The case room had files on everyone still known to be missing.

The operations center monitored the sensorbots and the outpost teams that were excavating in terrible conditions.

After two hours, they had met everyone in the building. None reacted to Corrie-Lyn, and nobody tried to avoid her. Aaron quietly scanned all of them. No one was enriched with biononics.

"There are a few other people around," Purillar said. "You'll probably meet them tonight at the canteen. We tend to eat together."

"And if he's not there?" Aaron asked.

"Then I'm sorry, but there's not much I can do," the director said. He gave Corrie-Lyn an uncomfortable glance.

"Can we visit the outposts?" she asked.

"If he is here, he'll know about you by now. He would have used the beacon net to call in. I guess he doesn't want to get back with you."

"Seeing me in the flesh might be the one thing he can't resist," Corrie-Lyn said. "Please." Her outpouring of grief into the gaiafield was disturbing.

The director looked deeply unhappy. "If you want to venture outside, there's nothing I can do to stop you. Technically, this is still a free Commonwealth world. You can go wherever you want. I'd have to advise against it, though."

"Why?" Aaron asked.

"You've got a good ship, but even that would be hard-pressed to maneuver close to the ground. We can't use capsules here; the winds are too strong, and the atmospheric energy content too high. The two times we tried to use our ship for an emergency rescue nearly ended in disaster. We aborted both and wound up having to re-life the team members."

"My ship has an excellent force field."

"I'm sure it does. But expanding the force field doesn't help; you just give the wind a bigger surface area to push at. Down here it actually makes you more susceptible to the storm. The only stability you have in the air is what your drive units can provide."

Aaron did not like it. The Artful Dodger was just about the best protection possible under normal circumstances. He could not forget the way the regrav units had approached their limits while bringing them down to the base's force field dome, and that had been a big target. "How do your teams get about?" he asked.

"Ground crawlers. They weigh three tons apiece and move on tracks. They're not fast, but they are dependable."

"Can we borrow one? There must be some you're not using. You said there used to be a lot more personnel here at one time. Just an old one will do."

"Look. Really, he's not here."

"Whatever release document you want us to certify, we'll do it," Corrie-Lyn said. "Please. Give me this last chance."

"I've got over twenty teams out there. Half of them aren't even on this continent. We use the polar caps as a bridge to get to the other landmasses. It would take you a year to get around them all."

"At least we can make a start. If Yigo hears we're going around to everyone, he'll know he'll have to face me eventually. That might make him get in contact."

Purillar rubbed agitated fingers across his forehead. "It will have to be the mother of all legal release claims. I can't have any comeback against the project."

"I understand. And thank you."

After dinner Aaron and Corrie-Lyn made their way to the second block to inspect the ground crawler Purillar was reluctantly allowing them to use. Overhead the airborne lights were dimming to a gentle twilight. The effect was spoiled by constant flares of lightning outside the force field.

"He wasn't at the canteen, then?" Corrie-Lyn asked.

"No. I've scanned everyone in the base now. None of them have biononics, though quite a few have some interesting enrichments. It can't be as tame here as the good director claims."

"You always judge people, don't you?"

"Quite the opposite. I don't care what they do to each other in the privacy of their own cottage. I just need to make a threat assessment."

The malmetal door of garage eleven rolled apart to show them the ground crawler. It was a simple wedge shape of metal on four low caterpillar tracks. With the bodywork painted bright orange, its slit windows made empty black gashes in the sides. Force field projectors were lumpy bulbs on the upper edges, along with crablike maintenancebots that clung to the surface like marsupial babies. When Aaron queried the vehicle's net, he found it had a large self-repair function. A third of the cargo compartments were filled with spares.

"We should be all right in this," he told her. "The net will drive it. All we have to do is tell it where we want to go."

"And that is, exactly? You know, Purillar was right. If Inigo is here, then he knows I'm here looking for him. He would have contacted us. Me, at least."

"Would he?"

"Oh, don't," she said, her face furrowed in disgust. "Just don't."

"He obviously doesn't miss you as much as you miss him. He left, remember."

"Screw you!" she screamed.

"Don't hide from this. Not now. I need you functional."

"Functional." She sneered. "Well, I'm not. And if we find him, the first thing I'll tell him is not to help you, you psychofuck misfit."

"I never expected anything else from you."

She glowered but didn't walk away. Aaron smiled behind her back.

"If he's here, the Pilgrimage will be long gone before we find him," she said sulkily.

"Not quite. Remember, we have an advantage that lets us reduce the search field. We know he's Higher."

"How does that help?" There was disdain in her voice still, but it was warring with curiosity now.

"The field scan effect would be very useful out there, helping to track down bodies buried in the ground. I can use it to detect anomalies several hundred meters away. It's a little more difficult through a solid mass, but the pervasive function is still capable of reaching a reasonable distance."

"If he's here, he'll have a better success rate than the others," she said.

"There are other factors, such as getting the location of a lost person reasonably accurate, which all depends on how well an individual case has been researched. But yes, it's a reasonable assumption to say the team with the best success rate will be Inigo's."

"Is there one?"

"Yep. My u-shadow didn't even have to hack any files. They're all open to review. The team with the current highest recovery rate is working up at Olhava province. That's on this continent, nine hundred kilometers southwest. If we start first thing tomorrow morning, we'll be there in forty-eight hours."

Oscar Monroe had fallen in love with the house the first moment he saw it. It was a plain circle with a high glass wall separating floor and ceiling that stood five meters off the ground on a central pillar that contained a spiral staircase. Both the base and the roof were made of a smooth artificial rock similar to white granite, and it shone like mountaintop snow in Orakum's blue-tinged sunlight. The sprawling grounds outside resembled grand historical parkland that had fallen into disuse, with woolly grass overgrowing paths, lines of ornamental trees, and a couple of lakes with a little waterfall between them. There were even some brick Hellenic structures resting in deep nooks, swamped by moss and flowering creepers to add to the image of great age. That image was one that several dozen gardening bots worked hard at achieving.

He had lived there for nineteen years now. It was a wonderful home to return to every time his pilot shift was over, devoid of stress and the kind of bullshit politics that went in tandem with any corporate job. Oscar flew commercial starships for Orakum's thriving national spaceline, which had routes to over twenty External planets. Piloting was the only job he had sought since he had been re-lifed.

Waking up in the clinic had been one hell of a surprise. The last thing he remembered was crashing his hyperglider into an identical one piloted by Anna Kime. Saving the Commonwealth-good. Killing the wife of his best friend-not so hot. Without Anna to wreck their flight, Wilson Kime should have managed to fly unimpeded on a mission that was pivotal in the Starflyer War. Oscar could remember the instant before the collision, a moment of complete serenity. He had not expected anyone to recover his memorycell, not after his confession that in his youth he had been involved in an act of politically motivated terrorism that had killed four hundred eight people, a third of them without memorycells, mostly children too young for the inserts. The fact that he'd never intended it, that the deaths had been a mistake, that they had missed their actual target-that should not have counted in his favor. But it seemed as though his service to the Commonwealth and his ultimate sacrifice had meant something to the judge. He wanted to think Wilson maybe had paid for a decent lawyer. They had been good friends.

"I guess this means we won, then," were his first words. It even sounded like his own voice.

Above him, a youthful doctor's face smiled. "Welcome back, Mr. Yaohui," he said.

"Call me Oscar. I was that longer than I was ever Yaohui." That was his new identity when he went on the run for over forty years.

"As you wish."

Oscar managed to prop himself up on his elbows, a movement that surprised him. He had seen re-life clones several times: pitiful things with thin flesh stretched over bones and organs that had been force-grown to adolescence, unable to move for months while they painfully built up muscle mass. This body, though, seemed almost complete, which meant the technique had improved. There had been a lot of bodyloss in the war, tens of millions at least. He probably had been shoved down to the bottom of the list. "How long?"

"Please understand, er, Oscar; you were put on trial for your, uh, previous crime. It set quite a few legal precedents, given your, uh, state at the time."

"What trial? What do you mean, 'state'? I was dead."

"You suffered bodyloss. Your memorycell survived the crash intact; legally, that is recognized by the Commonwealth as being your true self. It was recovered by one Paula Myo."

"Uh..." Oscar suddenly was getting a very bad feeling about this. "Paula recovered me?"

"Yes. You and Anna Kime. She brought both of you back to Earth."

"But Anna was a Starflyer agent."

"Yes. Under the terms of the Doi amnesty, her Starflyer conditioning was edited out of her memories, and she was re-lifed as a normal human. Apparently she went on to have a long life and a successful marriage to Wilson Kime. She was certainly on the Discovery with him when it flew around the galaxy."

Oscar's shoulders were not so strong, after all; he sagged back onto the mattress. "How long?" he repeated; there was an urgency in his growl.

"You were found guilty at the trial. Your navy service record was a mitigating factor in sentencing, of course, but it couldn't compensate for the number of people who were killed at Abadan station. The judge gave you suspension. But as the Commonwealth clinics were unable to cope with the sheer quantity of, uh, noncriminals requiring re-life at the time, he allowed you to remain as a stored memory rather than be re-lifed before the sentence began."

"How long?" Oscar whispered.

"You were sentenced to one thousand one hundred years."

"Fuck me!"

He was all alone. That was probably a worse punishment than suspension. After all, he was not aware of time passing during that millennium; he could not reflect and repent his wrongdoing. But in this present, life was different. Everyone he had known had either died or migrated inward-ridiculous phrase, a politically correct way of saying they had committed euthanasia with a safety net. Maybe that was the point of suspension, after all. It certainly hurt.

So with no friends, no family, knowledge and skills that even museums would not be interested in, Oscar Monroe had to start afresh.

The navy, understandably, did not want him. He explained that he didn't expect to be part of the deterrence fleet and offered to retrain as a pilot for their exploration crews. They declined again.

Back before the Starflyer War he had worked in the exploration division at CST. Opening new planets, giving people a fresh start, was like a self-imposed penance except that he'd really enjoyed it. So he did train as a starship pilot. Fortunately, the modern continuous wormhole drive used principles and theories developed during his first life; he brought himself up to speed on its current technology applications quite rapidly.

Orakum SolarStar was the third company he had worked for since his re-life. It wasn't much different from any other External world starline. In fact, it was smaller than most. Orakum was on the edge of the Greater Commonwealth, settled for a mere two hundred years. But that location made it a chief candidate from which to mount new exploration flights, opening up yet more worlds. They were rare events. The navy had charted every star system directly outside the External worlds. Expansion to new worlds was also at a historical low. The boundary between Central and External worlds had not changed much for centuries. The old assumption that Higher culture always would be extending outward and that ordinary humans would be an expanding wave in front of it was proving to be a fallacy. With inward migration, the number of Higher humans remained about constant, and the External worlds provided just about every kind of society in terms of ethnicity, ideology, technology, and religion; should any citizen feel disenfranchised on their own planet, they just had to take a commercial flight to relocate. There was very little reason to found a new world these days.

In the nineteen years he had been on Orakum, SolarStar had launched only three planetary survey flights. Two of them had been closer than the distance the company's long-range commercial flights traveled, hardly breaking through to new frontiers. But he had seniority now. If another outward venture came along, he ought to be chosen. Like all pilots, he was an eternal optimist.

There was no hint of that elusive mission in the company offices when he filed his flight report. He'd just gotten back from a long haul flight to Troyan, seventy light-years away, a fifteen-hour trip with nothing to do other than talk to the smartcore and trawl the unisphere for anything interesting. One day soon, he was sure, people finally would chuck the notion that they had to have a fellow human in charge. He was sitting in the front of the starship only for public relations. In fact, there were probably people sitting in the passenger cabin who were better qualified than he if repairs were needed, not that they ever were.

But at least he got to visit new planets. The same ones-over and over again.

His regrav capsule sank out of the wispy clouds to curve sedately around the house and land on the grass beside the spinney of lofty rancata trees nearly twenty meters tall with reddish-brown whip leaves that swayed in the mild breeze. He climbed out and took a deep breath of the warm, plains-scented air. Out beyond the horizon, Orakum's untamed countryside was carpeted by spiky wildflowers that budded most of the year. Another reason to choose Orakum was its benign climate.

Jesaral was walking out from underneath the house. The splendidly handsome youth did not quite have a welcoming smile on his face but definitely looked relieved to see Oscar. He was wearing only a pair of knee-length white trousers, showing off a tanned body that always got Oscar's blood pumping a little faster. Jesaral was the youngest of his three life partners, barely twenty. That, Oscar suspected, probably qualified him as the worst Punk Skunk in the galaxy. A thousand-year-plus age gap: It was delightfully naughty.

The youth opened his arms wide and gave Oscar a big hug to accompany a long sultry kiss. Enthusiasm sprayed out heedlessly into the gaiafield.

"What's the matter?" Oscar asked.

"Them," Jesaral said, stabbing a thumb dismissively back at the house.

Oscar refused to sigh. He and his other partners, Dushiku and Anja, had been a stable trio for over a decade. They were both over a hundred and completely at ease with each other. At their age they understood perfectly the little accommodations necessary to make any relationship work. It was taking everyone longer than expected to accommodate and adjust to the newcomer, who did not have anything like their experience and sophistication. That was what made him so exciting in and out of bed.

"What have they done?"

"It's a surprise for you. And I know how you hate surprises."

"Not always," Oscar assured him. "Depends if it's good or bad. What's this one?"

"Oh, no. I'm just telling you there is a surprise for you. I don't want you to be upset that it's there, that's all."

Oscar used a macrocellular cluster to connect to the house's net. Whatever was waiting inside had been blocked skillfully. That would be Anja, who developed commercial neural routines. She was one of the best on the planet.

"You have the strangest logic I've ever known," Oscar said.

Jesaral smiled broadly. "Come on! I can't wait." He tugged at Oscar's arm, his outpouring of enthusiasm shining like sunrise.

They hurried to the base of the pillar and climbed the wide spiral staircase. It brought them out into a small vestibule planted with colorful bushes from several worlds, their flowers reaching for the open sky above. Ten doors opened off it. Jesaral led the way into the main lounge. In contrast to the exterior, the lounge was clad in caranwood, a local variety that was a rich gold-brown. The grain of the planks had been blended so skillfully, it looked as if they were inside a giant hollowed-out trunk. Its furniture was scarlet and gold, contributing to the sumptuous feel.

Dushiku was waiting in the middle of the big room, holding out a tumbler of malt whiskey with three ice cubes. He had a mischievous smile on his broad face. "Welcome home."

"Thanks." Oscar took the drink wearily.

"I see Jesaral's restraint is as strong as ever."

"I didn't tell him," Jesaral protested.

"So?" Oscar inquired.

Dushiku raised an eyebrow and half turned, indicating the balcony beyond the glass wall at the far end of the lounge. Anja was standing out there, leaning on the rail as she spoke about some aspect of the gardens below. Her laughter-filled voice was just audible through the open door. Oscar knew the tone well. She was playing the perfect hostess, marking her territory. Anja was astonishingly beautiful, a beauty that took a full third of her salary to maintain. Two visits to a clinic each year were considered an essential minimum, for beauty was fluid and fashions were treacherous ephemera even on Orakum. She'd returned three weeks earlier from her last treatments, showing off her reduced height and dark satin-texture skin. Her face was all gentle curves veiled by a mane of thick chestnut hair swishing down past her shoulders. Huge fawn-colored eyes peered innocently out of the shadows, projecting a girlish innocence complemented by a perpetual ingenue effervescence into the gaiafield. Her clothes were deceptively simple: a scarlet T-shirt and dark blue swirling skirt demonstrating her compact figure's expensive femininity.

Yet for once Anja wasn't impressing the person she was talking to. Oscar watched the other woman leaning on the rail. She was easily half a head shorter than Anja, wearing a stylish white dress with a slight surface shimmer and a rust-red short-sleeved jacket. She was not responding with the kind of attention Anja was used to extracting from everyone she came across. He could tell. After ten years, Anja's body language and the tone of her voice were an open book. And the more she failed to impress, the more huffy she got. He even allowed some of his amusement to trickle out into the gaiafield.

Anja must have sensed it. Her full lips hardened into a rebuke as Oscar walked toward the balcony. "Oscar, darling, I've been talking to an old friend of yours."

The other person on the balcony turned around, smiled shrewdly.

Oscar dropped the tumbler as his hands, along with every other part of his body, were shocked into loss of sensation. The crystal smashed, sending the ice cubes bouncing across the polished wood.

"Hello, Oscar," Paula Myo said.