Wolmak opened his mouth to protest to his superior, realized that a tightbeamed protest would arrive almost three minutes after the Hawking-drive jump was executed, and shut his mouth. A jump in-system like this was sickeningly dangerous-one chance in four, at least, of a disaster that would claim all hands-but he understood the Admiral's need to get to where the information was fresh and his commands could be executed immediately.

Dear Jesus, thought Wolmak, the Grand Inquisitor crippled, the Archbishop and the others missing, the sodding Dalai Lama's palace looking like an anthill that's been kicked over. G.o.dd.a.m.n that Shrike-thing. Where's the papal courier probe with its command? Where's that Core ship we were promised? How can things get worse than this? the Grand Inquisitor crippled, the Archbishop and the others missing, the sodding Dalai Lama's palace looking like an anthill that's been kicked over. G.o.dd.a.m.n that Shrike-thing. Where's the papal courier probe with its command? Where's that Core ship we were promised? How can things get worse than this?

"Captain?" It was the chief Marine medic on the expeditionary force, beaming from the dropship infirmary.

"Report."

"Cardinal Mustafa is conscious, sir...still blind, of course...in terrible pain, but..."

"Put him on," snapped Wolmak.

A terrible visage filled the holosphere. Captain Wolmak sensed others on the bridge shrinking back.

The Grand Inquisitor's face was still bloodied. His teeth were bright red as he screamed. His eye sockets were ragged and void, except for tendrils of torn tissue and rivulets of blood.

At first, Captain Wolmak could not discern the word from the shriek. But then he realized what the Cardinal was screaming.

"Nemes! Nemes! Nemes!"

THE CONSTRUCTS CALLED NEMES, SCYLLA, AND BRIAREUS continue eastward.

The three remain phase-shifted, oblivious to the staggering amounts of energy this consumes. The energy is sent from elsewhere, it is not their worry. All of their existence has led to this hour.

After the timeless interlude of slaughter under the Pargo Kaling Western Gate, Nemes leads the way up the tower and across the great metal cables holding the suspension bridge in place. The three jog through Drepung Marketplace, three motile figures moving through thickened, amber air, past human forms frozen in place. At Phari Marketplace, the thousands of shopping, browsing, laughing, arguing, jostling human statues make Nemes smile her thin-lipped smile. She could decapitate all of them and they would have had no warning of their destruction. But she has an objective.

At the Phari Ridge cableway juncture, the three shift down-friction on the cable would be a problem otherwise.

Scylla, the northern High Way, Nemes sends on the common band. Briareus, the middle bridge. I will take the cableway Briareus, the middle bridge. I will take the cableway.

Her siblings nod, shimmer, and are gone. The cablemaster steps forward to protest Nemes's shoving in line ahead of scores of waiting cable pa.s.sengers. It is a busy time of day.

Rhadamanth Nemes picks the cablemaster up and flings him off the platform. A dozen angry men and women shove toward her, shouting, bent on revenge.

Nemes leaps from the platform and grabs the cable. She has no pulley, no brakes, no climbing harness. She phase-shifts only the palms of her inhuman hands and hurtles down the cable toward K'un Lun Ridge. The angry mob behind her clip onto the cable and give chase-a dozen, two dozen, more. The cablemaster had been liked by many.

It takes Nemes half the usual transit time to cover the great abyss between Phari and K'un Lun ridges. She brakes sloppily on the approach and slams into the rock, phase-shifting at the last instant. Pulling herself out of the crumbling indentation on the cliff behind the landing ledge, she walks back to the cable.

Pulleys whine as the first of her pursuers careen down the last few hundred meters of wire. More spread out to the horizon, black beads on a thin string. Nemes smiles, phase-shifts both her hands, reaches high, and severs the cable.

She is surprised how few of the dozens of doomed men and women scream as they slide off the twisting, falling cable to their deaths.

Nemes jogs to the fixed ropes, climbs them freehand, and cuts all of them loose-ascent lines, rappel lines, safety lines, everything. Five armed members of the K'un Lun Constabulary from Hsi w.a.n.g-mu confront her on the ridgeline just south of the slideway. She phase-shifts only her left forearm and swats them off into s.p.a.ce.

Looking northwest, Nemes adjusts her infrared and telescopic vision and zooms in on the great swinging bonsai-bamboo bridge connecting the High Way promontories between Phari Ridge and K'un Lun Ridge. The bridge falls as she watches, the slats and vines and support cables writhing as they fall back to the western ridgeline, the lower reaches of the bridge dropping into phosgene clouds.

That's that, sends Briareus.

How many on it when it fell? queries Nemes. queries Nemes.

Many. Briareus disconnects.

A second later, Scylla logs on. Northern bridge down. I'm destroying the High Way as I go Northern bridge down. I'm destroying the High Way as I go.

Good, sends Nemes. I'll see you in Jo-kung I'll see you in Jo-kung.

The three shift down as they pa.s.s through the city fissure at Jo-kung. It is raining lightly, the clouds as thick as summer fog. Nemes's thin hair is plastered to her forehead and she notices that Scylla and Briareus have the same look. The crowd parts for them. The ledge road to the Temple Hanging in Air is empty.

Nemes is leading as they approach the final, short swinging bridge before the ledge below the stairway to the Temple. This had been the first artifact repaired by Aenea-a simple, twenty-meter swinging span above a narrow fissure between dolomite spires a thousand meters above the lower crags and cloudtops-and now the monsoon clouds billow beneath and around the dripping structure.

Invisible in the thick clouds, something stands on the cliff ledge at the other side of the bridge. Nemes shifts to thermal imaging and smiles when she sees that the tall shape radiates no heat whatsoever. She pings it with her forehead-generated radar and studies the image: three meters tall, thoms, bladed fingers on four oversized hands, a perfectly radar-reflective carapace, sharp blades on chest and forehead, no respiration, razor wire rising from the shoulders and spikes from the forehead.

Perfect sends Nemes. sends Nemes.

Perfect, agrees Scylla and Briareus.

The figure at the other end of the dripping bridge makes no response.

WE MADE IT TO THE MOUNTAIN WITH ONLY A FEW meters to spare. Once we dropped out of the lower reaches of the jet stream, our descent was steady and irreversible. There were few thermals out above the cloud ocean and many down-drafts, and while we made the first half of the hundred-klick gap in a few minutes of thrilling acceleration, the second half was all heart-stopping descent-now certain that we would make it with room to spare, now more certain that we would drop into the clouds and never even see our deaths rising to surround us until the kite wings struck acid sea.

We did descend into the clouds, but these were the monsoon clouds, the water vapor clouds, the breathable clouds. The three of us flew as close as we could, blue delta, yellow delta, green delta, the metal and fabric of our parawings almost touching, more fearful of losing one another and dying alone than of striking one another and falling together.

Aenea and I had the comthreads, but we talked to each other just once during that suspenseful descent to the east. The fog had thickened, I caught the merest glimpses of her yellow wing to my left, and I was thinking, She had a child...she married someone else...she She had a child...she married someone else...she loved loved someone else someone else, when I heard her voice on the hearpatch of my suit, "Raul?"

"Yes, kiddo."

"I love you, Raul."

I hesitated a few heartbeats, but the emotional vacuum that had pulled me a moment earlier was swept away in the surge of affection for my young friend and lover. "I love you, Aenea." We swept lower through the murk. I thought that I could taste an acrid scent on the wind...the fringes of the phosgene clouds?

"Kiddo?"

"Yes, Raul." Her voice was a whisper in my ears. We had both removed our osmosis masks, I knew...although they would have protected us from the phosgene. We did not know if A. Bettik could breathe the poison. If he could not, the unspoken plan between Aenea and me was to close our masks and hope that we could reach the edges of the mountain before we struck the acid sea, dragging the android up the slope and out of the poison air if we could. We both knew that it was a flimsy plan-the radar aboard the ship during my initial descent had shown me that most of the peaks and ridges dropped abruptly beneath the phosgene cloud layer and it would be only a matter of minutes between entering the poisonous clouds before we struck the sea anyway-but it was better to have a plan than to surrender to fate. In the meantime, we both had our masks up, breathing fresh air while we could.

"Kiddo," I said, "if you know that this isn't going to work...if you've seen what you think is..."

"My death?" she completed the sentence for me. I could not have said it aloud.

I nodded stupidly. She could not see me through the clouds between us.

"They're only possibilities, Raul," she said softly. "Although the one I know of with the greatest probability is not this. Don't worry, I wouldn't have asked you both to go with me if I thought this was...it." I heard the humor in her voice through the tension.

"I know," I said, glad that A. Bettik could not pick up this conversation. "I wasn't thinking of that." I had been thinking that perhaps she had known that the android and I would make it to the mountain, but she would not. I did not believe that now. As long as my fate was entwined with hers, I could accept about anything. "I was just wondering why we were running again, kiddo," I said. "I'm sick of running away from the Pax."

"So am I," said Aenea. "And trust me, Raul, that's not all we're doing here. Oh, s.h.i.t!"

Hardly the quotable p.r.o.nouncement from a messiah, but in a second I saw the reason for her shout. A rocky hillside had appeared twenty meters ahead of us, large boulders visible between scree slopes, sheer cliffs lower down.

A. Bettik led the way in, pulling up on his control bar at the last minute and dropping his legs from the stirrups of the rigging, using the kite like a parachute above him. He bounced twice on his boots and set the kite down quickly, snapping off his harness. Lh.o.m.o had shown us many times that it was important on dangerous and windy landing sites to separate yourself from the parawing quickly so that it did not drag you over some edge. And there was definitely an edge to be dragged over here.

Aenea landed next, me a few seconds later. I had the sloppiest of the three landings, bouncing high, dropping almost straight down, twisting my ankle on the small stones, and going to my knees while the parawing struck hard on a boulder above me, bending metal and rending fabric. The kite tried to tip over backward then, pulling me over the cliffs edge just as Lh.o.m.o had warned, but A. Bettik grabbed the left struts, Aenea seized the broken right spar a second later, and they stabilized it long enough for me to struggle out of my harness and hobble a few steps away from the wreckage, dragging my backpack with me.

Aenea knelt on the cold, wet rocks at my feet, loosening my boot and studying my ankle. "I don't think it's sprained badly," she said. "It may swell a bit, but you should be able to walk on it all right."

"Good," I said stupidly, aware only of her bare hands on my bare ankle. Then I jumped a bit as she sprayed something cold from her medkit on the puffy flesh.

They both helped me to my feet, we gathered our gear, and the three of us started arm-in-arm up the slick slope toward where the clouds glowed more brightly.

WE CAME UP INTO THE SUNLIGHT HIGH ON THE SACRED slopes of T'ai Shan. I had pulled off the skinsuit cowl and mask, but Aenea suggested that I keep the suit on. I pulled my therm jacket on over it to feel less naked, and I noticed that my friend did the same. A. Bettik was rubbing his arms and I saw that the high alt.i.tude cold had left his flesh chilled almost white.

"Are you all right?" I asked him.

"Fine, M. Endymion," said the android. "Although another few minutes at that alt.i.tude..."

I looked down at the clouds where we had folded the damaged kites and left them. "I guess we're not getting off this hill with the parawings."

"Correct," said Aenea. "Look."

We had come out of the boulder fields and scree slopes to gra.s.sy highlands between great cliffs, the succulent meadows crisscrossed with zygoat trails and stepping-stone paths. Glacial melt streams trickled over rocks but there were bridges made of stone slabs. A few distant herders had watched us impa.s.sively as we climbed higher. Now we had come around a switchback below the great icefields and looked up at what could only be temples of white stone set on gray ramparts. The gleaming buildings-bright beneath the blue-white expanse of ice and snow slopes that stretched up and out of sight to the blue zenith-looked like altars. What Aenea had pointed out was a great white stone set next to the trail, with this poem carved in its smooth face: With what can I compare the Great Peak?

Over the surrounding provinces, its blue-green hue never dwindles from sight.

Infused by the Shaper of Forms with the soaring power of divinity, Shaded and sunlit, its slopes divide night from day.

Breast heaving as I climb toward the clouds, Eyes straining to follow birds flying home, Someday I shall reach its peerless summit, And behold all mountains in a single glance.

-Tu Fu, T'ang Dynasty, China, Old Earth And so we entered Tai'an, the City of Peace. There on the slopes were the scores of temples, hundreds of shops, inns, and homes, countless small shrines, and a busy street filled with stalls, each covered by a bright canvas awning. The people here were lovely-that is a poor word, but the only proper one, I think-all with dark hair, bright eyes, gleaming teeth, healthy skin, and a pride and vigor to their carriage and step. Their clothes were silk and dyed cotton, bright but elegantly simple, and there were many, many monks in orange and red robes. The crowds would have been forgiven if they had stared-no one visits T'ai Shan during the monsoon months-but all the glances I saw were welcoming and easy. Indeed, many of the people in the street milled around, greeting Aenea by name and touching her hand or sleeve. I remembered then that she had visited the Great Peak before.

Aenea pointed out the great slab of white rock that covered a hillside above the City of Peace. On the polished face of that slab had been carved what she explained was the Diamond Sutra Diamond Sutra in huge Chinese characters: one of the principle works of Buddhist philosophy, she explained, it reminded the monk and pa.s.serby of the ultimate nature of reality as symbolized in the empty expanse of blue sky overhead. Aenea also pointed out the First Heavenly Gate at the edge of the city-a gigantic stone archway under a red paG.o.da roof with the first of the twenty-seven thousand steps starting up toward the Jade Summit. in huge Chinese characters: one of the principle works of Buddhist philosophy, she explained, it reminded the monk and pa.s.serby of the ultimate nature of reality as symbolized in the empty expanse of blue sky overhead. Aenea also pointed out the First Heavenly Gate at the edge of the city-a gigantic stone archway under a red paG.o.da roof with the first of the twenty-seven thousand steps starting up toward the Jade Summit.

incredibly, we had been expected. In the great gompa at the center of the City of Peace, more than twelve hundred red-robed monks sat cross-legged in patient files, waiting for Aenea. The resident lama greeted Aenea with a low bow-she helped him to his feet and hugged the old man-and then A. Bettik and I were sitting at one side of the low, cushioned dais while Aenea briefly addressed the waiting mult.i.tude.

"I said last spring that I would return at this time," she said softly, her voice perfectly clear in the great marble s.p.a.ce, "and it pleases my heart to see you all again. For those of you who took communion with me during my last visit, I know that you have discovered the truth of learning the language of the dead, of learning the language of the living, and-for some of you-of hearing the music of the spheres, and-soon, I promise you-of taking that first step.

"This day is a sad day in many ways, but our future is bright with optimism and change. I am honored that you have allowed me to be your teacher. I am honored that we have shared in our exploration of a universe that is rich beyond imagining." She paused and looked at A. Bettik and me. "These are my companions...my friend A. Bettik and my beloved, Raul Endymion. They have shared all hardships of my longest life's voyage with me, and they will share in today's pilgrimage. When we leave you, we will pa.s.s this day through the three Heavenly Gates, enter the Mouth of the Dragon, and-Buddha and the fates of chaos willing-shall visit the Princess of Azure Clouds and see the Temple of the Jade Emperor this day."

Aenea paused again and looked at the shaven heads and bright, dark eyes. These were not religious fanatics, I saw, not mindless servants or self-punishing ascetics, but were, instead, row upon row of intelligent, questioning, alert young men and women. I say "young," but among the fresh and youthful faces were many with gray beards and subtle wrinkles.

"My dear friend the Lama tells me that there are more now who wish to share in communion with the Void Which Binds this day," said Aenea.

About one hundred of the monks in the front rows went to their knees.

Aenea nodded. "So it shall be," she said softly. The Lama brought flagons of wine and many simple bronze cups. Before filling the cups or lancing her finger for the drops of blood, Aenea said, "But before you partake of this communion, I must remind you that this is a physical change, not a spiritual one. Your individual quest for G.o.d or Enlightenment must remain just that...your individual quest. This moment of change will not bring setori setori or salvation. It will bring only...change." or salvation. It will bring only...change."

My young friend held up one finger, the finger she was about to p.r.i.c.k to draw blood. "In the cells of my blood are unique DNA and RNA arrangements along with certain viral agents which will invade your body, starting through the digestive lining of your stomachs and ending in every cell of your body. These invasive viruses are somatic...that is, they shall be pa.s.sed along to your children.

"I have taught your teachers and they have taught you that these physical changes will allow you-after some training-to touch the Void Which Binds more directly, thus learning the language of the dead and of the living. Eventually, with much more experience and training, it may be possible for you to hear the music of the spheres and take a true step elsewhere." She raised the finger higher. "This is not metaphysics, my dear friends. This is a mutant viral agent. Be warned that you will never be able to wear the cruciform of the Pax, nor will your children nor their children's children. This basic change in the soul of your genes and chromosomes will ban you from that form of physical longevity forever.

"This communion will not offer you immortality, my dear friends. It insures that death will be our common end. I say again-I do not offer you eternal life or instant setori setori. If these are the things you seek most dearly, you must find them in your own religious searchings. I offer you only a deepening of the human experience of life and a connection to others-human or not-who have shared that commitment to living. There is no shame if you change your mind now. But there is duty, discomfort, and great danger to those who partake of this communion and, in so doing, become teachers themselves of the Void Which Binds, as well as fellow carriers of this new virus of human choice."

Aenea waited, but none of the hundred monks moved or left. All remained kneeling, heads slightly bowed as if in contemplation.

"So be it," said Aenea. "I wish you all well." And she p.r.i.c.ked her finger, squeezing a droplet of blood into each prepared cup of wine held out by the elderly Lama.

It took only a few minutes for the hundred monks to pa.s.s the cups down their rows, each drinking but a drop. I rose from my cushion then, determined to go to the end of the row nearest me and partake of this communion, but Aenea beckoned me to her.

"Not yet, my dear," she whispered in my ear, touching my shoulder.

I was tempted to argue-why was I being excluded from this?-but instead returned to my place next to A. Bettik. I leaned over and whispered to the android, "You haven't done this so-called communion, have you?"

The blue man smiled. "No, M. Endymion. And I never shall."

I was about to ask why, but at that moment the communion ended, the twelve hundred monks rose to their feet, Aenea walked among them-chatting and touching hands-and I saw from her glance toward me over shaven heads that it was time for us to leave.

NEMES, SCYLLA, AND BRIAREUS REGARD THE SHRIKE across the expanse of the suspension bridge, not phase-shifting for a moment, appreciating the real-time view of their enemy.

It's absurd, sends Briareus. A child's bogeyman. All spikes and thorns and teeth. How silly A child's bogeyman. All spikes and thorns and teeth. How silly.

Tell that to Gyges, responds Nemes. Ready? Ready?

Ready, sends Scylla.

Ready, sends Briareus.

The three phase-shift in unison. Nemes sees the air around them go thick and heavy, light becoming a sepia syrup, and she knows that even if the Shrike now does the obvious-cutting the suspension-bridge supports-that it will make no difference: in fast time, it will take ages for the bridge to begin to fall...time enough for the trio to cross it a thousand times.

In single file, Nemes leading, they cross it now.

The Shrike does not change position. Its head does not move to follow them. Its red eyes gleam dully, like crimson gla.s.s reflecting the last bit of sunset.

Something's not right here, sends Briareus.

Quiet, commands Nemes. Stay off the common band unless I Stay off the common band unless I open contact open contact. She is less than ten meters from the Shrike now and still the thing has not reacted. Nemes continues forward through thick air until she steps onto solid stone. Her clone sister follows, taking up position on Nemes's left. Briareus steps off the bridge and stands on Nemes's right. They are three meters in front of the Hyperion legend. It remains quiescent.

"Move out of the way or be destroyed." Nemes shifts down long enough to speak to the chrome statue. "Your day is long past. The girl is ours today." The Shrike does not respond.

Destroy it, Nemes commands her siblings and phase shifts.

The Shrike disappears, shifting through time.

Nemes blinks as the temporal shock waves ripple over and through her and then surveys the frozen surroundings with the full spectrum of her vision. There are a few human beings still here at the Temple Hanging in Air, but no Shrike.

Shift down, she commands and her siblings obey immediately. The world brightens, the air moves, and sound returns.

"Find her," says Nemes.

In a full jog, Scylla moves to the n.o.ble Eightfold Path axis of Wisdom and lopes up the staircase to the platform of Right Understanding. Briareus moves quickly to the axis of Morality and leaps to the paG.o.da of Right Speech. Nemes takes the third stairway, the highest, toward the high pavilions of Right Mindfulness and Right Meditation. Her radar shows people in the highest structure. She arrives in a few seconds, scanning the buildings and cliff wall for concealed rooms or hiding places. Nothing. There is a young woman in the pavilion for Right Meditation and for an instant Nemes thinks that the search is over, but although she is about the same age as Aenea, it is not her. There are a few others in the elegant paG.o.da-a very old woman-Nemes recognizes her as the Thunderbolt Sow from the Dalai Lama's reception-the Dalai Lama's Chief Crier and Head of Security, Carl Linga William Eiheji, and the boy himself-the Dalai Lama.