They called Kukuyoshi an arboretum; in truth it was a full-blown ecohabitat whose spanses and terraces meandered through Zekeston's two hundred fifty levels and two of its spokes in a network of interconnected microclimates. It was filled with a mix of temperate and cold-region flora and fauna from Mars, the Americas, and j.a.pan. Thanks to Kukuyoshi and its creatures' adaptations to low gravity, Phocaea had become a major research center and tourist attraction. Zekeston was the park city of the outer system, and the site of the most prestigious Upside university: Phocaea University (P-U, as its students so fondly called it), which did ground-breaking research on exobiology, gravitational biodynamics, microgee mineralogy, and pharmacology.

Kukuyoshi was the single biggest reason why Phocaea was giving Ceres a run for its money as the wealthiest asteroid-based nation, despite being a good deal smaller. Income from Kukuyoshi had funded Phocaea's treeway system and its search-and-rescue fleet.

Well over half of Kukuyoshi ran wild, or comprised sealed-off sections accessible only to researchers. But that left plenty of volume available to the citizens. Jane and Xuan had spent years exploring the hiking trails. In the lower-gee areas, you did not even need trails-you could simply float through tangles of wood, leaf, and vine. There were camping spots as well. A low-to-high-gee ski resort with two trails and a snow-shoeing path filled Ee, the cold-climate spokeway; low-gee golf and handball and a mid-to-high-gee water park were popular resorts in warmer sections. Areas were also set aside as groomed parks and gardens. Through the largest of these wound a serpentine cemetery wall with the names, pictures, and recordings of Phocaean citizens who had died (though, of course, no actual burial sites; habitat s.p.a.ce was far too limited). It was here that most memorial services were held.

Kukuyoshi enveloped the mourners in fragrant growth, in breezes, and the soft music of leaves, birds, and small mammals and reptiles. Be comforted, it seemed to say. Life goes on. For a few more days, anyway, For a few more days, anyway, Jane thought sourly. Jane thought sourly. Eight, to be precise. Eight, to be precise.

The prime minister's office had spared no expense. That had been Jane's doing. A whole new section had been grown-still slick and smelling of a.s.sembler juice. Tania's group had programmed wandering fillips into the slick, black stonework. Rows of living tree-benches had also been grown, facing the wall, with branches that arched overhead in a bonsailike canopy. Jane ran a hand over a nearby bench trunk, and its bark dragged at her fingers. But it still had that moist, just-grown look, and smelled green, like new growth.

"Stroiders" was out in force. The motes appeared as a soft haze. She had insisted the local media be kept out of the ceremony; she wished now she had pushed to have "Stroiders" shut out, too.

Marty alerted her that the Agres had arrived. She saw them enter, and bounded over the heads of the gathered, to alight near them.

Dierdre's face was swollen with crying, but her manner was calm, almost comatose. She returned Jane's hug with a tepid pat. Sal, on the other hand, would not let go. His fingertips dug through the fabric of her blouse. "Thank you for coming," he kept saying. His voice broke. "Thank you for being here."

"Christ, Sal!" Jane said. Her own voice cracked. "Of course I came."

Geoff hung back. Jane shook his hand. His face was pale and drawn, his back stiff, his hair wild. He looked out of place in his dress suit. Accounts had been confused, but she had learned Geoff had played a major role in saving the ice. Jane found it hard to credit, but Sean himself had confirmed it this morning in a terse e-mail, and the young man's sammy cache seemed to provide confirmation: it brimmed brilliant green with strong community approval. Nary a trace of red anywhere to be seen.

"I hear Phocaea owes you a debt of grat.i.tude," she said. He shrugged, and his face flushed scarlet.

"Hugh asked me to give you this." Jane handed Geoff a hunk of nearly pure silver, mottled with copper. "He said he wished he could be here."

Carl and Hugh were the same age. Once Hugh and Carl had gone on an asteroid-hopping trip with their Boy Scout troop. She remembered what a fit Geoff had pitched when he did not get to go, and how relieved Hugh had been to have time with Carl without Geoff there. Carl had found the nugget on that trip, and given it to Hugh as a memento of their friendship.

Geoff said nothing, staring at the oxide-mottled rock. It occurred to Jane now that he might not want this particular reminder of his brother, of being left behind by his brother and friend. But he said nothing, other than a muttered thanks; he thrust it deep into a pocket and turned away.

Surly as ever. But she should be kinder to him; right now he had ample reason to be surly.

Dierdre said something. Jane turned. "Pardon?"

Dee repeated herself. "He was so grateful you got him that job. He looked up to you. They all look up to you."

Jane couldn't stop herself. "Dee, I wish-"

"Don't." Deirdre snarled the word. A terrible gulf had opened between them. Jane's son lived and Dee's did not. Jane felt her face muscles working.

She won't be able to close this gap, Jane thought. Jane thought. It's up to me. It's up to me.

"Come over here. We've got seats for you." Jane seated the Agres in the front row with the rest of the bereaved, then took her own seat.

The mayor spoke first, introducing the three religious figures who were officiating: a Baptist minister, a Jewish Orthodox rabbi, and a Buddhist priest. The rabbi, a man, wore a black suit and yarmulke; the Christian minister, female, wore a simple black floor-length robe, overlain with a stole embroidered in shades of white. The Buddhist priest was bald, bearded, wearing an orange, embroidered silk robe. During their eulogies, laments moved through the crowd. Lovers and life partners-children who had lost parents or siblings-parents who had lost a son or daughter-sat unmoving, shock stamped on their faces. Or they wept softly, or flung their pain out to rend the quiet air.

Jane spoke next, and read the prepared words on her heads-up about those who had died. She barely remembered later what she said; all she remembered was the fear and the jarring grief on the faces of her listeners.

She spoke of Carl last-otherwise, she had feared, she would not get through the talk. She needn't have been concerned. Her voice remained steady. She spoke of his dedication, his humor and compa.s.sion, his kindness, his intellect, his pa.s.sion for s.p.a.ce exploration. She shared a memory or two from his childhood. She read a poem Dominica had sent and asked to be read at the memorial. And all the while, she felt made of stone as slick and impenetrable as the memorial wall.

It would have been better, she thought, shuffling back to her seat, to have lost control than to be trapped within this leaden lifelessness. She wished now she had accepted Xuan's offer to attend with her.

The prime minister appeared last. He spoke of the terrible loss, of the fears they faced. He promised they would find sources of ice. He spoke of the efforts being taken to bring the situation back under control. He sought the support of the citizenry.

Despite all the machinations she knew were going on behind the scenes, despite Benavidez's own worries, Jane found herself moved. She had needed to hear those words, too.

After the speeches, family members walked up and placed their loved ones' memorials in the wall of the dead, above the nameplates, and activated the holograms. Dierdre and Sal clung to each other as they got up to place Carl's memorial in the wall. The young man's image flickered to life, and he smiled his breezy, self-confident smile. His intelligence and wicked-sweet humor shone in his face. He pretended to catch something and tuck it into his pocket. "Air kiss! Good shot, Mom. Two points." He turned away, and faded.

Deirdre nearly collapsed. Sal helped her back to her seat.

Once all the memorials were in place, attendees filed past the holographic spirits of those who had died, and past the receiving line. Afterward came the reception. As the crowds moved to the private patio behind the wall, Sal asked to speak to her alone.

"Of course," Jane said.

They left Deirdre being comforted by Geoff, and walked into the forest, to a small alcove beneath a live oak. Jane sat down on a bench. The cameras scuttled, rustling, among the undergrowth, and motes drifted down. After a moment Sal sat, too. His upper lip was beaded with sweat.

"Everybody's talking about the accident. They're saying we only have a week or two before we run out of air and fuel. Everybody who could get off before the ships were confiscated has left. A lot of people can't get off."

"We have more time than that," Jane said. "We're exploring several options. Trust me, Sal, we've got lots of people working on this. We'll come up with something."

"Still," he said. Jane opened her mouth, met his gaze, and silenced herself. He drew a breath. "Look. Carl's death was an accident. No one blames you. But Dee and Geoff are all I have left." His voice broke. "I will do whatever it takes to keep them safe."

"Of course you would."

"I'm glad you understand. It makes this a little easier." He paused, smoothed his hair. "For the sake of our friendship, I want you to get Dee and Geoff berths on the Sisyphus Sisyphus."

Jane felt shocked, and then sad. "I can't do that."

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Sal, the Sisyphus Sisyphus isn't going anywhere until Benavidez lifts the ban on departures. And he's not going to do that until he knows we've got ice coming in. So there's no point." isn't going anywhere until Benavidez lifts the ban on departures. And he's not going to do that until he knows we've got ice coming in. So there's no point."

"I don't care. For the sake of our friendship, I want you to do this."

"Stop and think about what you're asking for. If I do that for you, what's to stop Xuan from demanding I do it for his family? Aaron and his wife have four children and two grandkids. Where does it stop?" She sighed. "I took an oath when I took office. I can't play favorites. I just can't go there. You must see that."

He stared at her, unyielding. The silence stretched. She rubbed her forehead. "Look, I'm going to give you some nonpublic information. But you must promise to tell no one. No one at all."

"All right."

They either had Ogilvie beat by tomorrow or they didn't, and the two-day lag between when "Stroiders" filmed goings-on here and when their Downsider audience had access to it meant that what Jane was about to say should not affect Benavidez's plans in any appreciable way.

"We've got a shot at a large off-the-books shipment of ice. I can't discuss the details," she said, at his expression. "And we also have a backup plan, in case anything spins wry. There's going to be a lottery. Most of the seats will go to the children."

He seemed surprised. "A lottery?"

"Yes. The prime minister is overseeing it personally. All children under the age of seventeen will qualify."

He wore a sick look. "Geoff just turned seventeen two weeks ago."

Not good.

He grabbed her, his eyes wild. "Jane, you have to get him off Phocaea. Please. I don't care what it takes. You have the clout. We don't know anybody else. You have to."

"It won't even come to that. We'll get more ice. Just hang tight."

"That's not good enough."

How could she blame him? He'd lost his firstborn son, on whom he'd pinned all his hopes. If what Sean said was true, his second son had had a major role in helping to save the ice. She might be able to do something with that. Might Might. "Look, I can't promise anything for certain. But if it comes down to that, I'll do what I can. That's all I can promise."

He only looked at her. Then he slumped. "That'll have to do, then. Thank you." He stood and trudged away among the trees.

When she got back to the reception, the Agres were nowhere to be seen. Benavidez had also left. Jane wandered among the knots of people. She couldn't stand to eat a bite of the spread. She made a point of speaking to each of the bereaved, and the families of the injured also there-offering her regrets, repeating her commitment to find out how this had happened and prevent a recurrence. Of course the mayor, city council members, cl.u.s.ter representatives, and councillors did the same thing. Ah, politics.

She knew herself too well. Some part of her was doing exactly the same: observing the interpersonal dynamics, saying what she knew she was supposed to say, seeing how to work the crowd-a gesture here, a word there. It was habit, deeply ingrained. And many of the cl.u.s.ter's key players were here: Thomas Harman, Val Pearce, and others of Benavidez's team; Jacques Reinforte; members of the opposition. She had been neglecting her peers, and she was going to need their continued support.

She felt weary. No more. Not today. Let me be only a person today, not an official. Let me give honor to the dead. No more. Not today. Let me be only a person today, not an official. Let me give honor to the dead.

But it was not to be. The mayor, Jimmy Morris, pulled her aside. Steering her so their backs were to the "Stroiders" cameras (for all the good it would do, with all the spy motes in the air), he said in a low voice, "I got the allocation numbers. You gotta do more for me, Navio. Hiro is seeing signs of h.o.a.rding. I've got the city council on my back. I can't hold things together without a more serious commitment from you."

"What do you expect me to do? I'm hearing the same thing from every alder in the cl.u.s.ter. It is what it is. There's only so much to go around."

"I'm telling you, it ain't enough!"

She eyed him. "What kind of support are you looking for?"

"I need you to call the city council. They need to hear that Zekeston will be your top priority in the recovery effort."

"How can you even doubt it? You know good and well Zekeston is the eight-hundred-pound parrot in all this."

"I notice Kukuyoshi's not suffering much."

"We can put on sweaters. Kukuyoshi's species can't."

"I see. And your decision has nothing to do with the fact that your husband gets most of his funding from the university."

"Do you really want to go there?" she asked mildly. Jimmy Morris epitomized cronyism. She had things on him, and he knew it.

"All right, all right," he said. He lowered his voice. "But I have a city to feed. Zekeston has ten times the population of the other two towns, put together. We're gonna have riots. That won't do your planning efforts much good, will it?"

She couldn't blame him for putting the heat on. In his place she would do the same. In fact, she had held out a little on him so she would have something to give him now. But she put on a show anyway.

"You're killing me, Jimmy." She gave a noisy sigh. "But all right. My people say we have a little wiggle room." She did not want to be more exact than that. "If you'll put your weight behind the PM's cl.u.s.ter-wide rationing plan when it comes up in Parliament next week, and give me your full support for my plan to get ice out of Ogilvie & Sons, I'll boost Zekeston rations five percent."

"Five! Don't make me laugh."

"Six, then." She had set aside nine. "And I'll add Hiro to my eyes-on list."

He made a dour face. "What good does that do me?"

"It puts Hiro in the loop, Jimmy. Way in. There aren't many people on it. The PM, his chief of staff, my direct reports, that's about it. I don't move without alerting the eyes-on list. Hiro can give me a heads-up if you get into a bind and we'll see if we can shuffle some resources around." It also made her job, of coordinating with Hiro, a lot easier. But she did not need to tell JimmyM that. Unfortunately, the idea backfired.

"I want on that list, too, then. I'll tell you personally when we're in trouble. Eliminate the middle man." He smiled, sharklike.

You deserve your rep, JimmyM, Jane thought. She felt sorry for Hiro, working for a man like him. She shook her head. "Not 'too.' Instead. Too many voices means sluggish decision making. We can't afford that." Jane thought. She felt sorry for Hiro, working for a man like him. She shook her head. "Not 'too.' Instead. Too many voices means sluggish decision making. We can't afford that."

He thought it over. "All right."

"And you don't get a vote. You're just an observer."

"All right, all right."

"And you only stay on the list as long as the crisis lasts."

His gaze glittered like polished rocks. "We'll see," he said.

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it."

They both knew that once he was on the list it would be hard to get him off it. He would put pressure on the PM, and the city council would support him. It gave them a direct line to her resource allocation decision making, and thus a great deal of influence.

If worse came to worst, they would start up a new list, one without him on it.

He nodded abruptly. "It'll do."

She heard a rustling behind them. "Mr. Mayor... Ms. Commissioner... a moment of your time-" Morris fixed a genial expression on his face as a handful of other politicians came up to them. "I'm counting on you," he told her.

As he turned to speak to the others, Jane faded through a wall of mourners and well-wishers. Once out of view of the main crowd, around on the other side of the wall, she sat down on one of the mourners' benches and shot an e-mail off to the PM telling him she was expanding her eyes-on distribution, and why. She decided to add the other towns' mayors to the eyes-on list as well. To preserve the balance of power. They might still play games behind her back, but putting them in the same decision-making s.p.a.ce meant they would be making commitments that they would have to decide whether to keep or break, not play the gaps and put her in the middle as they usually did. She messaged Tania and asked her to make sure one of her people made the change in the eyes-on list, right away.

She found in her inbox an encoded message from a contact among Parliament staff: "Expect invite from jerk soon. < 1="">

"Jerk" stood for JRC, the Joint Resource Committee. Jacques Reinforte's committee. He had been given the position of chair as a consolation prize of sorts, after Benavidez had defeated him in a fight over the party leadership. No friend of Benavidez's obviously, he would love to see her replaced. She couldn't keep them waiting for long without looking as if she was obstructing their investigation. But she needed time-time to find out what had caused the accident, time to come up with solutions.

This was a bid for power, played out on the back of a tragedy. The repercussions from this accident, at least at first, would not happen in a courtroom, but in the media. And there was plenty of media to play in.

I'm going to need a lawyer, she thought, eyeing the note. she thought, eyeing the note. A lawyer and a publicist. A lawyer and a publicist. It was time to put in a call to her friend Sarah, who practiced law. It was time to put in a call to her friend Sarah, who practiced law.

Give me as much notice as you can, she replied to her secret friend. she replied to her secret friend.

She spotted a Viridian holy man at the edge of the crowd. A big man, he looked Nordic, or Germanic. He had a bolt of hair tied at the crown of his head, with a cascade of metal beads and fiber optics laced through it, bouncing in the light gee. He wore a loose-fitting outfit, overlaid with a rainbow stole of knotted cords, and had a staff of oak with a spiral helix design. He seemed to be shadowing her; she had noticed him a few times at the periphery of her vision, but had managed to avoid him till now.

"Commissioner Navio!" he said. He was so near this time, and the crowd was so thin, that she couldn't ignore him. She stood.

"Thor Harbaugh," he said, and held out his hand. Jane shook it. "I just wanted to thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to Ivan."

Ivan Kovak. The driver who had precipitated this whole thing. Anger flooded her veins. "I a.s.sure you, I'm not here for him."

Harbaugh looked shocked at her bluntness, then pensive. "You're not alone in your feelings. How well did you know him?"