"Later, honey. Let's wait for your parents, okay? We've got three days, you know." "Oh . . . okay." Suddenly she was horror-struck. "Uncle Jay-what about the show?"

He grinned. "The concert, you mean. Colly, do schoolkids back on Earth still get 'snow days'?"

She blinked. "Oh. No-but Mommy told me about them. You mean like 'sunspot days,' when the school system crashes, and you don't have to study."

"That's right. Well, your Dad and I, and the whole company, are about to have three 'sunspot days' in a row. And believe me, we can all use the rest."

"Oh. Hey, well that's great, then. Boy, it's weird to be in here without any water . . ."

"That's right, I hear this is your favorite place, isn't it?" Jay said absently. His watch said there were a little less than five minutes left before the doors would seal; he was scanning all the door areas at once for Rand and Rhea. At this point the majority of the new arrivals were being dragged by no-nonsense employees; Jay tried to mentally subtract them from the view, and so he didn't see Colly's parents right away.

Then he did. They and Duncan were just being released by the trio of chasers who had hauled them in.

They must have come peaceably, for they were all still conscious-but as Jay opened his mouth to call Colly's attention to their arrival, he noted their respective body languages, integrated them, and closed his mouth again. Something was wrong. . . .

He squinted. Duncan seemed to be saying something-whether to Rand or Rhea or both was unclear.

Whatever it was required gestures to get across. Rand's reply was so emphatic that even at that distance Jay could hear it, though not what was being said, amid the general din. Rhea and Duncan both answered at once and at length. This time Rand's reply was inaudible. A few seconds' pause . . . and Duncan spun around and started to jaunt away. Rand thrusted after him, overtook him, grappled with him, both their voices were heard shouting, Rhea chased them doing some shouting of her own- For some reason nine groundhogs out of ten who attempt to fight in s.p.a.ce make the same mistake: intuiting that a straight punch will push them away from their opponent, they instinctively go for an uppercut. But this only sends them slidingpast him, toward his feet. s.p.a.cers know this, and are generally ready to meet the descending chin with an upthrust knee. Jay saw his brother begin an uppercut, and winced in antic.i.p.ation. Rand ma.s.sed much more than Jay-a terribledisadvantage under these conditions.

-but for some reason Duncan did not make the obvious counter. He took the punch, failed to lift his knee, and he and Rand went past each other like tectonic plates. That was all they had time for; the three chasers who'd fetched them here had already left in search of remaining stragglers, so it was a couple of the ear-b.u.t.ton vendors who handled the job of sedating Rand and Duncan and, since she was still shouting, Rhea. In seconds, all three were at peace or a convincing imitation. The whole brief incident had gone largely unnoticed in all the general confusion.

"Do you see Mom and Dad anywhere, Uncle Jay?" Colly asked.

"No, honey," he said gently. "But I'm sure they're just fine. They've probably volunteered to help out with crowd control, since they know you're with me."

"Oh, I'll bet you're right," she said. "Daddy's real good at getting people to stay calm in a 'mergency." "Yeah." He looked around and located an employee without arm- and leg-bands, a roving problem-solver, and waved her over. "How about this, pumpkin? How about if I stay here and wait up for them, and you go with this nice lady here, Xi-hi, Xi!-and meet some of those kids you saw? Xi, this is Colly Porter."

"Hi, Colly."

"Hi, Xi. Hey-get it? 'High-gee,' like the s.p.a.ce Commando's ship."

"That's a good one," Xi said patiently.

"Wow, suppose your parents really liked the Oz books, and they picked 'Wiz' for your last name? I have this friend named Duncan Iowa, because his parents-" They drifted away together; Colly forgot to say goodbye to Jay.

As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Jay made a beeline for the area where Rand, Rhea and Duncan had been towed and secured. A banded employee whose name Jay couldn't recall was trying to ID them so that they could be processed. "Those two are mine," he said. "Family."

"Fine by me, Sasaki-sama," she said respectfully. "Wrap 'em up and take 'em home. What about the Orientator?"

After a split-second's hesitation, Jay said, "Process him."

"You got it." Duncan would regain consciousness in the presence of a proctor, receive a ringing lecture-and a large black mark would be entered on his record. It might even be a firing offense, if the cause of the fight had been what Jay suspected it was. His first instinct had been to cover for Duncan . . .

but if it turned out that his brother had not had some good reason to take a poke at the boy, the record could always be jiggered retroactively.

"How're you fixed for antidote?" he asked the woman.

She started to say something, then shrugged and tossed him a pair of infusers from her pouch.

He towed the sleeping Rhea and Rand slowly to the "P" section-an awkward task, especially in a crowd, but not difficult for a dancer. On the way he thought things through; when he got there he left Rhea in the care of the banded employee in charge, told him to let her sleep for now. Then he located a glowing letter whose adherents chanced to include few children and none near Colly's age, and towed Rand there. He Velcroed his brother to a support, bared his arm, triggered the infuser, and backed off a few meters.

Rand woke as quickly and seamlessly as he had fallen asleep-and looked around wildly for his opponent and prepared another punch. In moments the world snapped back into focus for him. He groaned; his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Then he drew in breath for what was going to be a great bellow of either anger or grief-but by then Jay was close again, and clapped a hand over his brother's mouth.

"Easy," he murmured. "You don't want to get dosed twice. You might-" Some mental censor made him decide not to name the most common consequence of a double-sedation: temporary impotence.

"-regret it. Calm down . . . and tell me what happened." He took his hand away. Again Rand slumped, this time all the way into free-fall crouch, a position halfway to fetal. He said nothing for long moments.

Jay already knew the general shape of what Rand was probably going to say, but it was important that Rand say it. "Well?"

His brother looked up with the expression of a man who has just lost a limb, and is trying to integrate the intellectual knowledge with his emotions. "When I got there . . . they were together."

Jay thought of six or seven things to say, hundreds of words. "So?" was the one he chose.

Rand struggled to keep his voice down. "Come on, Jay, do I have to show you a graphic?" he said in strangled tones.

Jay frowned. "You caught them in the act? They ignored a Cla.s.s Three alert? I don't believe it!"Even if it really happened, he thought,there simply hadto be time for them to at least throw a G.o.ddam robe on-they're dressed now, for Christ's sake!-and if they did, there's no way to proveanything-this can still be fixed- "They were fully dressed. It took me nearly two full minutes to get there. But Jesus, Jay-I've got a f.u.c.king nose,okay? I've got eyes. It happened. Something happened."

"-and you don't know just what. Do you?" When there was no answer he rushed on. "It could have been a pa.s.sing thought, a fleeting temptation, and some very bad timing, okay? It happened to me once: I was flirting, like you do, you know . . . and just as I started to realize it was getting to be more than just flirting, just as I was deciding to back off, his wife came in and caught us both with b.o.n.e.rs. It didn't mean a thing; it blew over. There's no way to be sure this meant anything. Give her a chance to explain, when she's over the embarra.s.sment."

Rand looked away. "I will." He looked back again. "But Jay, I've lived with her for ten years. I've seen her look embarra.s.sed. I've even seen her look guilty. But this is the first time I'veever seen her look ashamed. I already know all I want to know. And I thank you for your counsel and support, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave me the f.u.c.k alone now, so I don't have a fight with you, okay?

Wait-where's Colly?"

"She's covered," Jay said. "Take it off your mind. I'll go get her as soon as I wake Rhea up. You sure you'll be okay here?"

"No, but moving won't help. Go."

"Listen to this when you're ready," Jay said, handing Rand his own ear-b.u.t.ton. "It'll tell you the procedures." And he left his brother alone to mourn.

As Jay was returning to "P" section, he found himself humming a tune in a minor key, and suddenly recognized it as a nearly century-old Stevie Wonder song called "Blame It on the Sun." The irony was too unsubtle for his conscious mind; he stopped humming. He knew he should be sad for his brother, he intended to be as soon as he could, but for now he was numb. Too much going on; too much still to do; an eight-year-old still his nominal responsibility-to whom this all must somehow be explained before much longer. Then, three days or more locked in a can with the problem. His head began to throb. Rhea came out of it as quickly as Rand had-and began blushing the moment she focused on Jay's face.

"What happened?" he asked. "No, forget that:how much did he see? How much can he prove?"

Her eyes widened as she took his meaning. "Oh, Jay-"

He turned away. "Dammit, Rhea . . . dammit to h.e.l.l . . .f.u.c.k it to h.e.l.l-"

"Where's Colly?"

"Having a jolly time in the company of a very nice lady, meeting other kids," he said bitterly. "I'd say we have at least another ten minutes before you're going to have to explain to her why Mommy and Daddy aren't talking to each other. And why Uncle Duncan has a bruise on his chin. But you're a writer: I'm sure you can improvise something."

"She doesn't call him 'Uncle Duncan,"' she said absurdly. And then: "Oh . . . my . . . G.o.d . . ."

"MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE," said a loud and omnipresent voice. It repeated twice, as the hubbub dwindled, then went on, "WE ARE VERY PLEASED TO REPORT THAT THE CLa.s.s THREE FLARE ALERT WAS A FALSE ALARM-REPEAT, THE ALERT WAS A.

FALSE ALARM." The hubbub became an uproar; the voice got louder to compensate. "THE EMERGENCY IS OVER. TO MINIMIZE CONFUSION, PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR.

STATEROOMS BY LETTER-GROUPS, BEGINNING WITH THOSE WHOSE LAST NAMES.

BEGIN WITH 'A' AND THEIR FAMILIES. PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO LEAVE UNTIL ALL.

THOSE IN THE PRECEDING LETTER-GROUP ARE GONE. THE SHIMIZU APOLOGIZES.

FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE, AND THANKS YOU ALL FOR YOUR COOPERATION.

DURING THE EMERGENCY-".

"Jesus Christ-" Jay began.

"Take her home for me, Jay," Rhea blurted, and jetted away before he could object. She mingled with the crowd whose last names began with "A," and was lost from sight. Jay stared after her, feeling his headache gather force.

Within moments, Colly appeared, trailing a frantic Xi. "Did they show up yet, Uncle Jay?"

He started to say no automatically. But then he had the thought that in the near future, a lot of people were going to be lying to this child, and he didn't want to be one of them anymore. "I caught a glimpse of them," he said, then skated quickly off the thin ice. "But we'll never find them in this madhouse now.

That's okay; I'm sure we'll meet them back at your suite"-whoops, hitting thin ice again-"eventually.

Say, did you meet any interesting kids?"

"Wow, yeah-I met a boy my own age, named Waldo, and he's a s.p.a.cer, like me:he's gonna be here forever too! I never saw him around before because he's got something wrong with his muscles and he can't go out and play-but who cares? I can go tohis house and we can be friendsforever ! I invited him to my birthday party-"

Don't count on it, pumpkin,Jay thought, but all he said was, "He sounds nice."

A lot of people's plans were going to be changing soon.

* * *He had already left the pool with the rest of theS 's, and was in the corridors with Colly, before it sank in: Kinergy was going to go on at the appointed time after all. . . .

In common with most of the ch.o.r.eographers who had ever lived, Jay had, two days before curtain, no idea whether he was on the verge of artistic triumph or disaster. It was no longer possible for him to evaluate the work, either objectively or subjectively. He was prepared to take the most ignorant amateur criticism to heart, or discount the most informed professional praise. The final, and only important, verdict would come two nights from now, in the form of applause or its embarra.s.sing absence or-G.o.d forbid!-active booing. He burned to know what that verdict would be . . . and feared to find out. The only thing he knew for certain was that he could definitely have used another week to polish the d.a.m.ned thing. That was why he had welcomed the flare emergency.

And all the f.u.c.king emergency had accomplished was to cost him his tech rehearsal-and to shatter his brother's world.

Well, perhaps there was a relatively bright side to all this-at least from Jay's point of view. Presumably Rhea would go back dirtside now-that might even be why she had done it. That would leave Rand no real choice but to stay here in s.p.a.ce! The only place waiting for him on Terra was Provincetown, Rhea's town. He'd be miserable for a while, sure . . . but as Sam Spade had once said, that would pa.s.s. He'd heal. A season of his own original work, some media ma.s.sage courtesy of Ev Martin, a few standingO's .

Oh, s.h.i.t! Would Rand be in any shape to come to the premiere?

Jay a.s.sumed his brother would not make the remaining two days of rehearsals-and that would hurt, but Andrew could probably handle things alone. Jay also knew he would miss Rand's companionship, his services as a sounding-board, the last-minute inspirations he might have contributed-and that wasn't fatal either.

But Kate Tokugawa would be livid if Rand did not appear at the premiere. His presence wasrequired.

All the media would be there. It was a matter of face. Hers, and the Board's.

In his heart, Jay knew face was as low in Rand's present scale of values as it was high in Kate's. Oh, this was more than a tragedy: it had all the makings of a catastrophe. . . .

"I wish that dumb old flare wasn't a false alarm, Uncle Jay," Colly said. "That was starting to be fun."

Guilt tore at his heart. He thoughthe had problems? "Me too, honey," he said softly, tightening his grip on her small hand. "Me too."

What the h.e.l.l am I going to do with her?

"Sergei?" he tried.

Personal AIs were back on-line. "Yes, Jay?" Diaghilev said.

"Excuse me, Colly, I have to check on something with Andrew. Sergei, hush-field, please." The sounds of the crowd around him went away. "Phone Rand."

"Not accepting calls, Jay." "G.o.d dammit, emergency override 'P-Town'!"

Rhea answered."What?"

"What do I do with your daughter?" Jay asked brutally.

There was a short silence. "Can . . . can you take her? For a while, anyway?"

"What do I tell her?"

He heard Rand say something angry in the background. " . . . something good, okay?" she said. "Please, brother? I'll call you when . . . when we're ready for her."

It was the word "brother" that made up his mind. Rhea had never called him that before. She was begging. "Okay." He was prepared to end the conversation, but could not decide how. Did he say "Good luck"? Instead he said, "I'll wait for your call. Off."

Something good, okay?

"Colly, you're coming home with me. The cronkites want to interview your mom and dad about the flare-you know, celebrity on the spot stuff."

It was weak; no one had interviewed them after the previous, genuine emergency. But Colly bought it.

"Neat! Maybe we can watch it at your house-they'll probably rush it onto the Net-"

Jay winced. "Well, maybe not right away. It'll take time to edit, you know-"

"Phone, Jay," Diaghilev said. "Two calls waiting: Andrew and Francine."

Jay wished someone would solve brain-cloning. "Colly, excuse me; Sergei, give me both of them; Andrew, Francine, I can't talk for long right now, but . . ." His mind raced. " . . . uh, today's a wrap.

We'll do the tech rehearsal tomorrow at noon; first dress after supper; final run-through will have to be the afternoon of the performance."

"Are you sure, Boss?" Francine asked. "We could do the tech tonight-cancel the pony show."

"No," Jay said. "After something like this, the cabaret show isessential. I won't be there, but trust me: you'll never have a better house. They'll cheer themselves hoa.r.s.e, and tip like Shriners. Everybody needs to celebrate still being alive"-well, almost everybody . . . -"and not being trapped in a swimming pool for three days. I've got to go; I'll leave my notes from this afternoon with your AIs later and talk with you tomorrow. Off."

"Calls waiting, Jay: Katherine Tokugawa, Evelyn Martin, Eva Hoffman . . . and another just coming in, Duncan Iowa."

"Suffering Jesus! Flush Iowa and Martin, tell Eva I'll call her back, refuse all further calls, and give me Kate. Greetings, Tokugawa-sama-some excitement, eh? I know why you're calling, and don't worry: we'll be ready when the bell rings-"

By the time he had given his boss every rea.s.surance he could counterfeit and gotten her off the phone,he was back home. Once inside, he turned Colly over to the White Rabbit; it checked, learned that Room Service was not yet back on-line, and led her off to Jay's personal pantry, glancing irritably at its pocket watch, for the stiff peanut-b.u.t.ter and jelly it knew she required. Jay took a deep breath- -let it out; took another- -thought longingly of a drink, and retracted all the furniture in his living room, and began to dance. And kept on dancing, ricocheting around the room in great energy-wasting leaps and landings and spins and recoveries, until his body was as exhausted as his brain. He poured all his fear and confusion and guilt and anger into the dance . . . his irritation with his beloved brother, for picking now to be betrayed . . . his sneaking sympathy for the b.i.t.c.h who had picked now to put the horns on his brother . . . his heartbreak for the small child who was about to become a helpless leaf in a storm she would not understand for years . . .

When he finally stopped, Colly's applause startled him. He had not been aware of her watching, hadn't thought to censor what his body was saying. But she was not disturbed by his dance, only impressed; her applause was sincere. She was oblivious to her doom.