"Holy shit!"

"Long time, no see."

Oscar couldn't even grunt.

Alarm was starting to seep into the gaiafield as his life partners took in the tableau.

"You two..." Jesaral said, his finger rising to point accusingly at Paula. "I thought-"

"It's all right," Oscar managed to croak.

"What is this?" Jesaral said accusingly to Paula. "You said you were friends."

"We used to be. A long time ago."

"That old excuse. Again! Everything happened before I was born."

"Everything did," Oscar said. His u-shadow summoned a maidbot to clean up the broken tumbler. Only then did he finally manage a weak smile. "How are you doing, Paula?"

"Same as usual."

"Yeah." She had not changed, not physically. Nothing was different, except maybe her straight dark hair was a couple of centimeters longer. Unlike him, who had been given a great new Advancer body based on his own DNA and then enriched with all the macrocellular clusters and stronger bones, more efficient organs, and greater longevity. After eighty-six years, he still wasn't anywhere near needing rejuvenation, although his face was starting to show signs of his newly lived years, as Anja never tired of pointing out. But her...He guessed she must be Higher now. Somehow he could not see her visiting clinics for vanity's sake.

"You do know each other, then?" Dushiku asked uncertainly.

"Yes." Oscar cleared his throat. "Could you give us a moment, please."

His life partners exchanged troubled glances, flooding the gaiafield with concern and considerable irritation. "We'll be outside," Anja said, patting his arm as she went past. "Just yell."

The maidbot waddled into the lounge and started sucking up the malt. Oscar backed up to a settee and sat down hard. The numbness was dissipating, replaced by a growing anger. He glared at Paula. "One thousand one hundred years. Thanks for that."

"I recovered your memorycell."

"You put it on trial!"

"You're as alive now as the day you flew the hyperglider. That's more than can be said for your victims at Abadan."

"Jesus fucking wept! Will you stop persecuting me."

"I can't make you feel guilty. You do that to yourself."

"Yeah, yeah." He sank deeper into the cushioning. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"You live well." She turned her head, studying the lounge. "Anja was quite proud of the house. I can see why."

"My CST Retirement and Rejuve pension fund was paid over into a trust the day the trial ended, courtesy of Wilson. You want to know what one thousand one hundred years' interest looks like? You're standing in it. Bloody inflation! I should have been able to buy a planet."

"And your life partners; they're good people. Jesaral is rather young, isn't he?"

"Yeah," Oscar growled at her. "He's also got a very big cock."

Paula smiled. "Did you ever get in touch with Wilson when you were re-lifed?"

"He left a message. So did Anna. They both downloaded into ANA long ago, which frankly I don't admire. Look, this is bullshit; what the fuck do you want?"

"I need you to do a job for me."

Oscar would not have believed it possible; he was in the same room as Paula Myo and laughing at her. "Oh, boy, did you ever lose it over the centuries. You want me to do a job for you? You've got to be fucking joking."

Paula's answering smile veered toward the immoral. "Exactly."

Oscar's humor vanished abruptly, leaving him with a very queasy sensation heating his stomach. "Oh, shit; you're not joking."

"Of course not. It's a perfect arrangement. Who would ever suspect such a thing?"

"No. No chance. Go and blackmail someone else. I'd rather go back into suspension."

"Come on, Oscar; you're not Jesaral, so stop acting like him. I'm not here to threaten; I'm here to ask because I know you and I know what you want."

"You do not know me, lady!"

Paula leaned in toward him, her eyes shining. "Oh, yes, I do, Oscar. We spent the last few days of your life together. I nearly died, and you did. Don't tell me we don't understand each other. You martyred yourself so that the human race could survive. You are an honorable man, Oscar. Screwed up by guilt but honorable."

Oscar was doing his best not to be intimidated by her. "That was a mad situation. It won't ever happen again."

"Oh, really? Who do you think I work for these days?"

"I'll take a wild guess and say ANA. You never change."

"You're right about ANA but wrong about change. I am different."

"Yeah, it looks it. The same job for thirteen hundred years. I barely recognized you. Paula, you can't change; that is you."

"Far Away altered me. It nearly killed me, but I understood I had to adapt. So I resequenced my DNA to edit out the compulsive behavior trait."

"It shows."

"Self-determination can overcome artificial nature."

"I'm sure the old nature versus nurture philosophers will be delighted to hear it. Why don't you call them and let them know. Oh, yes, right. They're all dead for two thousand years."

"You're trying to avoid answering me, trying to justify your fright to yourself."

"Wrong, lady. Utterly, totally wrong. The answer is no. No, I will not help you. Would you like that clarified? No."

"How bad do you think it is, that I'm here to ask you?"

"Don't care. I won't help you."

"It's the Pilgrimage. Oscar, I'm worried about it. Really worried."

He stared up at her, not sure if he could take many more shocks. "Look, I've followed the story closely enough. Who hasn't? The navy will stop the Ocisen Empire dead in its tracks. ANA will halt the Pilgrimage ships. It's not stupid. The Void will eat up half the galaxy if Inigo's dumbass sheep ever get inside."

"And you think that's all there is to it? Oscar, you and I were there with Nigel before we traveled to Far Away. You know how complex that situation was, how many factors were in play. Well, this is worse, a lot worse. The Void is only a peripheral event, a convenient gadfly; this is the factions finally marching out to fight. This is a battle for the destiny of humanity. Our soul will be decided by the outcome."

"I can't help," he said, mortified by the way his voice was nearly a wail. "I'm a pilot, for Christ's sake."

"Oh, Oscar." Her voice was rich with sympathy. She knelt down in front of him and grasped his hands. Her fingers were warm to the touch. "Enough humility. It's your character I desperately need help from. I know that once you agree, I don't have to worry about the problem anymore. You won't quit on me, and that's what's important."

"This is a nostalgia trip for you. I'm just a pilot."

"You were just a navy captain, but you saved us from the Starflyer. I'm going to tell you what I'm asking you to do. And then I'm going to tell you why you'll do it. If you want to hate me for making you face reality, then that's fine by me, too."

He shook his hands loose from her grip. "Say your piece, then go."

"The factions know me; they watch me as I watch their agents. So I can't have them knowing that I am desperate to locate the Second Dreamer."

Oscar laughed. It trailed off into a near whimper. "Find the Second Dreamer? Me?"

"Yes. And you know why that'll work?"

"Because no one will be expecting it." He made it sound like a school kid reciting a useless fact.

"Correct. And do you know why you'll do it for me? And please don't shoot the messenger."

He braced himself. Surely there was nothing else in his life she could threaten him with. Did I erase a memory? My God, was there another Abadan? "What?"

"Because you're bored shitless with this dreary monotonous life you sleepwalk through."

Oscar opened his mouth to shout at her, tell her that she'd finally flipped, that she was so fantastically wrong, that his life was rich, that he had people who loved him, that every day was a joy, that he never wanted to go back to the crazy days of the Starflyer War, that he'd already endured all the terror and wild exhilaration one life could possibly contain, that such things were best left to the new generation. But for some reason his head had fallen into his hands, and he was sighing heavily. He could not look at her, and he certainly never could look at his life partners. "I can't tell them that," he whispered painfully. "How can I? They'll believe it's their fault."

Paula stood up. A hand rested on his shoulder with gentle sympathy. "You want me to do it?"

"No." He shook his head and wiped the back of his hand across his eyes to remove the annoying smears of moisture. "No. I'm not that much of a coward."

"Whatever cover story you need, you've got it. I can arrange...anything, basically."

"Uh-huh."

"There's a starship waiting for you at the local spaceport." She smiled mischievously. "An ultradrive."

Oscar smiled faintly, feeling the joy stirring deep inside him. "Ultradrive? Well at least you don't think I'm a cheap whore."

This was not how Araminta had expected to be returning to the Suvorov continent, sitting in an aging carry capsule as it flew across the Great Cloud Ocean, lower and slower than every other capsule on the planet. It didn't exactly smack of style. She'd always promised herself she'd return to her birth continent only when she could step out of a swanky luxury capsule and smile condescendingly around at Langham and the family's business.

Not there just yet.

Unfortunately, Likan's estate was on Suvoro-understandably, as that was where Viotia's capital, Ludor, was situated. Likan was not a provinces kind of person; he had to be near the action. So back across the ocean she went with a baggage hold packed with her best clothes and a deepening sense of anxiety.

She was genuinely interested in the Sheldonite's abilities. To get to his level in under a hundred fifty years illustrated a phenomenal achievement. There was a lot she could learn from him, providing she could get him talking.

Then there was the whole Sheldonite culture thing: thousands of people on hundreds of External worlds trying to emulate their ancient hypercapitalist idol. It was an emulation dangerously close to blind worship, she thought. But she was willing to suspend judgment until she experienced it firsthand. Maybe this was the route she should be taking. Even Bovey could not deny that Sheldonism was the pinnacle of business culture. Successful Sheldonism, that was. There were enough failed adherents littering the External worlds.

And finally the harem. Typical male fantasy: a rich man making his dreams come true. Yet it was a lot more common than in Sheldon's day; group-life-partner relationships were growing in popularity in the External worlds. And she was hardly in any position to criticize; what she'd enjoyed with Bovey was essentially the same arrangement. So here she was, technically free and single and still interested in experimenting sexually to see what suited her. She didn't think this was going to be her, but she had surprised herself before with Bovey.

A last wild fling, then. So whatever I discover, this weekend will be win-win.

With that delinquent thought warming her, the capsule finally made land and began to fly over Likan's estate. He owned an area of a hundred thousand square miles, taking in a long stretch of coastline developed with resort complexes. Massive tracts of farmland with square-mile fields were growing every imaginable luxury crop, the kind nobody produced in a culinary unit, tended by over a million agribots, all processed in immaculately hygienic cybernated factories and sold under his own brands.

Then there was Albany, his industrial complex. Set on a flat plain, it was eight miles to a side, with tall boxy buildings laid out in a perfect grid, every one a factory or processing plant. A spaceport spread out of one side, with long rows of landing pads stretching across the green meadows to a nearby river. Ocean barges clotted the water, and fat cargo starships formed nearly solid lines stretching up through the sky. No humans lived in Albany itself; the technicians who kept it running were housed in dormitory towns twenty miles away. She flew over one of them, surprised by how nice it looked, with large houses and plenty of green space, ornate civic buildings providing every amenity.

He owns it all. And more, he created it. Now, that is real vision.

Her capsule's net was queried by local traffic control. She supplied her identity certificate and received a descent vector.

Likan's home was actually three separate buildings. Two of them were on the shore of a lake ten miles long. One was a giant chateau made of stone that must have had five hundred rooms; Araminta had seen smaller villages. The second, almost opposite the first, was an ultramodern ovoid of shimmering opalescence that seemed to dip down into the water as it lay alongside it across the ground. The third was small by comparison, just a wooden lodge atop the cliffs of a rugged island.

The capsule landed outside the ovoid. Araminta was quietly grateful; she wanted to see what it was like inside, if there were any design concepts she could use.

Two of the harem women were waiting to greet her when she stepped out. Clemance, a slim teenager dressed in a simple white shirt and blue cotton shorts, had a fresh face, freckles on her nose and brow, an eager smile, and fair hair that was barely styled. She was not quite what Araminta had expected. The other one, Marakata, was tall and classically beautiful, with ebony skin that gleamed in the sunlight. Her scarlet gown probably cost more than every item Araminta had brought put together. And that's what she wears in the middle of the afternoon? Subtle cosmetic scales highlighted jade eyes and a wide mouth. She did not smile; her whole attitude was one of cool amusement.

Clemance bounded forward, her smile growing even wider. She threw her arms around Araminta. "Likan has told us all about you. It's so great to finally get to meet you."

A mildly startled Araminta gave the girl a tentative hug back. "What did he say?"

"To be careful," Marakata said. She raised an elegant eyebrow, observing Araminta's response.

"He says you're really ambitious, and smart, and attractive, and your own boss." Clemance seemed to run out of breath. "Just all-around fabulous."

Araminta finally managed to disentangle herself from the girl. "I didn't realize I'd made such an impression."

"Likan makes very fast assessments," Marakata said.

"Do you?" Araminta asked as coolly as she could.

It actually drew a small smile from the imposing woman. "I take my time and get it absolutely right."

"Good to know."

Clemance giggled. "Come on, we'll show you your room." She grabbed Araminta's hand and pulled like a five-year-old hauling her parent to the Christmas tree.

"The staff will get your bags," Marakata said airily.

Araminta frowned, then saw she wasn't joking. A couple of women in identical smart gray toga suits were heading for her capsule, followed by a regrav sled. "You have human staff?"

"Of course."

"So Nigel Sheldon must have had them."