"Are you monitoring the quantum flux, Artificer?" asks Night. There is a sharp and angry edge to her voice that Achilles does not understand.

"Yes, Goddess."

"How much time, God of Fire, do you think we have left to survive if the vortexes of probability chaos continue to grow at this logarithmic rate?"

"A few days, Goddess," grunts Hephaestus. "Perhaps less."

"The Fates agree with you, Hera-spawn," says Nyx. The volume and sea-crash timbre of her voice make Achilles want to clap his callused hands over his ears. "Day and night, the Moirai Moirai-those alien entities which mortal men call the Fates-toil at their electronic abacuses, manipulating their bubbles of magnetic energy and their mile-long coils of computing DNA-and every day the Moirai Moirai's view of the future becomes less certain, their threads of probability more raveled, as if the loom of Time itself is broken."

"It's that fucking Setebos," grumbles Hephaestus. "Begging your pardon, ma'am."

"No, you are correct, Artificer," says the giant Nyx. "It's that fucking Setebos, let loose at last, no longer contained in this world's arctic seas. The Many-Handed has gone to Earth, you know. Not this mortal's Earth, but our old home."

"No," says Hephaestus, raising his face at last. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, yes-the Brain has crossed the Brane." She laughs and this time Achilles does clasp his hands over his ears. This is a sound that no mortal should be made to hear.

"How long do the Moirai Moirai say we have?" whispers Hephaestus. say we have?" whispers Hephaestus.

"Clotho, the Spinner, says that we have mere hours left before the quantum flux implodes this universe," says Night. "Atropos, she who cannot be turned and who carries the abhorred shears to cut all our threads of life at death's sharp instant, says it may be a month yet."

"And Lachesis?" asks the god of fire.

"The Disposer of Lots-and she rides the fractal waves of the electronic abacus better than the others, I think-sees Kaos triumphant on this world and in this Brane within a week or two. Any way we cut it, we have little time left, Artificer."

"Will you flee, Goddess?"

Night stands silent. Howls echo from the crags and valleys beyond her castle. Finally she says, "Where can we flee, Artificer? Where can even we few of the Originals flee if this universe we were born into collapses into chaos? Any Brane Hole we can create, any quantum leap we can teleport, will still be connected by the threads of chaos to this universe. No, there is nowhere to flee."

"What do we do then, Goddess?" grunts Hephaestus. "Just bend over, grab our sandals, and kiss our immortal asses goodbye?"

Night makes a noise like the Aegean in mirthful storm. "We need to confer with the Elder Gods. And quickly."

"The Elder Gods..." begins the Artificer and stops. "Kronos, Rhea, Okeanos, Tethys...all those exiled to terrible Tartarus?"

"Yes," says Night.

"Zeus will never allow it," says Hephaestus. "No god is allowed to communicate with..."

"Zeus must face reality," bellows Night. "Or all will end in chaos, including his reign."

Achilles climbs two steps toward the huge, black figure. His shield is on his forearm now as if he is ready to fight. "Hey, do you remember I'm here? And I'm still waiting for an answer to my question. Where is Zeus Where is Zeus?"

Nyx leans over him and aims one pale, bony finger like a weapon. "Your quantum probability for dying at my hand may be zero, son of Peleus, but should I blast you atom from atom, molecule from molecule, the universe-even on a quantum level-might have a hard time maintaining that axiom."

Achilles waits. He has noticed that the gods often babble on in this nonsense talk. The only thing to do is wait until they make sense again.

Finally Nyx speaks in the voice of wind-tossed waves. "Hera, sister and bride, daughter of Rhea and Kronos and incestuous bedmate to her divine brother, defender of Achaeans to the point of treachery and murder, has seduced Lord Zeus away from his duties and his watchfulness, bedding him and injecting him with Sleep in the great house where a hero's wife weeps and labors, weaving by day and tearing out her work at night. This hero brought not his best bow to do his bloody work at Troy, but left it on a peg in a secret room with a secret door, hidden away from suitors and looters. This is the bow that no one else can pull, the bow that can send an arrow straight through iron axe-helve sockets, twelve in line, or half again that many guilty or guiltless men's bodies."

"Thank you, Goddess," says Achilles and backs away down the staircase.

Hephaestus looks around, then follows, careful not to turn his back on the huge ebony figure in the flowing robes. By the time both men are standing, Night is gone from her place at the head of the stairs.

"What in Hades was all that about?" whispers the Artificer as they climb into the chariot and activate the virtual control panel and holo-graphic horses. "A hero's wife weeping, hidden fucking rooms, axehelve sockets, twelve in line. Nyx sounded like your babbling Delphic oracle."

"Zeus is on the isle of Ithaca," says Achilles as they climb away from the castle and the island and the growls and bellows of unseen monsters in the dark. "Odysseus himself told me that he had left his best bow at his palace on that rocky isle of his, hidden away with herb-scented robes in a secret room. I've visited crafty Odysseus there in better days. Only he can bring that huge bow to full pull-or so he says, though I've never tried-and after an evening's drinking, firing an arrow through iron axehelve sockets, twelve in line, is the son of Laertes' idea of entertainment. And if there are suitors there seeking his sexy wife Penelope's hand, he would be even more greatly entertained to put his shafts through their bodies instead."

"Odysseus' home on Ithaca," mutters Hephaestus. "A good place for Hera to hide her sleeping lord. Do you have any idea, son of Peleus, what Zeus will do to you when you wake him there?"

"Let's find out," says Achilles. "Can you quantum teleport us straight from this chariot?"

"Watch me," says Hephaestus. Man and god wink out of sight as the chariot-empty now-keeps flying north and west across Hellas Basin.

50.

"This isn't Savi."

"Did you hear me say it was, friend of Noman?"

Harman stood on the solid metal of the bier seemingly suspended above more than five miles of air a hundred yards from the north face of Chomolungma-staring despite his powerful urge not not to stare at the dead face and naked body of a young Savi. Prospero stood behind him on the iron stairs. The wind was coming up outside. to stare at the dead face and naked body of a young Savi. Prospero stood behind him on the iron stairs. The wind was coming up outside.

"It looks looks like Savi," said Harman. He could not slow the beating of his heart. Both the exposure to altitude and to the body in front of him made him almost sick with vertigo. "But Savi's dead," he said. like Savi," said Harman. He could not slow the beating of his heart. Both the exposure to altitude and to the body in front of him made him almost sick with vertigo. "But Savi's dead," he said.

"You are sure?"

"I'm sure, goddamn you. I saw your Caliban kill her. I saw the bloody remnants of what he ate and what he left behind. Savi is dead. And I never saw her this young young."

The naked woman lying on her back in the crystal coffin could not have been older than three or four years beyond her first Twenty. Savi had been...ancient. All of them-Hannah, Ada, Daeman, and Harman-had been shocked at the sight of her-gray hair, wrinkles, a body that was past its prime. None of the old-style humans had ever seen the effects of aging before Savi...nor since, but that would all change now that the Firmary rejuvenation tanks were gone.

"Not my my Caliban," said Prospero. "No, not Caliban," said Prospero. "No, not my my monster then. The goblin was his own master, sick Sycorax-spawn, a lost in thrall Setebos-slave, when you encountered it in yon orbital isle some nine months past." monster then. The goblin was his own master, sick Sycorax-spawn, a lost in thrall Setebos-slave, when you encountered it in yon orbital isle some nine months past."

"This isn't Savi," repeated Harman. "It can't be." He forced himself to stride back up the stairs toward the central chamber of the Taj Moira, brushing brusquely past the blue-robed magus. But he paused before passing up through the granite ceiling. "Is she alive?" he asked softly.

"Touch her," said Prospero.

Harman backed another step up the stairs. "No. Why?"

"Come down here and touch her," said the magus. The hologram, projection, whatever it was, now stood next to the crystal sarcophagus. "It's the only way you can tell if she is alive."

"I'll take your word for it." Harman stayed where he was.

"But I've not given given you my word, friend of Noman. I've given no opinion on whether this is a sleeping woman, or a corpse, or merely a corollary of wax, wanting spirit. But I warrant you this, husband of Ada of Ardis-should she wake, should you wake her, should she be real-and should you then discourse with this waked and decanted spirit, all your most pressing questions will be answered." you my word, friend of Noman. I've given no opinion on whether this is a sleeping woman, or a corpse, or merely a corollary of wax, wanting spirit. But I warrant you this, husband of Ada of Ardis-should she wake, should you wake her, should she be real-and should you then discourse with this waked and decanted spirit, all your most pressing questions will be answered."

"What do you mean?" asked Harman, descending the steps in spite of his urge to flee.

The magus remained silent. His only answer was to open the crystal top to the clear sarcophagus.

No smell of corruption came forth. Harman stepped onto the metal bier platform, then came around to stand next to the magus. Except for glimpses of hairless corpses in the healing tanks on Prospero's isle, he'd never seen a dead person until recent months. No old-style human had. But now he'd buried people at Ardis Hall and knew the terrible aspects of death-the lividity and rigor mortis, the eyes seeming to sink away from the light, the hard coldness of flesh. This woman-this Savi Savi-showed none of these signs. Her skin looked soft and flushed with life. Her lips were pink almost to the point of redness, as were her nipples. Her eyes were closed, the lashes long, but it seemed that she could awaken any second.

"Touch her," said Prospero.

Harman reached a trembling hand and snatched it back before he touched her. There was a slight but firm forcefield above the woman's body-permeable but palpable-and the air inside the field was much warmer than that above it. He tried again, setting his fingers first to the woman's throat-finding the barest hint of pulse, like a butterfly's softest stirring-and then set his palm on her chest, between her breasts. Yes-the slightest beating of her heart, but slow-soft poundings far too far apart to be the heartbeat of a normal sleeper.

"This creche is similar to the one your friend Noman sleeps in now," Prospero said softly. "It pauses time. But rather than healing and protecting her for three days, as Noman-Odysseus' slow-time sarcophagus does this very minute, this crystal coffin has been her home for one thousand four hundred and some years."

Harman plucks his hand back as if he'd been bitten. "Impossible," he said.

"Is it? Wake her and ask her."

"Who is she?" demanded Harman. "It can't be Savi."

Prospero smiled. Below their feet, clouds had swept in to the north face of the mountain and were curling gray around the glass-bottomed shelter in which they stood. "No, it can't be Savi, can it?" said the magus. "I knew her as Moira."

"Moira? This place-the Taj Moira-is named after her?"

"Of course. It is her tomb. Or at least the tomb in which she sleeps. Moira is a post-human, friend of Noman."

"The posts are all dead-gone-Daeman and Savi and I saw their Caliban-chewed and mummified bodies floating in the foul air of your orbital isle." Harman had stepped back from the coffin again.

"Moira is the last," said Prospero. "Come down from the p-ring more than fifteen hundred years ago. She was the lover and consort of Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan Ho Tep."

"Who the hell is that?" The clouds had enveloped the Taj platform now and Harman felt on more solid ground with the glass floor showing only gray beneath him.

"A bookish descendant of the original Khan," said the magus. "He ruled what was left of the Earth at the time the voynix first became active. He had this temporal sarcophagus built for himself but was in love with this Moira and offered it to her. Here she's slept away the centuries."

Harman forced a laugh. "That doesn't make any sense. Why didn't this Ho Tep whatshisname just have a second coffin built for himself?"

Prospero's smile was maddening. "He did. It was set right here on this broad bier, next to Moira's. But even a place as hard to get to as the Rangbok Pumori Chu-mu-lang-ma Feng Dudh Kosi Lhotse-Nuptse Khumbu aga Ghat-Mandir Khan Ho Tep Rauza will have its visitors over almost a millennium and a half. One of the early intruders pulled Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan's body and temporal sarcophagus out of here and tossed it over the edge to the glacier below."

"Why didn't they take this coffin...Moira's?" asked Harman. He was skeptical of everything the magus said.

Prospero extended an age-mottled hand toward the sleeping woman. "Would you throw this body away?"

"Why didn't they loot the upstairs then?" said Harman.

"There are safeguards up there. I will be happy to show you later."

"Why didn't these early intruders wake wake...whoever this is?" asked Harman.

"They tried," said Prospero. "But they never succeeded in opening the sarcophagus..."

"You didn't seem to have any trouble doing that."

"I was here when Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan devised the machine," said the magus. "I know its codes and passwords."

"You wake her, then. I want to talk to her." wake her, then. I want to talk to her."

"I cannot wake this sleeping post-human," said Prospero. "Nor could the intruders had they bypassed the security systems and managed to open her coffin. Only one thing will wake Moira."

"What's that?" Harman was on the lowest step again, ready to leave.

"For Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan or another human male descended from Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan to have sexual intercourse with her while she sleeps."

Harman opened his mouth to speak, found nothing to say, and simply stood there, staring at the blue-robed figure. The magus had either gone insane or had always been mad. There was no third option.

"You are descended from Ahman Ferdinand Mark Alonzo Khan Ho Tep and the line of Khans," continued Prospero, his voice sounding as calm and disinterested as someone speculating on the weather. "The DNA of your semen will awaken Moira."

51.

Mahnmut and Orphu went outside onto the hull of the Queen Mab Queen Mab where they could talk in peace. where they could talk in peace.

The huge ship had ceased setting off its Coke-can-sized atomic bombs upon passing the orbit of Earth's moon-they wanted to announce their arrival but not antagonize anyone or anything in the equatorial or polar rings into firing on them-and now the Mab Mab was decelerating toward orbit under a mild one-eighth gravity using only its auxiliary ion-drive engines extended on short booms. Mahnmut thought that the blue glow "beneath" them was a pleasant alternative to the periodic smash and glare of the bombs. was decelerating toward orbit under a mild one-eighth gravity using only its auxiliary ion-drive engines extended on short booms. Mahnmut thought that the blue glow "beneath" them was a pleasant alternative to the periodic smash and glare of the bombs.

The little Europan had to take care out in vacuum under deceleration, making sure that he was attached to the ship at all times, staying on the catwalks that ringed the ship, watching his step on the ladders that were everywhere on the thousand-foot-long spacecraft, but he knew that if he did something stupid Orphu of Io would come after him and save him. Mahnmut might be comfortable in full vacuum for only a dozen hours or so before having to replenish air and other requirements and he'd rarely practiced using the little peroxide thrusters built into his back, but this outside world of extreme cold, terrible heat, raging radiation, and hard vacuum was Orphu's natural environment.

"So what do we do?" Mahnmut asked his huge friend.

"I think it's imperative that we bring the dropship and The Dark Lady The Dark Lady down," said Orphu. "As soon as possible." down," said Orphu. "As soon as possible."

"We?" said Mahnmut. "We?" "We?" The plan had been for Suma IV to pilot the dropship with General Beh bin Adee and thirty of his troopers-the rockvec soldiers under the direct command of Centurian Leader Mep Ahoo-in the dropship passenger nacelle, while Mahnmut waited in The plan had been for Suma IV to pilot the dropship with General Beh bin Adee and thirty of his troopers-the rockvec soldiers under the direct command of Centurian Leader Mep Ahoo-in the dropship passenger nacelle, while Mahnmut waited in The Dark Lady The Dark Lady down in the dropship's hold. When and if the time came to use the submersible, Suma IV and any other required personnel would climb down into down in the dropship's hold. When and if the time came to use the submersible, Suma IV and any other required personnel would climb down into The Dark Lady The Dark Lady via an access shaft. Despite Mahnmut's misgivings about being separated from his old friend, there had never been any planning to include the huge, optically blind Ionian in the dropship part of the mission. Orphu was to remain with the via an access shaft. Despite Mahnmut's misgivings about being separated from his old friend, there had never been any planning to include the huge, optically blind Ionian in the dropship part of the mission. Orphu was to remain with the Queen Mab Queen Mab as external systems engineer. as external systems engineer.

"So what is this 'we'?" Mahnmut asked again.

"I've decided that I'm indispensable to this mission," rumbled Orphu. "Besides, you still have that comfortable little niche for me in the sub's hold-air and energy umbilicals, comm links, radar, and other sensor feeds-I could vacation there and be happy."

Mahnmut shook his head, realized he was doing it in front of a blind moravec, realized then that Orphu's radar and infrared sensors would pick up the movement, and shook his head again. "Why should we insist on going down? Trying to land on Earth could jeopardize the rendezvous with the broadcasting asteroid-city on the p-ring."

"Bugger the broadcasting asteroid-city on the p-ring," growled Orphu of Io. "The important thing right now is to get down to that planet as fast as we can."

"Why?"

"Why?" repeated Orphu. "Why? You're the one with the eyes, little friend. Didn't you see see those telescope images that you described to me?" those telescope images that you described to me?"

"The burned village, you mean?"

"Yes, the burned village, I mean," rumbled Orphu. "And the other thirty or forty human settlements around the world that seemed to be under attack by headless creatures that seem to specialize in slaughtering old-style human beings-old-style humans, Mahnmut, the kind that designed our ancestors." Mahnmut, the kind that designed our ancestors."