electrified current of knowledge passed before them.
The underground people drew closer together, fearing what they had never seen. Crab held Mischa's hand, watching, interested in all the new places they passed. Jan continued doggedly forward with no resiliency left in his step at all, and Val walked with Simon, her nervousness increasing, but her pride and her confidence restored. She spoke occasionally in a voice too low for Mischa to hear, and once Simon answered. Subtwo led the group, still naked, for he would not touch the ill-assorted filthy garments his people had to spare.
Why Val and the rest had decided to enter the city was still a mystery. They were curious, but Mischa sensed more purpose in their actions, a purpose that overcame their fear.
Subtwo stopped before the closed door of the pseudosibs' section of the Palace. This was the first time Mischa had ever seen it shut, and she imagined that it might not open, that someone inside had been warned they were coming and closed them out. But Subtwo unlocked it with his voice and they entered. Mischa secured it again behind them, but there was no way to lock Subone out.
When she turned back, Subtwo was facing the small group, blocking the corridor. 'How do I know our bargain has not already been broken? How do I know he is not dead?'
'He's alive! If we don't hurry, he'll be here.'
Subtwo did not move except to lower his head, glaring; he would renege if he was not sure his pseudosib was alive.
'Call him, then,' Mischa said. 'He's near, he must be around antenna leads.'
Subtwo scowled more deeply, suspicious, but unable to find deceit in her suggestion. He led the way to his quarters: through the long, carpeted halls, past a residence wing, in which the raiders were locked, disarmed but with access to food and medicine. They did not even protest. In the foyer, the light-fountain sparkled brilliant white. The underground people followed, into the paneled corridor that led directly to Subtwo's rooms, touching strange things gently; they seemed to have no need or desire to take or destroy. In Subtwo's workroom, they stood in a tight group, like small creatures who had blundered into the interior of a machine.
Subtwo sat down at the console, slowly, almost reluctantly. 'If I cannot reach him, our agreement is void.'
'I never lied to you,' Mischa said.
He turned on his equipment. They heard static, scrambled Family chatter, channels of sensory input, as Subtwo scanned the frequencies for a clear calling band.
He called, paused, called, paused, and the response returned. 'Is that you? Where are you?' Subone's voice: he sounded surprised.
'I am in our quarters.'
'At the Palace! But—'
'Where are you?'
'Coming home. But you—'
'You were to wait for my return.'
'I felt stronger—we decided—never mind me. Did you—?'
'I found them.'
There was a hesitation, as of surprise. 'Good!' Subone exclaimed. 'Excellent! I knew you would avenge me, brother.' The tone was not one of satisfaction in revenge, but of gloating in power. Mischa heard it; everyone in the room heard it: even Subtwo. He raised his hand as though to smash it down on the controls, wavered, and slowly closed his fingers into a great fist.
'We are no longer brothers.'
As Subone's voice, in confused protest, spilled from the receiver, Subtwo turned it off, very, very carefully. He faced the people in his quarters as though they all were honored guests. 'He will return soon. We must hurry.'
He seemed, to Mischa, as afraid as she was that Subone still could influence him, but now, at least, he was certain of the motives.
'Then let's go.'
That infuriating, tolerant expression slipped over his face. 'In a moment. Is there nothing you want?' He let his gaze wander over the room; he walked to his desk and touched bits of equipment.
'No, nothing. Nothing at all. Except to leave.' She was becoming exasperated with him, and dreading that he would, in the end, delay until Subone arrived. Her fingertips brushed the sculpted handle of the lance. Jan turned her a little. 'Give him a minute,' he said. 'I want to get a few things too, if they're still in my room.'
She acceded, reluctantly, not really wanting to let him go alone, he looked so tired, but afraid to trust Subtwo, afraid everything would fall apart again. She sat on the floor and put her arms around Crab, telling him slowly, gently, that she was leaving, right now, not in his indeterminate and unimaginable personal future. He had seen—and understood, for an infinitesimal bit of time—what she was doing and why, and though the understanding had faded, he retained the memory of it. He did not try to convince her to stay.
Val padded over to them. 'Is Crab going with you?'
'He's going wherever you and Simon go,' Mischa said. 'But I don't know what to tell him.'
'We haven't changed our minds. We're staying here.'
'Will you be all right without Subtwo as a hostage?'
'We'll be all right. Don't worry.' Her eyes smiled; her aura sparkled with excitement.
Mischa leaned down to Crab again. He was, after all, very young, and preferred events to go as he pleased. In the end, she told him she would try, someday, to come and see him again. When she looked up, the underground people stood around her. 'Now it's time to say goodbye,' Val said.
Mischa stood up. 'Good-bye, then.' She hugged Val and Simon. 'Good-bye, Simon.'
'Good-bye, Mischa.' He gripped her hands hard, claws retracted.
'Be careful.' She embraced each of the others, wishing them well.
'When you get to the Sphere,' Val said, 'tell them we are still alive. Tell them not to send their renegades here anymore. Tell them our children should not have to be born crippled.'
'I will. I promise.'
Silent and strange, they left her alone with Subtwo.
Still naked, and of all his possessions only a microcomputer and two library input banks neatly stacked behind him, he was sitting at his console, moving his hands among the controls of his links to the Palace intercom, flipping the image from camera to camera.
'What are you doing?' Mischa cried it out; guiltily, startled, he pushed himself away from the console. Mischa needed no more proof for her suspicions. She smashed her fist against the master power control and fused the panel with the laser lance.
'I was only trying to. contact someone.'
'I'll bet.'
'Not to call for help—'
'Come on. I want to get Jan.'
'But I must—'
'No!'
He gazed down at the ruined console, at the blank, gray, depthless screens. 'But she will think I did not care.'
'Hurry up!' Mischa did not listen to him; she had no patience for his petty intrigues and affaires, and the despair she felt from him would have to wait for any sympathy: she believed it to be because he was leaving Subone.
Shoulders slumped, Subtwo crossed the room, found one of his blue-gray coveralls, and put it on while Mischa fumed impatiently.
Chapter 16
