“I belong here,” she thought.
With seamless ease, she thought, “I am happy.”
Happiness was what shook her, alerted her. The attack had begun, and there might have been a moment when inroads were possible. But Divers saw the truth and roused herself, discovering that the giant body had taken only two full strides without her being aware.
Divers was standing in the middle of the long smooth tarmac, in the final blackness of night. The hanger’s long door had been closed since the sun vanished, but a smaller access hatch was propped open, revealing lights and the shadows riding on the lights, and she heard the bright hard whine of a corona-tooth drill cutting a precise hole through some fresh piece of corona bone.
The Eight were alone, nobody watching them.
Divers studied the rising slopes of the reef on her left and her right, dark and a little cool after the brief night. This was the world’s quiet time. No nocturnal animal wanted to walk in the open, exposed at dawn. Without orders or some deep personal need, no sane human would risk the storm.
Aloud, she said, “Tritian.”
Inside her, Tritian’s voice said, “Yes.”
“You tried,” she said with her mouth.
“I tried very little,” he whispered.
“You wanted to scare me, did you?”
“Are you scared?”
“Not even a little.”
“Then the game’s a miserable failure,” Tritian said.
She agreed but said nothing.
Other voices began to flow, and recognizing each speaker and the connotations, Divers hunted for codes in the ordinary words and any implications and the hints of emotion that should worry her or make her happy.
Tritian had sympathizers. Yet Divers had allies and genuine power, inside the body and across the world without.
“Attacking me now,” she said. “Is this the best time to seed chaos? Everything at stake and you launch an assault?”
“That accomplished nothing,” said her enemy.
Diver’s eyes—their eyes—were gazing down the long black runway. Where the pavement ended the reef fell away, and beyond the reef was open air and the first hints of red light. A giant fire was blazing under the demon floor, turning alien plants into volatile steam, and she intended to stand here, motionless as coral, allowing the hot first waves of rain to wash across the long potent body.
A child said her name.
Zakk said, “Divers.”
And she woke again.
The Eight were standing where she imagined the body to be, and the scene in her dream was the same as reality—the hanger behind her, full of noise and frantic shadows, the sleeping reef and the tarmac, and the air and fire beyond, great waves of water poised to rise like a wave over the world. The trick of the dream had been masterful. But the mastery was wasted; the body was hers and hers alone.
The boy called to her again, asking, “Is something wrong?”
“You aren’t sleeping,” she said.
“I couldn’t. I’m excited.”
“Did you ever meet the other children?” Divers waved at the village hiding higher up on the reef.
“Not yet. I was watching mechanics repairing the wing.”
“That is fun,” she agreed.
“I’ll meet the other children today,” he said.
She couldn’t care any less. What mattered was the gnawing urge to be suspicious of everything.
“I have an errand for you,” Divers said.
“Good,” Zakk said.
“In the hanger, ask someone for a mid-length pry bar. Find one with a sharpened end and bring it straight to me.”
The boy broke into a nervous laugh.
“Are you going to hit me with it?” he asked.
“Maybe that too,” said Divers. “But no, my plan is to stab myself. The bar is a tool, and pain is an even better tool. You see, I could be lying in a hole, sleeping and stupid. But more likely, I’m trapped in a sleepwalking state, which is an even worse prospect.”
Zakk had the largest eyes that she had ever seen on such a tiny, young face. He stared at Divers and at all of them, and then he said, “Yes,” as he turned, running quickly for the open hatch.
Something about that boy was wrong. In subtle, persistent ways, he made no sense, and she couldn’t decide why, and she watched him until he vanished and then turned to look at the brightening glare.
Little time passed before feet came back across the landing, aiming for her.
She pivoted, ready to compliment Zakk on his speed.
But it was a local soldier—an officer and one of the Eight’s first caretakers—and he had news that might already be too late.
“Bountiful,” he said.
The name meant something. But three other voices remembered the corona-hunting ship before Divers could.
“They found Bountiful hiding in the wilderness, and Diamond hiding inside her,” the young man said. Then a smile burst loose, and he added, “They’ve also found an open lane through the trees and signaled ahead, just a little while ago. As soon as the rain quits, Bountiful drops below the trees and sprints to the reef.”
“Putting the boy where?” she asked. “Here?”
But that was too much to hope for. “No, they’re going to the far side of Bright River, to the installations at High Coral Merry.”
That was a long distance. Covering the rough ground would take speed and focus, but she had both in abundance.
But what if this was a dream?
The officer—one of the allies who lived outside her body—was very much interested in whatever Divers said next.
“That boy,” she said. “I sent him for a tool.”
“We don’t trust him,” the man confessed. “We sent him chasing nonsense.”
“Very good,” she said.
“Should we do something more than mislead him?”
“Whatever you think reasonable.”
The officer nodded, saying nothing.
“Thank you for this news,” she said.
Her ally smiled, rocking side to side, watching in amazement as Divers began to run away at an amazing pace.
Stopping beside the first slope, she picked up a great chunk of hard blue coral. Then the left hand struck the right hand, crushing two fingers and a thumb.
Pain drew a map of her body. Yes, she was awake. She was certain that she was awake. Then the first drops of rain found her—the cool brave rain that always preceded the hot and helpless—and Divers started to gallop, hands helping the feet climb, the first sharp ridge soon behind her and nothing ahead but hazards and doubts and little voices whispering too loudly while floating through their own dreams.
Towlines lashed Panoply Night to a big fletch, and a hundred straps secured both vessels to the overhead canopy. A long gangway had been erected between Night’s stern and the Ruler of the Storm. Soldiers in bright parade uniforms walked before the Archon of Archons and soldiers in green militia garb met them in the middle, protocol and routine duties delaying their progress. The ranking Corona officer insisted that the honor guard retreat to their ship. But the man who mattered had no patience for clumsy tactics, and pushing to the front, List said, “Enough concessions. My people are coming with me, and with my son.”
King stepped up, letting the pests have one long glance at him. Then because it was so easy, so tempting, he planted an arm on the biggest shoulder and drove that fellow to his knees.
Bright uniforms took the lead.
And the wind rose, making a keening, sorrowful music with the tightening straps. But then the gusts softened just as quickly, and the world had a calm quiet moment before the first gouts of rain hammered at the gangway’s belly.