern's man." The voice came from close by and he recognized it as Ben's.

He looked up. Two of Ben's remotes were hovering close by. One of them seemed damaged; fire blackened.

"Ah . . ." Haavikko nodded. But what was it doing with that ridiculously antiquated gun? It was a museum piece! No wonder the fucking thing blew up!

"The Myghtern is close by."

Haavikko looked up again. The undamaged remote was hovering much closer now. "What?"

"The Myghtern. You promised me you'd bring his body back, remember?"

Haavikko stood up, wiping his hands.

"Messy," Ben said, the remote moving in close over the corpse. "He would have killed you, you know."

"I know," Haavikko said, remembering those final few moments as he'd stared down the barrel of the gun.

The remote lifted, floated in the air beside Haavikko's face. "Didn't you mind?"

He shook his head. And that's something you just can't understand, can you, Shepherd? But then, you haven't lost someone you loved. You haven't faced the emptiness the way I've faced it. After that . . .

After that you had to live. Had to turn your face from darkness into the light again. And that was the hardest thing of all; to make that turn.

He shuddered, then brushed past the remote, facing his men again.

"Erikson, Byrne, Haller . . . come with me. The rest of you set charges on all the major buildings. I want us out of here within the hour!"

"Sir?"

The young man turned from the screen and looked across at his supervisor, the wire that linked him to the console stretching with the movement.

The old Han looked up and set his book aside. "What is it, Roes-berg?"

"I think it's a hostile, sir."

Old Shao sighed then got up and came across, leaning over the young man to study the screen. There was a blip there where there oughtn't to have been-coming out of the southwestern tip of the Western Isle-and it was heading directly into their air space.

"Have we got anything on that sector? Are there any operations going on down there that we ought to know about?"

The young man punched codes, then went very still, listening to the data stream. After a moment he gave a little shudder, then turned to the supervisor again, his eyes clearing slowly.

"There is something, sir, but that isn't part of it. There's a dozen Security cruisers in that sector and all ofthem are accounted for. Whatever it is, it isn't one of ours!"

"Then compute an intercept and scramble a crew. I want that identified or I want it down."

"Sir!"

Old Shao moved back, nodding to himself. Whatever happened now, he had done his bit: the cameras would show as much. Yet even as he watched it, he knew no intercept would touch it. It was moving too fast-much, much too fast.

You're right it's not one of ours! he thought, experiencing a glimmer of professional admiration.

Whoever you are, you've got one hell of a ship. Why, if those readings are correct, you must be traveling at something over two thousand six. Yes, and still accelerating!

"Intercept on its way," the young man said, turning to him.

"Good. We'll have him, neh, Roesberg? Whoever it is."

But it was already out of reach, sweeping out over the Atlantic to the west of Brittany, accelerating all the way, heading for Africa.

THE DARKNESS was softer here, less intense. The gate lay just ahead. Outside, beyond the enclosing walls of the City, it was day.

Thorn stood at the cliffs edge, looking down into the echoing darkness of the water far below. The waves slopped gently against the rocks. Perhaps he should try to go down-get under the wall. For a moment he stood there, undecided, knowing how close he was, then moved on. The gate. He would try the gate.

The cavelike depression was just as he remembered it. The rock jutted up to meet the wall's smooth edge, but beneath it was a space, a way out. He went under, then stood there in the daylight, listening.

The wind played over his naked skin, tugged at the small pieces of burnt cloth that still clung to his body.

Thorn smiled to himself, thinking of the hole he'd made in their fence and wondering what they would make of that-whether they would be able to piece it together.

He crouched and went up the slope slowly, silently. The two guards were on the grass, in the sunshine, their backs against the bare rock, looking up at the settlement. A rough clay jug rested on the grass between them, liquid winking at its lip.

Thorn stood up and strode out in front of them. Startled, they clambered up hastily, clutching at their makeshift spears, but Thorn had no thought of fighting them; he held up his hands in surrender.

On the ground the jug lay on its side. One of the men reached down, cursing, and straightened it, the other poked timidly at Thorn with his spear, a sheepish look on his face.

He was outside. He had made it. Nothing could stop him now. One of the men ran ahead. By the time Thorn came to the palisade a crowd had already gathered, their heads poking up over the crudely built wall to stare.

Thorn turned, looking back at the vast, two-Ii-high ramparts of the City. What he knew could save that massive edifice. All that was needed was for him to say what he had seen.

He turned back, looking among the gathering for the figure of the chief. There was a sudden movement atthe back of the crowd, a pushing aside of the mob.

The chief had changed greatly since Thorn had last seen him. He seemed smaller than before, and he hobbled, one shoulder resting on a crutch of flotsam. The right side of his face was badly burned and his right ear was missing. Seeing Thorn he glared at him, then spat contemptuously.

"You!"

"Yes, me." Thorn looked beyond him, up the slope of the settlement. "I've returned."

The chief came forward until he stood in front of Thorn, looking down at him. His breath was foul, his ragged sheepskin bore signs of the fire that had scarred his face. The necklet of animal skulls was gone, victim perhaps to the same accident.

He opened his mouth to say something, his yellowed, feral teeth showing, but Thorn's hand whipped out and gripped his throat, lifting him easily. He closed his fingers slowly, crushing the chiefs windpipe, then let the body fall.

A low moan came from the crowd beyond the palisade. Behind Thorn the guard jabbed with his spear.

The blow jolted him. He turned, facing the man, and smiled. The thrust had torn his flesh but had glanced off the hard shell of his body. He could feel the wet, loose flap of skin against his buttocks, but it didn't matter. His arm flashed out, connecting with the guard's nose, thrusting it upward into the skull, killing him instantly.

He turned, seeing how they backed away. There was the high sound of keening from the middle of the retreating pack. Quickly the sound multiplied, moving from throat to throat-a dark, almost inhuman sound.

Afraid. They are afraid of me.

He went through, ignoring them, striding purposefully up the hill, then stopped.

It was gone! There, where the chiefs hut had stood, was a patch of darkness. The site of a fire. Of an explosion, possibly. There was a slight depression in the ground, a pit of ashes.

He understood at once. The valve-they had booby-trapped the valve! No wonder Tak had been so ready to trade.

So close, he thought. I came so close.

He crouched, looking out across the bay at the pearled walls of the City less than a li away. From the settlement below him the sounds of keening were diminishing as the tribe fled back into the Clay. Soon he would be alone.

He had seen in his head how simple it would be. The transmitter in his side had been damaged irreparably coming through the fence, its signal stilled, but there had still been the radio. One message and they would have come for him. But now?

He went to the edge of the cliff and stared down the steep flank of rock at the sea far below. After a moment he frowned and shook his head. There was no way down. He would have to go back inside.

Back in to get out. Across the Clay once more.

But this time the Clay would be armed against him.He turned, then began to make his way down toward the gate. As he came through the gap in the palisade he stopped. There, on the rocks beside the gate, stood a single tall figure-one of the five he'd encountered in the Myghtern's town.

Tynan was smiling-staring up the slope at Thorn and smiling. After a moment his smile turned into laughter.

So close. So bloody close.

THORN DESCENDED the slope, knowing this was the end. "You're hurt," Tynan said, waving his gun vaguely. Thorn glanced around at the loose flap of skin, then reached back to tear it away.

"It's only flesh," he said, throwing it down at Tynan's feet. "There are more important things."

Tynan raised an eyebrow. "You're no trader, are you?"

Thorn stood there silently.

"1 can always find out who you are," Tynan said. "Drugs. Torture. There are ways." But he was looking down at the thick flap of flesh. It lay there, glistening in the sunlight, the blood still wet on its surface.

"Nothing could make me say."

Tynan looked up, mouth open, realization coming slowly to him. He stared at the singed threads of clothing that hung from Thorn and thought of the huge hole in the electric mesh he had seen.

Overhead seabirds wheeled and cried.

Thorn looked away, thinking of all he'd seen: of the Myghtern's town, shining in the darkness; of the small dark bird with golden eyes; of the great laboratory complex in Treviscoe Valley; and of the Myght-ern himself, so strong, so vividly alive. He sighed, feeling the wind on his artificial skin, and sucked the sweet, cool air into his genetically designed lungs, knowing it would not be long now before he would feel nothing.

"Well, then," he said. "What now?"

Tynan raised the weapon. It was a sophisticated laser, not the crude weapon he had been armed with earlier. Aiming it at Thorn's chest, he depressed the trigger. At once, a beam of brilliant light flowed from the tip of the barrel, seeming to connect Thorn to the gun. Thorn's flesh began to peel back, blackening, boiling away into a mist. All about Thorn's torso thick bands of vivid light played, encircling him. The air was filled with the reek of charring flesh.

Thorn staggered, his eyes flickering as if in a fit, then he lurched forward and grabbed the weapon from Tynan's hand, crushing it.

He turned, beginning to climb the slope once more, smoke spiraling up from the dark patch on his chest.

Faint traces of static flickered from the exposed metal plate on his back.

Tynan drew a second laser and fired. The beam went wide, setting fire to the grass at Thorn's feet, then found its target, searing the flesh from Thorn's right shoulder.

Thorn stumbled and went down, then, pulling himself up again, headed for the narrow wooden bridge that led across to the settlement. But he was in severe difficulty now; his movements were growing more erratic and with every step he grunted as if short of breath.Tynan caught up with him and fired the laser from less than an arm's length away, holding the beam steadily on Thorn's side. The flesh boiled and bubbled, but still the trader didn't cry out. He swayed and half turned, looking back sightlessly at Tynan, then began to climb again.

Tynan threw the gun down, then stood, watching him. Thorn was on the narrow bridge now, looking down at the water far below, as if fascinated by the way it crashed against the black, slaty rocks. Then, very slowly, he turned, facing Tynan. His mouth opened, as if to speak, but there was only the hum of static. He tried to smile, to raise his hand in farewell, but nothing functioned properly now.

Tynan was staring at Thorn in astonishment, realizing at last exactly what he was. Thorn, looking back, would have laughed, but he had lost too much. He swayed and reached out for the frail wooden support.

For a moment it held, then-with a resounding crack!-it gave.

The animating signal stuttered and then failed. A wave swelled and splintered on the steep black slope of rock, dragging the machine under. There was a momentary glint of metal and then nothing, only the rise and fall of the sea, the crash of the big waves against the rocks, and the sound of seabirds calling in the sunlight.

PART 3.

SPRING 2222.

Toward Evening.

Toward evening there was thunder and Lightning. Why was the lady sad? The high lord did not reveal his majesty. What was he seeking?

-ch'u yuan, "Tien Wen"

("Heavenly Questions"), from the Ch'u Tz'u (Songs of the South), second century B.C.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Between Cities.

IT WAS DAWN, yet inside the Rift it was still dark.