Marchey slumped there in his chair, feeling drained. His cup was empty and his throat was dry, but he couldn’t summon the energy to get up and go for a refill.
“Well, well, well,” Moro said at last. “That’s quite a story. Going back to one particular, did you know that MedArm sent a flash directive to all personnel? Anyone with information as to the whereabouts of Dr. Salvaz Bophanza is supposed to report it immediately. Both large rewards and severe penalties are mentioned.”
Marchey rubbed his gritty eyes, trying to remember if he had told Moro where Sal and ’Milla were headed. “I should have expected that.” He sighed. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Do about what?” Moro returned blandly, stroking the white streak in his beard. “So, what are you going to do next?”
“Damned if I know.” Marchey let out a mordant chuckle. “I’m almost afraid to find out, considering how I’ve done so far.”
Moro peered at him a long moment, his glasses, making his eyes look huge, then smirked. “Yeah, you’ve frigged up royally.”
He sat back, steepling his thick fingers. “Let’s see. After years of doing the best work you could do under conditions so bad they turned you into a drunk—instead of suiciding, or just plain quitting—you let yourself be kidnapped by an exo’d maniac who thought she was an angel. She took you to Ananke. There you managed to keep your Oath, helped bring down the man who had brainwashed her and turned the moon into his private empire, started her back on the road to humanhood, and incidentally found the cure for one of the things that had been messing up the lives of all the Bergmanns while you were at it.”
Marchey started to interrupt, but Moro held up his hand. “Please, no pleas until all the charges are read. After all that, you followed orders and went back on the circuit after doing three doctors’ worth of work on Ananke. You kept yourself from becoming a drunk again, and figured out the danger they were in by playing head games with a dangerous psychopath who had nearly destroyed you once and was probably working up to another whack at it, saved the moon and the ex-angel.
Acknowledgments
This book never would have been written if Dr. Stanley Schidt at Analog had not rescued a story titled “A Touch Beyond” from the slush pile. A few years later he published “Angel,” the second part of the Marchey/Angel saga. When I tried to sell him a third part, he said what this really wanted to be is a novel. But don’t blame him.
A million thanks are due to my wife, Sue-Ryn, for protecting me from the rest of the planet during writing season and gently and patiently dealing with the zombie I become. Thanks are also due to friends and family who encouraged me; to my agent, Joshua Bilmes, for helping sell this story to a good home; and to Laura Anne Gilman and her crew at Penguin Putnam for getting it into print.