"Just get him to the hornet," whispered Mahnmut.

"Son of Laertes," said Hockenberry.

Odysseus' head whipped around. "What is it, son of Duane?"

"We have word from your wife, sir."

"What?" Odysseus scowled and put his hand on his sword hilt. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about your wife, Penelope, mother of Telemachus. She has sent a message to you through us, conveyed by moravec magic."

"Fuck your moravec magic," snarled Odysseus, scowling down at Mahnmut. "Go away, Hockenberry, and take that little abomination with you, before I open both of you from crotch to chin. Somehow...I don't know how, but somehow...I've always sensed that these new misfortunes rode in with you and these cursed moravecs."

"Penelope says to remember your bed," said Hockenberry, improvising and hoping he remembered his Fitzgerald correctly. He had tended to teach the Iliad Iliad and let Professor Smith handle the and let Professor Smith handle the Odyssey Odyssey.

"My bed?" frowned Odysseus, stepping away from the other captains. "What are you prattling about?"

"She says to tell you that a description of your marriage bed will be our way of letting you know that this message is truly from her."

Odysseus pulled his sword and set the side of the razored blade against Hockenberry's shoulder. "I am not amused. Describe the bed to me. For every error in your description, I will lop off one of your limbs."

Hockenberry resisted the urge to run or piss himself. "Penelope says to tell you that the frame was inlaid with gold, silver, and ivory, with thongs of oxhide stretched end to end to hold the many soft fleeces and coverlets."

"Bah," said Odysseus, "that could describe any great man's couch. Go away." Diomedes and Big Ajax had gone over to urge the still-kneeling Achilles to abandon the Amazon queen's corpse and come with them. The Brane Hole was visibly vibrating now, its edges blurry. The roar from Olympos was so loud now that everyone had to shout to be heard.

"Odysseus!" cried Hockenberry. "This is important. Come with us to hear your message from fair Penelope."

The short, bearded man turned back to glower at the scholic and moravec. His sword was still raised. "Tell me where I moved the bed after my bride and I moved in, and I may let you keep your arms."

"You never moved it," said Hockenberry, his raised voice steady despite his pounding heart. "Penelope says that when you built your palace, you left a strong, straight olive tree where the bedroom is today. She says that you cut away the branches, set the tree into a ceiling of wood, carved the trunk, and left it as one post of your marriage bed. These were words she said to tell you so that you would know that it was truly she who sent her message."

Odysseus stared for a long minute. Then he slid his sword back in its belt-sheath and said, "Tell me the message, son of Duane. Hurry." The man glanced at the lowering sky and roaring Olympos. Suddenly a flight of twenty hornets and dropship transports flew out through the Hole, hauling the moravec techs to safety. A series of sonic booms pounded the Martian earth and made running men duck and raise their arms to cover their heads.

"Let's go over by the moravec machine, son of Laertes. It is a message best delivered in private."

They walked through the milling, shouting men to where the black hornet crouched on its insectoid landing gear.

"Now, speak, and hurry," said Odysseus, grasping Hockenberry's shoulder in his powerful hand.

Mahnmut tightbeamed Mep Ahoo. You have your taser? You have your taser?

Yes, sir.

Taser Odysseus unconscious and load him into the hornet. Take the controls. We're going up to Phobos immediately.

The rockvec touched Odysseus on the neck, there was a spark, and the bearded man collapsed into the moravec soldier's barbed arms. Mep Ahoo slid the unconscious Odysseus into the hornet and jumped in, firing up the repellors.

Mahnmut looked around-none of the Achaeans had seemed to notice the kidnapping of one of their captains-and then jumped in next to Odysseus. "Come on," he said to Hockenberry. "The Hole's going to collapse any second. Anyone on this side stays on Mars forever." He glanced up at Olympos. "And forever may be measured in minutes if that volcano blows."

"I'm not going with you," said Hockenberry.

"Hockenberry, don't be crazy!" shouted Mahnmut. "Look over there. All the Achaean top brass-Diomedes, Idomeneus, the Ajaxes, Teucer-they're all running for the Hole."

"Achilles isn't," said Hockenberry, leaning closer to be heard. Sparks were falling all around, rattling on the roof of the hornet like hot hail.

"Achilles has lost his mind," shouted Mahnmut, thinking Shall I have Mep Ahoo taser Hockenberry? Shall I have Mep Ahoo taser Hockenberry?

As if reading his mind, Orphu came on the tightbeam. Mahnmut had forgotten that all this real-time video and sound was still being relayed up to Phobos and Queen Mab Queen Mab.

Don't zap him, sent Mahnmut. sent Mahnmut. We owe Hockenberry that. Let him make up his own mind. We owe Hockenberry that. Let him make up his own mind.

By the time he does, he'll be dead, sent Orphu of Io. sent Orphu of Io.

He was dead once, sent Mahnmut. sent Mahnmut. Perhaps he wants to be again. Perhaps he wants to be again.

To Hockenberry, Mahnmut shouted, "Come on. Jump in! We need you aboard the Earth-ship, Thomas."

Hockenberry blinked at the use of his first name. Then he shook his head.

"Don't you want to see Earth again?" shouted the little moravec. The hornet was shaking on its gear as the ground vibrated with marsquake tremors. The clouds of sulfur and ash were swirling around the Brane Hole, which seemed to be growing smaller. Mahnmut realized that if he could keep Hockenberry talking another minute or two, the human would have no choice but to come with them.

Hockenberry took a step away from the hornet and gestured toward the last of the fleeing Achaeans, the dead Amazons, the dead horses, and the distant walls of Ilium and warring armies just visible through the now vibrating Brane Hole.

"I made this mess," said Hockenberry. "Or at least I helped make it. I think I should stay and try to clean it up."

Mahnmut pointed toward the war going on beyond the Brane Hole. "Ilium is going to fall, Hockenberry. The 'vec forcefields and air defenses and anti-QT fields are gone."

Hockenberry smiled even while shielding his face from the falling embers and ash. "Et quae vagos vincina prospiciens Scythas ripam catervis Ponticam viduis ferit excisa ferro est, Pergannum incubuit sibi," "Et quae vagos vincina prospiciens Scythas ripam catervis Ponticam viduis ferit excisa ferro est, Pergannum incubuit sibi," he shouted. he shouted.

I hate Latin, thought Mahnmut. thought Mahnmut. And I think I hate classics scholars. And I think I hate classics scholars. Aloud, he said, "Virgil again?" Aloud, he said, "Virgil again?"

"Seneca," shouted Hockenberry. "And she...he meant Penthesilea...the neighbor of the wandering Scythians, keeping watch, leads her destitute band toward the Pontic banks, having been cut down by iron, Pergamum...you know, Mahnmut, Ilium, Troy...itself stumbled."

"Get your ass in the hornet, Hockenberry," shouted Mahnmut.

"Good luck, Mahnmut," said Hockenberry, stepping back. "Give my regards to Earth and Orphu. I'll miss them both."

He turned and slowly jogged past where Achilles was kneeling and weeping over Penthesilea's body-the mankiller was alone now except for the dead, the other living humans having all fled-and then, as Mahnmut's hornet lifted off and clawed toward space, Hockenberry ran as hard as he could toward the visibly shrinking Hole.

PART 2.

22.

After centuries of semitropical warmth, real winter had come to Ardis Hall. There was no snow, but the surrounding forests were free of all but the most stubbornly clinging leaves, frost marked the area of the great manor's shadow for an hour after the tardy sunrise-each morning Ada watched the line of white-tinged grass on the sloping west lawn retreating slowly back up toward the house until it became only the thinnest moat of frost-and visitors reported that the two small rivers that crossed the road in the one-and-one-quarter miles between Ardis Hall and the faxnode pavilion both showed scrims of ice on their surface.

This evening-one of the shortest of the year-Ada went through the house lighting the kerosene lamps and many candles, moving gracefully despite the fact that she was in the fifth month of her pregnancy. The old manor house, built more than eighteen hundred years earlier, before the Final Fax, was comfortable enough; almost two dozen fireplaces-used mostly for decorative and entertainment purposes during the previous centuries-now warmed most of the rooms. In the other chambers in the sixty-eight-room mansion, Harman had sigled the plans for and then built what he called Franklin stoves, and this evening these radiated enough heat to make Ada sleepy as she moved from the lower hall to rooms and then to the staircase and upper halls and rooms, lighting the lamps.

She paused at the large arched window at the end of the hall on the third floor. For the first time in thousands of years, thought Ada, forests were falling to human beings wielding axes-and not just for the firewood. In the last of the wan winter twilight flowing through the gravity-warped panes, she could see the view-blocking but reassuring gray wall of the wooden palisade down the hill on the south lawn. The palisade stretched all around Ardis Hall, sometimes as close as thirty yards from the house, sometimes as far away as a hundred yards behind the house to the edge of the forest. More trees had been felled to build the watch-towers rising at all the corners and angles of the palisade, and then even more to turn the scores of summer tents into homes and barracks for the more than four hundred people now living on the grounds of Ardis.

Where is Harman? Ada had been trying to block the urgency of that thought for hours-busying herself with a score of domestic tasks-but now she couldn't ignore her concern. Her lover-"husband" was the archaic word that Harman liked to use-had left with Hannah, Petyr, and Odysseus-who insisted upon being called Noman these days-a little after dawn that morning, leading an oxen-pulled droshky, sweeping up through the forests and meadows ten miles and more from the river hunting for deer and searching for more of the lost cattle. Ada had been trying to block the urgency of that thought for hours-busying herself with a score of domestic tasks-but now she couldn't ignore her concern. Her lover-"husband" was the archaic word that Harman liked to use-had left with Hannah, Petyr, and Odysseus-who insisted upon being called Noman these days-a little after dawn that morning, leading an oxen-pulled droshky, sweeping up through the forests and meadows ten miles and more from the river hunting for deer and searching for more of the lost cattle.

They should have been home by now. He promised me he'd be home long before dark.

Ada returned to the first floor and went into the kitchen. For centuries the preserve only of servitors and the occasional voynix bringing in meat from their slaughter grounds, the huge kitchen was now alive with human activity. It was Emme and Reman's night to plan the meal-usually about fifty people ate in Ardis Hall itself-and there were almost a dozen men and women bustling around baking bread, preparing salads, roasting meat on the spit in the huge old fireplace, and generally producing a genial chaos that would soon resolve itself into a long table filled with food.

Emme caught Ada's eye. "Are they back yet?"

"Not yet," said Ada, smiling, attempting to make her voice sound totally unconcerned.

"They will be," said Emme, patting Ada's pale hand.

Not for the first time, and not with anger-she liked Emme-Ada wondered why people seemed to feel that they had a greater right to touch and pat you when you were pregnant. She said, "Of course they will. And I hope with some venison and at least four of those missing head of cattle...or better yet, two of the cattle and two cows."

"We need the milk," agreed Emme. She patted Ada's hand again and returned to her duties by the fire.

Ada slipped outside. For a second the cold took her breath away, but she'd brought her shawl and now she hitched it higher around her shoulders and neck. The cold air felt like needles against her cheeks after the warmth of the kitchen and she paused a moment on the back patio to let her eyes adjust to the dark.

To heck with it, she thought, raising her left palm and invoking the proxnet function by visualizing a single yellow circle with a green triangle in it. It was the fifth time she'd tried the function in the last two hours. she thought, raising her left palm and invoking the proxnet function by visualizing a single yellow circle with a green triangle in it. It was the fifth time she'd tried the function in the last two hours.

The blue oval coalesced into existence above her palm but the holographic imagery was still blurred and static-lashed. Harman had suggested that these occasional failures of proxnet or farnet or even of the old finder function had nothing to do with their bodies-the nano-machinery was still there in their genes and blood, he'd said with a laugh-but may have something to do with the satellites and relay asteroids in either the p-ring or e-ring, perhaps due to interference caused by the nightly meteor showers. Looking up at the darkening evening sky, Ada could see those polar and equatorial rings shifting and turning overhead like two crisscrossing bands of light, each ring composed of thousands of discrete glowing objects. For almost all of her twenty-seven years, those rings had been reassuring-the friendly home of the Firmary where their bodies would be renewed every Twenty, the home of the post-humans who watched over them and whose ranks they would ascend to on each person's Fifth and Final Twenty-but now, Ada knew from Harman and Daeman's experience there, the rings were empty of post-humans and a terrible threat. The Fifth Twenty had been a lie these long centuries-a final fax up to unconscious death by cannibalism from the thing called Caliban.

The falling stars-actually chunks of the two orbital objects that Harman and Daemon had helped to collide eight months earlier-were streaking from west to east, but this was a tiny meteor shower, nothing like the terrible bombardment of those first weeks after the Fall. Ada mused on that phrase they'd all used in the past months. The Fall. The Fall. Fall of what? Fall of the chunks of the orbital asteroid Harman and Daemon had helped Prospero destroy, fall of the servitors, fall of the electrical grid, the end of the service from the voynix who had fled human control that very night...the night of the Fall. Everything had fallen that day a little more than eight months ago, Ada realized-not just the sky, but their world as they and preceding generations of old-style humans had known it for more than fourteen Five Twenties. Fall of what? Fall of the chunks of the orbital asteroid Harman and Daemon had helped Prospero destroy, fall of the servitors, fall of the electrical grid, the end of the service from the voynix who had fled human control that very night...the night of the Fall. Everything had fallen that day a little more than eight months ago, Ada realized-not just the sky, but their world as they and preceding generations of old-style humans had known it for more than fourteen Five Twenties.

Ada began to feel the queasiness of the nausea she'd suffered the first three months of pregnancy, but this was anxiety, not morning sickness. Her head ached from tension. She thought off off and the proxnet flicked off, tried farnet-it wasn't working either-tried the primitive finder function, but the three men and one woman she wanted to find weren't close enough for it to glow red, green, or amber. She blinked off all the palm functions. and the proxnet flicked off, tried farnet-it wasn't working either-tried the primitive finder function, but the three men and one woman she wanted to find weren't close enough for it to glow red, green, or amber. She blinked off all the palm functions.

Invoking any function made her want to read more books. Ada looked up at the glowing windows of the library-she could see the heads of others in there now, sigling away-and she wished she was with them, running her hands across the spines of the new volumes brought in and stacked in recent days, watching the golden words flow down her hands and arms into her mind and heart. But she'd read fifteen thick books already this short winter day, and even the thought of more sigling made her nausea surge.

Reading-or at least sigl-reading-is a lot like being pregnant, she thought, rather pleased with the metaphor. she thought, rather pleased with the metaphor. It fills you with feelings and reactions you're not ready for...it makes you feel too full, not quite yourself, suddenly moving toward some destined moment that will change everything in your life forever. It fills you with feelings and reactions you're not ready for...it makes you feel too full, not quite yourself, suddenly moving toward some destined moment that will change everything in your life forever. She wondered what Harman would say about her metaphor-he was brutal in critiquing his own metaphors and analogies, she knew-and then she felt the nausea in her belly move to her heart as the concern flooded back in. She wondered what Harman would say about her metaphor-he was brutal in critiquing his own metaphors and analogies, she knew-and then she felt the nausea in her belly move to her heart as the concern flooded back in. Where are they? Where is he? Is my darling all right? Where are they? Where is he? Is my darling all right?

Ada's heart was pounding as she walked out toward the glowing open hearth and web of wooden scaffolding that was Hannah's cupola, manned twenty-four hours a day now that bronze and iron and other metals were being shaped for weapons.

Hannah's friend Loes and a group of the younger men were stoking and maintaining the fires tonight. "Good evening, Ada Uhr, Uhr," called down the tall, thin man. He'd known her for years, but always preferred the formality of the honorific.

"Good evening, Loes Uhr Uhr. Any word from the watchtowers?"

"None, I'm afraid," called down Loes, stepping away from the opening at the top of the cupola. Ada noticed in her distraction that the man had shaved his beard and that his face was red and sweaty from the heat. He was working bare-chested up there on a night when it might snow.

"Is there a pour tonight?" asked Ada. Hannah always informed her of such things-and night pours were dramatic to watch-but the metal furnace was not one of Ada's responsibilities and a fact of their new life that was only of passing interest to her.

"In the morning, Ada Uhr Uhr. And I'm sure that Harman Uhr Uhr and the others will be back soon. They can find their way easily enough in ring-light and starlight." and the others will be back soon. They can find their way easily enough in ring-light and starlight."

"Oh, yes, of course," called Ada. Then, as an afterthought, she asked, "Have you seen Daeman Uhr Uhr?"

Loes mopped his brow, spoke softly to one of the other men who ran to get firewood, and then called down, "Daeman Uhr Uhr left for Paris Crater this evening, do you remember? He's fetching his mother here to Ardis Hall." left for Paris Crater this evening, do you remember? He's fetching his mother here to Ardis Hall."

"Ah, yes, of course," said Ada. She bit her lip, but had to ask, "Did he leave before dark? I certainly hope he did." The voynix attacks between Ardis and the faxnode had increased in recent weeks.

"Oh, yes, Ada Uhr Uhr. He left with plenty of time to get to the pavilion before dark. And he was carrying one of the new crossbows. He'll wait until after sunrise here to return with his mother."

"That's good," said Ada, looking north toward the wooden wall and the forest beyond it. It was already dark here on the open hillside, the last of the light fled from the western sky where dark clouds were massing, and she could imagine how very dark it must be under the trees out there. "I'll see you at dinner, Loes Uhr Uhr."

"A good evening to you until then, Ada Uhr Uhr."

She pulled her shawl up over her head as the wind came up. She was walking toward the north gate and the watchtower there, but she knew she wouldn't call up to distract the guards there with her anxiety. Besides, she'd spent an hour out there in late afternoon, watching the northern approaches, waiting almost happily. That was before the anxiety had set in like nausea. Ada walked aimlessly around the eastern side of Ardis Hall, nodding to the guards leaning on their spears near the circular driveway. The torches along the drive had been lit.

She couldn't go inside. Too much warmth, too much laughter, too much conversation. She saw young Peaen on the porch, talking earnestly with one of her young admirers who had moved to Ardis from Ulanbat after the Fall-one of the many disciples of Odysseus back when the old man had been a teacher, before he had become Noman and taciturn-and Ada turned back into the relative darkness of the side yard, not wishing to be drawn into so much as a greeting.

What if Harman dies? What if he is dead already somewhere out there in the dark?

Putting the thought into words made her feel better, made the nausea recede. The words were like objects, making the idea more solid-less a poisonous gas and more a loathsome cube of crystallized thought that she could rotate in her hands, studying its terrible facets.

What if Harman dies? She would not die herself-Ada, always a realist, knew that. She would live on, have the child, perhaps love again. She would not die herself-Ada, always a realist, knew that. She would live on, have the child, perhaps love again.

That last thought made the nausea return and she sat on a cold stone bench where she could look at the blazing cupola and at the closed north gate beyond it.

Ada knew that she had never really been in love before Harman-even when she had wanted to be, she'd known as both girl and young woman that the flirtations and dalliances had not been love, in a world before the Fall that had amounted to little more than flirtations and dalliances-with life and others and oneself.

Before Harman, Ada had never known the deep soul-satisfying pleasure of sleeping with one's beloved-and here she did not use a euphemism, but was thinking of sleeping sleeping next to him, waking next to him in the night, feeling his arm around her as she fell asleep and often first thing when she woke in the morning. She knew Harman's least self-conscious sounds and his touch and his scent-an outdoor and masculine scent, mixing the smell of leather of the tack in the stables visible there beyond the cupola and the autumn richness of the forest floor itself. next to him, waking next to him in the night, feeling his arm around her as she fell asleep and often first thing when she woke in the morning. She knew Harman's least self-conscious sounds and his touch and his scent-an outdoor and masculine scent, mixing the smell of leather of the tack in the stables visible there beyond the cupola and the autumn richness of the forest floor itself.

Her body had imprinted itself on his touch-and not just the intimate touch of their frequent lovemaking, but the slightest pressure of his hand on her shoulder or arm or back as he passed. She knew that she would miss the pressure of his gaze almost as much as she would miss his physical touch-indeed, his awareness of her and attention to her had become a sort of constant touch to Ada. She closed her eyes now and allowed herself to feel his large hand enclosing her cold, smaller hand-her fingers had always been long and thin, his were blunt and wide, his calloused palm always warmer than hers. She would miss his warmth. Ada realized that what she would miss most if Harman were dead-miss as much as the essence essence of her beloved-was his embodiment of her future. Not her fate, but her future-the ineffable sense that of her beloved-was his embodiment of her future. Not her fate, but her future-the ineffable sense that tomorrow tomorrow meant seeing Harman, laughing with Harman, eating with Harman, discussing their unborn child with Harman, even disagreeing with Harman-she would forevermore miss the sense that the continuation of her life was more than another day of breathing, but was the gift of another day of engagement with her beloved across the spectrum of all things. meant seeing Harman, laughing with Harman, eating with Harman, discussing their unborn child with Harman, even disagreeing with Harman-she would forevermore miss the sense that the continuation of her life was more than another day of breathing, but was the gift of another day of engagement with her beloved across the spectrum of all things.

Sitting there on the cold bench with the rings revolving overhead and the nightly meteor shower increasing in intensity, her shadow thrown across the frost-whitened lawn by the glow of that light and the cupola, Ada realized that it was easier to contemplate one's own mortality than the death of one's beloved. This wasn't a total revelation to her-she had imagined imagined such a perspective before, Ada was very, very good at imagining-but the reality and totality of the feeling itself was a revelation. As with the sense of the new life within her, the sensation of loss and love for Harman infused her-it was somehow, impossibly, larger not only than herself but than her capacity for such a thought or feeling. such a perspective before, Ada was very, very good at imagining-but the reality and totality of the feeling itself was a revelation. As with the sense of the new life within her, the sensation of loss and love for Harman infused her-it was somehow, impossibly, larger not only than herself but than her capacity for such a thought or feeling.

Ada had expected to love making love with Harman-with sharing her body with him and learning the pleasure his body could bring her-but she had been amazed to find that as their closeness grew, it was as if each of them had discovered another body-not hers, not his, but something shared and inexplicable. Ada had never discussed this with anyone-not even with Harman, although she knew that he shared the feeling-and it was her opinion that it had taken the Fall to liberate this mystery in human beings.

These last eight months since the Fall should have been a hard, sad time for Ada-the servitors crashed to uselessness, her life of ease and partying gone forever, the world that she had known and grown up in gone forever, her mother-who had refused to come back to the danger of Ardis Hall, staying at the Loman Estate near the eastern coast with two thousand others, dead along with all the others there in the massed voynix attack in the autumn-the disappearance of Ada's cousin-friend Virginia from her estate outside of Chom above the Arctic Circle, the unprecedented worries about food and warmth and safety and survival, the terrible knowledge that the Firmary was gone forever and that the certainty of ascension to the heaven of the p-ring and e-ring was all a vicious myth, the sobering knowledge that only death awaited them someday and that even the Five Twenties lifespan was not their birthright any more, that they could die at any time...it all should have been terrifying and oppressive to the twenty-seven-year-old woman.

She had been happy. Ada had been happier than at any time in her life. She had been happy with the new challenges and with the need to find courage as well as the need to trust and depend on others for her life. Ada had been happy learning that she loved Harman and that he loved her in some way that their old world of fax-in parties and servitor luxuries and temporary connections between men and women would never have allowed. As unhappy as she was each time he left on a hunting trip or to lead an attack on voynixes or on a sonie voyage to the Golden Gate at Machu Picchu or to another ancient site, or on one of his teaching fax-journeys to any of the three-hundred-some other communities of survivors-at least half the humans on Earth dead since the Fall, and there were never a million of us we know now, that number the post-humans had given us centuries ago had always been a lie-she was equally happy every time he returned and gloriously happy every cold, dangerous, uncertain day that he was there at Ardis Hall with her.

She would go on if her beloved Harman was dead-she knew in her heart that she would go on, survive, fight, birth and raise this child, perhaps love again-but she also knew this night that the fierce, gliding joy of the past eight months would be gone forever.

Quit being an idiot, Ada commanded herself. Ada commanded herself.

She rose, adjusted her shawl, and had turned to go into the house when the bell in the gate watchtower rang out, as did the voice of one of the sentries.

"Three people approaching from the forest!"

All the men at the cupola dropped their work, grabbed spears or bows or crossbows, and ran to the walls. The roving sentries from the east and west yards also ran to the ladders and parapets.

Three people. For a moment, Ada stood frozen where she was. Four had left that morning. And they'd had a converted droshky pulled by an ox. They wouldn't return without the droshky and ox unless something terrible had happened, and if it was just that someone had been injured-say, a twisted ankle or broken leg-they would have used the droshky to transport him or her.