"Now you're a medical expert?"

"I don't need to be."

He brushed her hair back from her face. "If you won't get it for me, I'll go myself."

"Vyrl, please. It's destroying you."

"How the h.e.l.l would you know?"

"Cursing at me won't change the truth."

"It's your truth. Not mine."

"You almost died today. Because of the rum."

It was a moment before he spoke again. When he did, he surprised her. "I never used to drink. I don't like the taste of it."

"Not even now?"

"Not even now."

"Then don't drink it."

His anger flared. "I can stop if I want."

"Then why don't you?"

"I don't want to."

"So why do you care that you never used to drink?"

"I don't care."

"Then why bring it up?"

"d.a.m.n it, Kamoj, let it go."

Her voice caught. "I wish I could make your night-demons go away. But I can't. Neither can the rum." A tear ran down her face. "I don't want you to send me away. But I can't do what you want."

He watched her, his face unreadable. "Don't sound like this."

"Like this?"

"Like your heart is breaking."

"Just one night. Stay away from it for one night."

He didn't answer, just pulled her closer until her head lay against his shoulder. She wasn't sure if he offered affection or couldn't bear to look at her. For a long time they held each other, he sitting, she standing. Gradually she began to hope it would happen, that tonight he would turn from his blue bottle.

He drew back to look at her. "Very well."

Her hope surged. "Yes?"

"I'll send one of my bodyguards for it."

"No."

"If you really wanted to be a good wife, you would help me."

"I won't help you kill yourself." She squeezed his hands. "You've already made it more than halfway through the night. You only have a few more hours."

His face was set. "If you won't help, I don't want you here."

She felt as if he had slapped her. But she forced out the words. "All right." She let go of him. "I will have my things sent back to Argali. I can leave in the morning."

A muscle in his cheek twitched. Then he turned and stabbed his finger at a jade leaf on the nightstand. Defeat washed over Kamoj, made all the worse by the way her hope had built.

A voice came into the air. "Doctor Pacal here."

Kamoj froze, watching Vyrl. He had an odd startled look, as if he had surprised himself.

After several moments Dazza said, "Vyrl? Is that you?"

"Yes. Never mind. I'm sorry I bothered you."

"Are you all right? Do you have any pain?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Vyrl"

"I'm fine."

"I can come up."

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Good-night."

"Call me if you need anything."

"I will."

After a while Vyrl said, "Are you still there?"

"Yes," Dazza said.

"I don't . . . I mean, I'm fine. But I" He fell silent. Kamoj wondered if Dazza was waiting with the same held breath as she, afraid to speak for fear of saying the wrong thing.

Finally he said, "You can treat withdrawal symptoms from alcohol, can't you?"

Dazza spoke quietly. "Yes. I can help."

"Can you come up here?"

In an infinitely gentle voice she said, "I'm on my way."

Vyrl touched the leaf again. Then he sat staring at the wall. Finally he turned to Kamoj. "Just for the rest of tonight."

Tears pooled in her eyes. "Yes. Tonight." In the morning they would deal with tomorrow, and when the time came, with the day after that, one day at a time.

Dragon's Breath Rearrangement Collision: Ionization and Recapture The buzz of a bottle-beetle blended with forest sounds, quetzals calling and wind blowing. The translucent radiance of dawn filled the room. Kamoj's mind gradually sorted out what had awoken her. Someone had said her name.

Turning her head, she saw Vyrl sitting on the bed, dressed in a work shirt and old pants, his hair mussed as if he had been out in the wind.

He leaned over and kissed her. "You're all rumpled and warm under there."

She smiled drowsily. "How long have you been up?"

"A few hours. I had trouble sleeping."

"Did Dazza's medicine help?"

He nodded, still leaning over her, his hands on either side of her shoulders. "I feel like a stardock crane ran over my head, though."

Kamoj touched his cheek. It was the only way she knew to tell him how much it meant to her to see him sober this morning. She feared if she spoke of it, she would disrupt his precarious equilibrium. So instead she said, "What have you been doing?"

"I was down in the old throne room."

"Throne room?"

"Downstairs," Vyrl said. "The hall on the other end of the palace. We haven't finished restoring it yet."

It sounded like he meant the Hall of Audiences. "What are you going to do with it?"

He started to answer, then stopped. Sitting up straight, he said, "I'm not sure.

I was deciding how to resurface the floor."

"The floor?" Kamoj wondered what he was trying to tell her. She tried to hold back her yawn, but it came anyway. It had taken her hours to doze off again last night, and then her fitful dreams had kept her restless.

"Go on and sleep," Vyrl murmured. "It's barely sunrise. I have to talk to Drake anyway."

Her eyelids drooped. "Drake?"

"Drake Brockson. He's the chief anthropologist on the Ascendant. I asked him to put together a summary of his studies on this world."

"What does he say?"

Vyrl hesitated. "He thinks the original population here was breeding stock."

"You mean our animals?" She pulled the covers up around her neck, content in their warmth. "Bi-hawks have two stomachs."

"The animals weren't the primary subjects."

"What was?"

"People."

"Bi-people," she mumbled. "Some people have double stomachs, you know.

They can go longer without eating."

Vyrl didn't answer right away, and she had just about fallen asleep when he finally spoke. "Yes. That was the intent."

"Intent?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Hmmmm . . ." Just having Vyrl nearby soothed her. Perhaps Dazza was right, that she and Vyrl had some invisible effect on each other. "Yes . . ."

He spoke in an awkward tone. "Drake thinks your ancestors were engineered to be the ideal slaves."

What? She opened her eyes. "How can he say such a thing?"

"Everything points to it."

"Points how?"

He spoke quietly. "Your people's docility, your drive to please authority, your reluctance to engage in battle or rebellion, your physical beauty and heightened s.e.xual response, your ability to work for long hours in excruciating conditions of climate, atmosphere, poverty, and lack of foodit all fits the models."

She pushed up on her elbow. "It can't be."

"Even your names support it."

"Our names?"

He nodded. "Each line has its talent. Ironbridge produces electrical wizards, like the Ohmstons. Argali has Sunsmiths. By building your expertise into the brain, your creators avoided having to educate you. In fact, they probably designed you to have trouble learning anything else. Smart slaves are dangerous."

It made more sense than Kamoj wanted to admit. Uneasy now, she asked, "And my name? Resonance?" When he hesitated, she said, "I want to know."

Vyrl touched the jeweled chain around her neck. "Human nature prefers freedom. In slaves, that urge must be constrained. Drake believes the Argali line was an experiment designed to create humans less resistant to bondage.