conversations and gone to the same fine parties, and their shopping adventures had stretched on for weeks at a time. They always traveled together. And in their combined lives, nothing with real substance had occurred to either of them.
The glacier was thick and swiftly built up by the waves of falling snow. Sorrel and her companion skied away from the rest of the group, scaling a tall ridge that placed them nearly a kilometer above the invisible sea. Then the snow began to fall harder-fat wet flakes joining into snowballs that plunged from the white sky. They were skiing close together, linked by a smart-rope. Sorrel happened to be in the lead. What happened next, she couldn't say. Her first guess, and still her best guess, was that her friend thought of a little joke to play. She disabled the rope and untied herself, and where the ridge widened, she attempted to slip ahead of Sorrel, probably to scare her when she was most vulnerable.
Where the friend fell was a bit of a mystery.
Later, coming to the end of the ridge, Sorrel saw that she was alone. But she naturally assumed her companion had grown tired and gone back to rejoin the others. There wasn't cause for worry, and she didn't like worry, and so Sorrel didn't give it another thought.
But the other tourists hadn't seen her missing friend, either.
A search was launched. But the heavy snowfall turned into what can only be described as an endless avalanche from the sky. In the next hour, the glacier rose by twenty meters. By the time rescue crews could set to work, it was obvious that the missing passenger had stumbled into one of the vast crevices, and her body was dead, and without knowing her location, the only reasonable course would be to wait for the ice to push to the sea and watch for her battered remains.
In theory, a human brain could withstand that kind of abuse.
But the AI guide didn't believe in theory. 'What nobody tells you is that this fucking island was once an industrial site. Why do you think the engineers covered it up? To hide their wreckage, of course. Experimental hyperfibers, mostly. Very sharp and sloppy, and the island was built with their trash, and if you put enough pressure on even the best bioceramic head, it will crack. Shatter. Pop, and die, and come out into the sea as a few handfuls of fancy sand.'
Her friend was dead.
Sorrel never liked the woman more than anyone else or felt any bond unique just to the two of them. But the loss was heavy and persistent, and for the next several weeks, she thought about little else.
Meanwhile, their voyage through the Great Ship reached a new sea.
One night, while surrounded by a flat gray expanse of methane, Sorrel happened upon the J'Jal man wearing his red jacket and red slacks, and the fancy white tie beneath his nearly human face. He smiled at her, his expression genuine with either species. Then quietly, he asked, 'Is something wrong?' Nobody in her own group had noticed her pain. Unlike her, they were convinced that their friend would soon enough return from the oblivion.
Sorrel sat with the J'Jal. And for a very long while, they didn't speak. She found herself staring at his bare feet, thinking about the fragility of life. Then with a dry low voice, she admitted, 'I'm scared.'
'Is that so?' Cre'llan said.
'You know, at any moment, without warning, the Great Ship could collide with something enormous. At a third the speed of light, we might strike a sunless world or a small black hole, and billions would die inside this next instant.'
'That may be true,' her companion purred. 'But I have invested my considerable faith in the talents of our captains.'
'I haven't,' she countered.
'No?'
'My point here…' She hesitated, shivering for reasons other than the cold. 'My point is that I have lived for a few years, and I can't remember ever grabbing life by the throat. Do you know what I mean?'
'Very well,' he claimed.
His long toes curled and then relaxed again.
'Why don't you wear shoes?' she finally asked.
And with the softest possible touch, Cre'llan laid his hand on hers. 'I am an alien, Sorrel.' He spoke while smiling, quietly telling her, 'And it would mean so much to me if you could somehow, in your soul, forget what I am.'
'We were lovers before the night was finished,' she admitted. A fond look passed into a self-deprecating chuckle. 'I thought all J'Jal men were shaped like he was. But they aren't, he explained. And that's when I learned about the Faith of the Many Joinings.'
Pamir nodded, waiting for more.
'They did eventually find my lost friend, you know.' A wise sorry laugh came out of her. 'A few years later, a patrol working along the edge of the glacier kicked up some dead bones and then the skull with her mind inside. Intact.' Sorrel sat back in her chair, breasts moving under the blouse. 'She was reconstituted and back inside her old life within the month, and do you know what? In the decades since, I haven't spoken to my old friend more than three times.
'Funny, isn't it?'
'The Faith,' Pamir prompted.
She seemed to expect the subject. With a slow shrug of the shoulders, Sorrel observed, 'Whoever you are, you weren't born into comfort and wealth. That shows, I think. You've had to fight in your life… probably through much of your life… for things that any fool knows are important. While someone like me-less than a fool by a long way- walks through paradise without ever asking herself, 'What matters?''
'The Faith,' he repeated. 'Think of the challenge,' she said. Staring through him, she asked, 'Can you imagine how very difficult it is to be involved -romantically and emotionally linked -with another species?'
'It disgusts me,' he lied.
'It disgusts a lot of us,' she replied. For an instant, she wore a doubting gaze, perhaps wondering if he was telling the truth about his feelings. Then she let the doubt fall aside. 'I wasn't exceptionally horrified by the idea of sex outside my species,' she admitted. 'Which is why I wasn't all that interested either. Somewhere in the indifferent middle, I was. But when I learned about this obscure J'Jal belief… how an assortment of like-minded souls had gathered, taking the first critical steps in what might well be the logical evolution of life in our universe…'
Her voice drifted away.
'How many husbands did you take?'
She acted surprised. 'Why? Don't you know?'
Pamir let her stare at him.
Finally, she said, 'Eleven.'
'You are Joined to all of them.'
'Until a few years ago, yes.' The eyes shrank, and with the tears, they brightened. 'The first death looked like a random murder. Horrible, but imaginable. But the second killing was followed a few months later by a third. The same weapon was used in each tragedy, with the same general manner of execution…' Her voice trailed away, the mouth left open and empty. One long hand wiped at the tears, accomplishing little but pushing moisture across the sharp cheeks. 'Since the dead belonged to different species, and since the members of the Faith… my husbands and myself… are sworn to secrecy-'
'Nobody noticed the pattern,' Pamir interrupted.
'Oh, I think they saw what was happening,' she muttered. 'After the fifth or sixth death, security people made inquiries at the library. But no one there could admit anything. And then the killings slowed, and the investigation went away. No one was offered protection, and my name was never mentioned. At least that's what I assume, since nobody was sent to interview me.' Then with a quiet, angry voice, Sorrel added, 'After they linked the murders to the library, they didn't care what happened.'
'How do you know that?'
She stared at Pamir, regarding him as if he were a perfect idiot.
'What? Did the authorities assume this was some ugly internal business among the Joined?'
'Maybe,' she said. 'Or maybe they received orders telling them to stop searching.'
'Who gave the orders?'
