“Earthma, you are perhaps arrogant if you believe that your conscripted proges can destroy my site. Already many of them bleed and fall inactive.”
“And I send charges to heal them.”
“Harder and harder to do as they come further into my nexus of power.”
“I tell my minions the weaknesses of each opponent you send against them. Already they have drunk the blood of the bicameral lizards and slaughtered many hunting wilches. Your dire-cats are deadly, but you are too careful of your internal ecology to have many of those great predators.”
“II I run out of wilches and dire-cats I will use herd-mice to undermine the trees in which your minions swing. I will trample them beneath the hooves of my grohners.”
“Look to your border with Kordalis. Tell me what you see there.”
There was a pause. Virginia Tallent was aware of Markon separating a portion of his attention. She fought against an impulse to fire her weapon into the fecund figure who treated her Markon with such arrogance. Only the theology Markon had taught her made Virginia hold her fire. If this creature was indeed an aspect of Earthma, the CF rifle might ruin this manifestation, but it would no more destroy her than destroying a dire-cat would kill Markon. Still, she resolved that if Markon refused to surrender, she would empty the rifle into that obnoxious belly.
Markon spoke. “I see, Earthma. Phants stand ready to make this a two-front battle. Tell me, did you conquer Kordalis or did she willingly side with you?”
“Kordalis is not as stubborn as you are, Markon.”
“Did you promise her my realm if she aided you?”
“Only if you failed to cooperate. I would prefer you as an ally. I have something I wish to hide and your realm would be perfect.”
“Tell your minions to hold and I will listen to your proposal. If we cannot agree, we can pick up the battle with little lost.”
Abruptly, the screams and wails, the thumping of the tree trunk drums that had been the backdrop to their converse, ceased. In the silence, one of Markon’s long-tailed darters broke into song.
“You will do nothing to continue the attack?”
“I thought to heal some of my creatures. They are sorely wounded.”
“Then I shall do the same.”
“As you wish. Consider using your powers on mine as well, Earthma.”
“Why should I do that?”
“You wish my realm to serve your needs. How can it do so if you have ruined it, or if I must exhaust my resources to mend my programs?”
Earthma laughed. “As a gesture of good faith, I will do as you ask.”
“Speak your piece, then.”
“Tell your companion to lower her weapon.”
“Virginia, please do as she asks.”
The rifle barrel diverted to one side, but Virginia held it ready.
“I will not let her harm you without fighting back, Markon.”
“I would not ask you to do so.”
Earthma rolled her eyes. “Such devotion! Veritean, I have no desire to harm Markon. Only to have him do me a service.”
Virginia shrugged. “I’m just the hired help. He’s the deity.”
“Hired help? I think not, but have it as you will. Markon, I wish to conceal something within your realm. If you agree to take it in and guard it until I am ready for it, then I shall restore your site, remove my minions, and even give out that you are so powerful that I am inclined to respect—even to promote—your claim to neutrality.”
“Clever,” Markon said. “If I am established as neutral none will look for your—whatever—here. What do you wish me to keep for you? Is it a weapon?”
“Perhaps, but not against any of those on Meru.”
“You intrigue me. Pray, continue.”
“I bear a child—a child with fine lineage, for Seaga is its sire. When it has come to strength I plan to install it in a realm that I believe has been too long independent of the authority of those on High.”
“What realm is this?”
“Deep Fields.”
“Then you wish to supplant its lord?”
“That is correct.”
“And you wish me to harbor…”
“Yes, the new Death of Virtu. The new Death, if all goes well, of both Virtu and Verite. I am certain that my offspring would be grateful to its foster father.” Earthma glanced sarcastically at Virginia. “Or I should say to its foster parents? What is your answer, Markon?”
Markon gestured and a stony cradle shaped itself from the rock nearest to Earthma.
“That is my answer. I will consider the ‘child’ a hostage against your adherence to the agreement you outlined.”
“But of course. That has ever been the way with foster parents.”
Virginia Tallent set her rifle aside, placed her hand within the green flame of Markon’s aura. It caressed her, unburning. Earthma began to groan. To divert herself, Virginia Tallent recited:
Ten centuries of stony sleep were broken by a rocking cradle What rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
Although Dr. Hazzard’s patients were normally residents of Verite, she had no trouble getting a recommendation for a consultation with one of the staff of the Donnerjack Institute concerned with Virtuan medical considerations.
At the appointed time, she and Wolfer Martin D’Ambry shifted site coordinates and found themselves in a neat room furnished with three comfortable chairs positioned equidistant from each other on an oriental rug in which muted tones of rust, amber, and rose dominated. As they seated themselves, a third person joined them.
His white coat and stethoscope identified him as a doctor. The badge pinned above his right breast pocket said “SID.” His hair and short beard were ash blond and the expression in his warm brown eyes was friendly.
Lydia rose. “I’m Lydia Hazzard. Thank you for making time to see Ambry.”
Sid extended a hand, shook hers firmly, turned to Ambry and repeated the gesture.
“Delighted to be of service. I’m on loan from the Center for Iatropathic Diseases. Things there have been—I’m pleased to say—slow. Now, Ambry, would you explain what has been troubling you?”
Tersely, obviously ill at ease, Ambry explained his situation. Sid took occasional notes, but mostly he listened.
“Could you describe the device you found yourself studying?” he said when Ambry finished.
“Well, it was attractive in an Escheresque fashion. Silver and platinum I would guess, with long crystals… hexagonal, maybe octagonal. It occasionally spat sparks or glowed with lights of rather anemic pastel hues.”
Sid leaned his chin on his hand. “Earlier you mentioned that you have no real memory of your site of origin. Do you think it is possible that you originated during the Genesis Scramble?”
“It’s possible.”
“What site do you reside in now?”
“I’d prefer not to say. It’s one of the wild sites.”
“I assure you, whatever you tell me here is confidential.”
Ambry frowned. Lydia interjected a comment into the awkward silence.
“It isn’t that we don’t trust you, but Ambry has been having difficulties with an old enemy.”
Sid raised his eyebrows. “Could your enemy be responsible for these memory lapses?”
Ambry hesitated. “It is possible.”
“I think so, too. Without knowing more, I can’t be more specific, but I would guess that in forcing you to take actions against him or her—”
“Him.”
“—that your enemy is awakening some alternate or base program. This could be an escape routine, but it also could mean eventual sublimation of your current persona proge to one of these secondary routines.”
Lydia interrupted. “Are you saying that Ambry could effectively cease to be himself and become someone else?”