She turned, anger bubbling up again. "You don't think it's going to work out?"

He was laughing. "No, no. I just mean you may find you have more housing options than you think."

It was an interesting experience to see the exact amount she was expected to pay displayed on the cab's screen. Is this how it always is? she wondered as she waved the card in front of the reader and added a tip for the driver. For people who have money? Things just . . . work?

Durban Outskirt Medical Facility was a different place with the quarantine lifted. Visitors milled in the lobby or nested around the waiting areas in little family groups of tired relatives and yammering children.

The doctors and nurses looked like people instead of visitors from other planets. At least they've got that vaccine now, she thought. At least I don't have to worry about Stephen getting Bukavu 4 anymore. It was not much solace.

She held the bag carefully as she made her way up the elevator, feeling as though she had turned into someone else when she wasn't looking. But why? Everything's the same, really-same Renie, same Papa, same sick Stephen. While we were in that place, the world went on. Nothing's really changed.

Except for how she felt about !Xabbu, of course. That scared her a little. She wanted it to work so badly, but she could see so many problems. They were so different, so completely separate in their experiences. What they had, they had made in the most unreal environment imaginable. How would it hold up in the day-to-day of missed buses and scraping for rent, of countless miserable visits to the hospital?

Her father's door was open. She had only spoken to him over the net so she was surprised to see that he had a private room and couldn't help wondering how they were going to pay for it. But even if she had to go into debt, she wasn't going to let Del Ray set himself up as their savior.

She hesitated at the threshold, suddenly frightened for reasons she could not name. Her father was watching the wallscreen, waving his long fingers to jump from node to node, his expression blank and bored. He's so old! she thought. Look at him. He's an old man. She took a breath and stepped in.

When he saw her he blinked, then blinked again. To her astonishment she realized his eyes were filling with tears. "What is with everyone?" she asked, startled and afraid again. "Is that all anyone does anymore? Cry?"

"Renie," he said. "It is so good to see you."

She was not going to cry-not for this old fool. Jeremiah Dako had already told her of his little trick, wandering off to Durban and leaving poor Jeremiah to mind the fort. But she found herself getting teary whether she wanted to or not; to hide it, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. His hand closed on hers; she found herself trapped, held tight against his whiskery face. He smelled of honey-lime aftershave, and for a moment she was a child again, overwhelmed by his bigness, his power. But I'm not a child. I'm not. Not since a long time gone.

"I am so sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" She got free and carefully sat down. "Why are you sorry?"

"For everything." He waved and the wallscreen went blank. "For all the foolish things I have done." He found a tissue and blew his nose angrily. "You the one who always tell me about the foolish things, girl.

You saying you don't remember them now?"

Something unbent inside her just a little. "Yes. I remember. But we all make mistakes, Papa." She took a nervous breath. "Show me your arm."

"See? Dog close to tore it off me. Then they call me One-Arm Joseph instead." He displayed the lacerations with pride. "Tried to bite my neck out, too. Bet you happy you were safe in that tank."

"Yes, Papa. Safe in that tank."

He heard something in her tone and his satisfied smile died. "I know it wasn't like that, really. I am just making a joke."

"I know, Papa."

"Have you seen Stephen?"

"Not today-I'm going to see him after you and I have our visit. I'll come back and tell you if there's . . .

any change." Seeing her brother's little body, still withered and empty, had stolen away most of her joy at being back in the world again.

Joseph nodded his head slowly. He broke a long silence by asking, "And that man of yours? Where is he?"

Renie fought down irritation. Why did men always ask that? It was like they needed to know whose protection she was under-to make sure that a suitably responsible transfer had been made. "He's okay, Papa. I'm going to meet him later. We're going to look for a flat. I have enough left in my bank account. I think I might even be able to get my old job back-called the chancellor's office and apparently some of them have been watching the newsnets."

He nodded, but he wore an odd expression. "So that's why I am here? So you can find a place with your new man?"

It took her a couple of heartbeats to understand what was bothering him. "You think. . . ? Oh, Papa, I only left you here because there wasn't anywhere else for you to go. !Xabbu and I stayed at his old rooming house last night, sleeping on the front room floor." Despite her sadness, a little smile surfaced.

"The landlady wouldn't let us stay in his room because we're not married."

"So?"

"So of course you're going to live with us," she said, although it made her feel heavy and cross to have to say it. "I wouldn't leave you on the street. We're family." She darted a glance at the time display in the corner of the darkened wallscreen. "I'd better go." She stood, then remembered the bag clutched in her hand. "Oh, I brought you something."

He balanced it against his chest to open it with his working hand. He lifted the bottle out and peered at it for a long time.

"I know it's not your old favorite," she said, "but they told me at the store that it's good. I figured you might as well drink something decent-you know, to celebrate." She looked around. "I don't think you're supposed to have anything like that, so you'd better hide it."

He was still staring at the bottle. When he looked up at her, his expression made her a little uncomfortable. "Thank you," he said. "But you know, I don't think I drink it here. Maybe when I get out."

He smiled, and again she was struck by how old he looked, bony and . . . scoured. Like rocks in a windy valley. "When you find the new place. We will have a little celebration." He handed her back the bag, "You . . . you don't want it?"

"When I get out," he said. "Don't want to get in trouble here, do I? They might keep me longer."

She took a long time trying to fit the bottle back into the bag. When she had finished she stood for a moment, fighting the urge to walk straight out the door, to avoid confusion and difficult feelings and simply get on with things. It was only as she looked at him, at the way he was looking back at her, that she realized what she wanted to do.

She bent and kissed his cheek again, then wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a squeeze.

"I'll be back tomorrow, Papa. I promise."

He cleared his throat as she stood up. "We can do better, you and me. You know I love you, girl. You know that, right?"

She nodded. "I know that." It was hard to talk. "We'll do better."

!Xabbu was not in the waiting room for the children's wing. Renie was a little surprised-it was not like him to be late-but her brain was too full to spend much time wondering about it. She left a message for him with the receptionist, then went to see Stephen.

She found !Xabbu sleeping in a chair at the foot of the hospital bed, his head back, his hands open in his lap as though he had held and then released some flying thing. She felt ashamed. If she was tired and out of sorts, how much more exhausted must !Xabbu be, after those last hellish minutes holding open the line of communication with the Other? And now I'm going to drag him out looking for some miserable little flat. Her heart twisted in her breast.

But it will be our miserable little flat, she reminded herself. That's something, isn't it?

She gently stroked his head as she stepped past him to the side of her brother's bed. Stephen's little arms were still curled against his chest as if in mantis-prayer, his body terrifyingly bony under the thin hospital blanket, his eyes. . . .

His eyes were open.

"Stephen?" It almost came out a scream. "Stephen!"

He did not move, but she thought his eyes followed her a little as she leaned in. She took his head in her hands, terrified by his frailty. "Can you hear me? Stephen, it's me, Renie!" And all the time a voice in the back of her brain was saying, It means nothing, it's just something that happens, their eyes open, he's not there, not really. . . .

!Xabbu had begun to stir at the sound of her voice. He sat forward, but seemed still to be partly asleep.

"I had a dream," he murmured. "I was the honey-guide . . . the little bird. And I was leading. . . ." His eyes finally came all the way open. "Renie? What is happening?"

But she was already at the door, shouting for a nurse.

Doctor Chandhar had taken her fingers from the pulse in Stephen's neck, but she was still holding one of his bony hands in hers. "The signs . . . are rather good," she said, the smile on her face a fine counterweight to professional caution. "There is definitely improvement, the first we've seen since he's been here."

"What does that mean?" Renie demanded. "Is he coming out of it?" She leaned in to stare at Stephen again. Surely that was a flash of recognition deep in his brown eyes-surely it was!

"I hope so, yes," the doctor said. "But he has been comatose a long time. Please listen, Ms. Sulaweyo.

Do not get your hopes up too high-the odds against full recovery are very long. Even if this means he's awakening, there might still be brain damage."

"I'm here," Renie told her little brother firmly. "You can see me, can't you? You can hear me. It's time for you to come back to us, Stephen. We're all waiting for you." She straightened. "I have to tell my father."

"Not too much all at once," said Doctor Chandhar. "If your brother is truly waking up, he may be disoriented. Soft voices, careful movement."

"Right," Renie said. "Of course. I'm just . . . God, thank you, Doctor. Thank you!" She turned to !Xabbu, threw her arms around him. "His eyes are open! Really open!"

When the doctor had left to go call a specialist at one of the bigger hospitals, Renie sagged into the chair and wept. "Oh, please let it be true," she said. "Please, please." She leaned forward and reached between the bars at the side of the bed to hold Stephen's hand. !Xabbu came and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her neck as they both looked at the shrunken shape. Stephen's eyes had closed again, but this time in what Renie felt unprovably sure was something closer to normal sleep.

"I had a dream," he said. "That I was a honey-guide bird, and that I was leading Stephen to honey. We came a long way. I could hear him behind me."

"You led him back."

"Who knows? Perhaps I felt him coming up and it touched what I was dreaming. Or perhaps it was just chance. I am not so certain of anything as I was." He laughed. "Was I certain of things once?"

"I am certain of something," she said. "I love you. We belong together. With Stephen, too. And even my father." Now she was the one to laugh. "My ridiculous father-he wants to do better. Wants to start over with me. Isn't that the most ridiculous thing you've heard?"

"I think it is a fine thing."

"It is. A fine thing. I'm just laughing because I'm tired of crying." She reached up to touch !Xabbu's hand, then pulled it against her mouth so she could kiss it. "If everything is a story, do you think we could actually have a happy ending?"

"There is no telling." !Xabbu took a deep breath. "About stories, I mean. Where they come from. Where they go. But if we do not ask for too much, then yes-I think that in our story, happiness is most possible."

And as if he had heard !Xabbu and agreed, Stephen tightened his fingers on hers.

CHAPTER 52.

The Oracle Surprised.

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"Code Delphi. Start here.

It is daylight outside, but here in the deeps of my mountain I cannot see it. I have been back in my body for forty-eight hours. I have taken three baths, eaten two small meals, thrown them both up, spent six or seven of those forty-eight hours weeping with terrible, agonizing muscle cramps. My body is not entirely happy that I have returned to tenancy.

"I am weak as a mouse.

"Still, I have also-with Sellars' help-recovered my journal entries. I never thought to hear them again.

Unable to sleep, or even to rest comfortably, I have paced slowly back and forth across the floors of my subterranean home, listening to them.

"It is the voice of another woman. I know her, but I am not her. Already those hours, those mad worlds, seem like a dream. A terrible dream, yes, but a dream nevertheless.

"The one who spoke that journal, left that record of her thoughts and fears-that Martine was blind, but she could see things others could only imagine. The Martine who hears those entries now, who makes this new record, this Martine can see. But she is blind to all that the other Martine had and much of what she knew.

"I can see. I am more blind than ever. I . . . I cannot. . . ."

"Back now. I had to go for a little while and now I am lying down in the dark. It is still so hard to see things, so hard. My head aches with it, my new vision blurs. Someone, I cannot remember who, once told me, 'Every injury is a gift, every gift an injury.' Some cursed therapist or eye doctor, probably, but oh! It is so true, so true, now that I understand.

"The Other . . . he was the one who took my sight from me so long ago. I understand that now, understand the puzzled doctors, the unanswered questions beneath the diagnosis of hysterical blindness. I do not think he did it cruelly, or even accidentally, in the way Sellars believes he plunged children into comas, trying only to make them quiet and tractable. No, he was with me there in the darkness of the Pestalozzi Institute, with me in a way I could not understand at the time-in my ears, but also in my mind.

And when the lights came on, dazzling me, hurting me so that I shrieked and shrieked, he tried to do a kind thing. He made the light go away.

"Dying, he has given it back to me.

"He touched me at the end, at least I think he did. I felt him as I had not felt him since I was a child. For a moment, a brief instant, we were children again together, both afraid of the dark. He . . . touched me as he gave himself up. He touched me, then he was gone.

"I wish I had been with him at the end, riding down the night sky in flames like a bolt of divine lightning.

Perhaps then I would have gone too, dissolved in that great fiery tantrum. It would be a simple solution. I long for a simple solution, although I am far too cowardly to effect one myself.

"Listen-Martine is talking to herself again, as always. Alone. In darkness by choice, even though I can now see. Back in my world beneath the world.

"For the others, life goes on. Sellars and his friend Ramsey and Hideki Kunohara, already they are busily organizing how things will be. Renie and Florimel have loved ones to attend to-they do not need me now.

What use would I be, anyway? I thought once I could help Paul Jonas. I realized, even if he did not, that there was no life for him offline. I even daydreamed that if we survived we could make a sort of life together in the network-a virtual life, but a life. The witch and the wanderer. The patron spirits of the Otherland.

"Now everything has changed. Paul is dead and I have lost the thing that made me different, made me valuable. With my sight no longer suppressed, my brain struggles to make new connections, remake old ones. The Otherland information, which I could once read like a bloodhound sniffing the wind, now means nothing to me-less than nothing, because with my new eyes I can barely see what is apparent to others.

"I have listened to my journal. I will listen to it again, I suppose, even though I no longer know the woman who spoke those words. There is little else to do. Perhaps one day I will go out into the real world and explore it with my new eyes. Perhaps that is something to live for. Perhaps.