"Would I have burdened you with a secret without warning you? The reason you have not heard of this before is that you are the first to have asked about this in many decades, the first since we began to be sure of it ourselves."

"Really?" Rhea asked. "That's hard to believe."

"Yes, isn't it? Rhea, answer me two questions. First, regarding the Fireflies, who made us: is there any characteristic commonly a.s.sociated with the term 'G.o.ds' that they lack?"

Rhea thought hard. Apparently omniscient, apparently omnipotent, apparently benevolent but absolutely unknowable . . . long gone and not expected back soon . . . ''No," she admitted. "Wait: two. They seem to have no desire at all to be worshipped . . . and they haven't instructed anyone to kill anyone else in their name."

"You antic.i.p.ate my second question: do you know of any religion on or off Terra which worships them?"

It startled her. "Why, no. There are cults who worshipyou . . . at least one large one. And up until forty-odd years ago there was a small one trying to kill you. But I don't know of any Firefly-worshippers, now that you mention it."

"Rhea, humanity can just barely live with the merememoryof the Fireflies. They are too vast to think about. From the human point of view, the best thing about them is that they were in the vicinity of Terra for a matter of hours, at the orbit of Saturn for a matter of months, and left promising my father not to return for a matter of centuries. We Stardancers are tolerated, for all our alienness, because we were once and still partially are human. Beneath my Symbiote are flesh and blood, born of woman. But of all the things we are asked-and we are asked many things by many humans-we are rarely asked about the Fireflies . . . and almost neveraboutotherStarminds, circling other stars. Your governments and philosophers were overjoyed to learn that the galactic surround is incomprehensible to us, and have been happy to tiptoe around the sleeping dragon ever since."

"If that's true, I'm pretty disgusted with my own species," Rhea said.

"You need not be. Think of it from a historical perspective. After two millions of years of slaughter, humanity hasjustlearned how to live with itself in peace, and has done so for a time measured in mere years. Can you reasonably expect it to be prepared to deal with a galaxyof unknown strangers? So quickly? I can tell you that wethe Starmind tremble at the thought of the Fireflies returning-and we could at least talk with them if they did. Why should you not 'pretend it never happened'? It seems to me a healthy psychological adjustment for your race at this time."

Rhea started to reply, but Duncan interrupted her again. "Excuse me, Buchi-I want to backtrack a second. Did you say when the Fireflies left, they made a promise to 'yourfather '?"

"Yes." That had caught Rhea's ear too. "Who is your father, Buchi?" she asked.

"Charlie Armstead."

Rhea's eyes widened. "And your mother?" she managed to ask.

"Norrey Drummond."

She heard a singing in her ears, like a Provincetown mosquito. The second and third Stardancers who had ever lived, founders of Stardancers Incorporated, as famous throughout even the human race as Shara Drummond herself! "My G.o.d! I never dreamed-"

"Me either," Duncan said in awed tones. "You never told me that, Booch."

"You never asked. What'syourfather's name, and why haven't you told me?"

"It's 'Walter.' But you're right. His name only comes up if someone findsmy name funny and I have to explain the story."

"I saw the humor in your name the moment you told it to me,"Buchi said."But I a.s.sumed you were tired of explaining its origin, so I did not comment."

"And bless you," he said. "It's just that I keep forgetting you folks don't use last names to indicate either paternalor maternal descent."

"There is no need to. Weknowour lineage, and each of the other's-it need not be encoded in our names. We choose names purely for their meanings."

The humming in Rhea's ears was beginning to diminish. "What does your name mean, Buchi Tenmo?"

Rhea asked.

"'Dancing Wisdom Celestial Net,'"the Stardancer answered.

"That's beautiful!" Duncan said . . . an instant before Rhea could. "I wish I had a name that good." He turned to Rhea. "Or like yours. 'Rhea'-'earth' or 'mother,' two of the most beautiful words there are.

And 'Paixao,' just as beautiful: 'pa.s.sion.'"

The mosquitos resumed their attack on Rhea's ears. She could feel the lobes turning red, offering blood.

"What doesyour name mean?" she asked quickly, aware of the significance of his having looked up the meaning of her name, but unwilling to acknowledge it.

He made a face. "I got the b.o.o.by-prize. 'Duncan' means 'dark-skinned warrior' "-Rhea found herself thinking that he was dark-skinned even by Provincetown standards, though he certainly wasn'tmuscled like a warrior . . . and forced herself to pay attention to what he was saying-"and 'Iowa' . . . well, there's the political district in the North American Federation, of course, the province or state or whatever . . . and at least one writer once confused that with Heaven. But actually it comes from 'Ioakim'-apparently an official at someplace called Ellis Island made Greatest Grandad change it. It's Russian Hebrew for 'G.o.d will establish' . . . which I for one find wishful thinking."

Rhea found that she wanted to change the subject from Duncan's name, from Duncan, and suddenlyremembered a question that had ghosted through her mind perhaps a dozen times over the course of her life. "The word 'G.o.d' makes me think of Fireflies again," she said. "Buchi, there's one more question I've always wondered about. Why did the Fireflies come when they did?"

"They came when it was time."

"Yes-but why was it time? The generally accepted answer is that they came 'at the dawn of s.p.a.ce travel.' But it was more like brunchtime. Humanity had been in s.p.a.ce-had been established in s.p.a.ce-for years when they showed up. We'd been to Luna decades before. Did it take them that long to notice? Or that long to arrive? If we could establish a time-duration for their journey, it might be a clue to where they came from."

"Their arrival was instantaneous,"Buchi said flatly.

"Then what triggered it? Do you know?"

"The signing of a contract. An agreement between Skyfac Incorporated and Shara Drummond."

Details from a history lesson came back dimly to Rhea. Sure enough, the way she remembered it, the Fireflies had first been sighted in the Solar System about two weeks before Shara Drummond left Earth to create the Stardance. They had flicked into existence around the orbits of Neptune and Pluto (at that time very close together), the outer limit of the System, and then moved in as far as the orbit of Saturn a couple of weeks later . . .

. . . the day Shara reached Skyfac! Where they stayed, until she was on the verge of being sent home again with her dream unfulfilled-then arrived just in time to force the performance of the Stardance . . .

"They came to us the moment that a human being came to s.p.a.ce for the express purpose of creatingart," Buchi said.

The words seemed to echo in Rhea's skull.

"How they knew of that, even the Starmind cannot yet imagine-but the fact is unmistakable."

She felt as if her head were cracking. The insight was too immense and powerful to deal with-yet so obvious she could hardly believe no one had worked it out ages ago.

"Thank you, Buchi," she said quickly. "You've been very gracious and helpful, we'll talk again another time, I hope you'll excuse me now but I need to get to my typewriter so I can-" She stopped babbling when she noticed that she had already switched off the window.

She turned from it, and there was Duncan.

At once he turned away, which relieved and annoyed her at the same time, and jaunted across the room . . . but in seconds he was back, bearing a strange and uncouth object, waving it at her as he braked himself to a halt at her side. "I promised I'd show you this, Rhea," he said.

It was his manner more than anything else which cued her. This had to be the new piece of vacuum sculpture he had mentioned. Resolving to find something polite to say about it,she began to scrutinize it for material to work with. A timeless time later, she began to experience perceptual distortion, and slowly figured out the cause.

Her eyes were beginning to grow tearbubbles. . . .

What it was made of she could not guess. The subtleties of its composition process were a closed book to her. But what it looked like, to her, more than anything else she could think of, was a piece of driftwood she had once brought home from the Provincetown sh.o.r.e. It had a similar shape, twisted on itself, asymmetrically beautiful, and it had the stark bleached color and polished appearance of very old driftwood. Washed up on an alien sh.o.r.e . . . like herself.

"It's very beautiful," she said, and heard a husky note in her voice. She searched for polite small talk.

"Does it . . . do your pieces have names?"

"It's called 'Driftgla.s.s,' " he said. His own voice was hoa.r.s.e.

She flinched slightly. "It's very lovely. It reminds me-"

"-of home, I know," he said quickly. "It's yours. I made it for you."

The mosquitos at her ears had brought in chainsaws. "I . . . I really have to go," she said. "I promised Rand-" She was already in motion, three of her four thrusters firing at max acceleration, past him before she could see his reaction.

"Sure, of course, good night," she heard him say behind her as the door got out of her way, and as she came out of her turn and raced down the corridor, she was for a time very proud of herself. Until she noticed that she had Driftgla.s.s in her hand . . .

And I didn't even thank him.

"You are going too fast," came a voice from all around her. "Please slow down." She flinched, and then realized it was only an AI traffic cop; she was exceeding the local jaunting speed limit. She decelerated at once.

"Thank you," she said. "That is very good advice."

14.

Rand had come to feel that his favorite part of the Shimizu was the corridors. They were designed to be visually appealing, padded enough for the most inexpert jaunter, and offered an ever-changing parade of rich and almost-rich people to gawk at. They were the place where one flew, where you could enjoy the sensation of a jaunt that was not over within seconds. Most important to him, they represented the blessed hiatus between the problems of the studio and the problems of the home. They were the equivalent of a solitary drive from office to home back on Terra: the place of unwinding from work, and of winding other mechanisms back up again.

But sooner or later the corridors always led him back to his door. He was coming to think of it as the Place of Sighs; whichever direction he was going, he always seemed to pause just outside the threshold and sigh, first. He did so now, decided he was ready to enter his home, and thumbed the doorlock.

Before he could enter, something burst from the room and enveloped him. Its first effect was as invigorating as a cool rain on a dry afternoon: his wife's laughter . . .

As a musician he found it one of the Universe's more glorious sounds; as a husband he found it exhilarating. In either capacity, he had been missing it lately. Like an addict following the smell of smoke, he followed it inside, seeking the source.

Rhea was in the living room, a little northeast of the window. She was sitting in the piece of furniture in which she usually did her writing-she moved around as she wrote, and hated the sound of Velcro separating as she did-but her seat belt was not fastened. And she had configured the furniture in the shape which its menu called "love-seat." In its other corner, also unstrapped, was a broadly grinning Duncan Iowa. He had just opened his mouth to say something, to make Rhea laugh again, when he caught sight of Rand in the doorway. "h.e.l.lo, Rand," he said.

Rhea turned, smiling. "Hi, darling," she said. "You must be exhausted-would you like a drink?"

He controlled a frown. "Why would I be exhausted?"

She looked surprised. "Well . . . the premiere is only a week away, right?"

"Sure-but my part was done yesterday. Jay and the dancers will be killing themselves from here on in, muscle-memorizing it, but I'm just there babysitting the software and looking for holes. I told you that last night."

"Oh. I forgot."

"Never mind." He had been hoping to hear some more of her laughter, and now she wasn't even smiling anymore.Nice work. "What were you guys laughing about? I could use a giggle."

She shook her head. "It'd take too long to explain it. Duncan just came up with a neat way to improve some comic business in a story I'm working on."

"Oh. I see." In ten years of marriage, Rhea had never permitted Rand-or anyone-to see or hear about a work-in-progress. It was one of her many writer's superst.i.tions. "A story is like a souffle," was the line he had heard her tell people a hundred times.

"Where's Colly?"

"Studying." She glanced at her watch. "No, by now the terminal has unlocked, so she's probably playing games or watching a movie."

He nodded. "As long as she's not on the phone again. That kid will talk away our air money one of these days."

"Oh, no, she can't be-I've got the White Rabbit set to warn me if she asks for a phone circuit."

"The which?" "The White Rabbit," Duncan said. "It's her new name for Harvey. He's still a rabbit, but he's shorter, and dressed like the Tenniel version. You know, the guy who ill.u.s.trated the original Alice books."

Rand was doubly irritated: that a strange man knew more about his daughter than he did, and that this young lout thought the best d.a.m.n shaper in human s.p.a.ce needed to be told who Tenniel was. But he still had faint hopes of hearing Rhea laugh again sometime tonight, so he pasted a big happy smile on his face.

"Ha ha," he said, as if reading the words from a page. "That's cute. Pocket watch and all, eh?"I know the f.u.c.king books, sonny. "We'd better be careful what she eats and drinks. If she starts to grow, we'll need a bigger suite."

He was rewarded with a grin from his wife. "I don't think there is such a thing. If she does, we'll have to put her in the pool: she can have it all to herself."

"I think Colly would really like that," Duncan said.

"Can you stay for dinner, Duncan?" Rand asked, in the tone of voice that both sounds perfectly sincere and conveys the subtext,a negative answer is expected.

The lad was not completely mannerless; he pushed himself away from the love-seat and looked around for anything he might have left. "No, thanks, I have to-"

A braying sound interrupted him, for all the world like a burro's mating call. All three froze.

"FLARE WARNING, CLa.s.s ONE," said a very loud voice. "THIS IS A SAFETY EMERGENCY.

ALL GUESTS MUST GO AS QUICKLYAND CALMLY AS POSSIBLE TO THE NEAREST.

RADIATION LOCKER, AND REMAIN THERE UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. THERE IS NO.

CAUSE FOR ALARM AS LONG AS YOU SEEK SHELTERNOW. IF YOU HAVE A SPECIAL.

PROBLEM, ONLY, PHONE 'FLARE EMERGENCY' AND HELP WILL ARRIVE AT ONCE.

WAVE-FRONT X-RAYS EXPECTED IN NINE MINUTES, TWENTY SECONDS. CLa.s.s ONE.

FLARE WARNING-" It began to repeat.

"Volume mute!" Rand barked, and the voice went away. "Duncan, you're staying."

"I shouldn't," he said. "I've got my own bolt hole, two minutes away-that's seven minutes cushion."

"Don't be silly," Rhea said. "There's plenty of room in our locker, I've seen it. This suite was built for up to six." Still Duncan looked hesitant. "For heaven's sake, we're going to be in there with Colly for what, three hours to three days? With no phone, no TV, completely cut off from the Net? Weneed you, Duncan."

He grinned. "That logic I understand."

"We're wasting time," Rand snapped, and led the stampede.

By thoughtful design, access to the radiation locker was through Colly's room. They expected to find her in a panic-but as they cleared the door they found her oblivious, wearing earphones and fixated on a screen, talking on the phone with a hush-filter. She flinched sharply when she became aware of them; on Earth she would have jumped a foot in the air. In free-fall the same reflex causes one to tumble erratically; she flailed like an octopus to regain her balance."It was just for a minute," she cried."I was just gonna hang up, really!" Rand got a grip on an ankle as it went past, swarmed up her and yanked the earphones out. "Quiet, Colly!" he said, trying to control his voice carefully so as to command instant attention without scaring her.