Wasteland of flint

a swimming pool, all blue water and glittering sunlight. In the high definition of the holocam the green tint of too many summer days spent in chlorinated water was very clear. 'An agent of the Mirror. A spy. Both Hadeishi and I are under his jurisdiction. This is a government mission now, not the Company's.'

Bandao looked up, forehead creased by a single frown line. Parker stared at Gretchen, grimacing. 'The secret police? Sister's smile, this sucks!'

Gretchen nodded, turning away from the holocard. 'Listen, we have to be careful with this. We still work for the Company and will be held responsible for getting back the Palenque and any material, objects, artifacts, data – everything the first expedition collected. Gossi's 'great deal' was forced on him by the Navy and he didn't have much choice about shipping us out with them. This judge will keep out of the way, but anything that we find he wants, he gets. Poof.'

Parker shrugged. He didn't care. Bandao slid the barrel of the shipgun back into the firing block and locked it in place with a twist and a sharp chink. Like everything else he did, the motion was assured and without waste.

'Let's talk about the Palenque.' Gretchen pinched the bridge of her nose. 'The captain has offered us a Marine boarding team to secure her. However, an agent of the Company has to be the first on board, to reassert claim to the ship. Otherwise, it will be a derelict and the Navy will have possession. Now, the Company could get the ship back, eventually, but not without putting a case to the Naval court of adjudication. Parker – you have z-g experience, right?'

The pilot nodded, fingering one of the patches on his jacket. 'You bet, boss. My suit is in storage, but I'll pull it out and checklist it tomorrow. Who else goes? Or is it just little ole me with the big mean Marines?'

Gretchen pointed at Bandao with her chin. 'Mister Bandao, are you qualified in a suit? Can you use this cannon of yours in z-g?'

The gunner nodded, looking up. He had very pale blue eyes.

'Do you ever say anything?'

'Occasionally.' Bandao snapped the stock and the body of the shipgun together. 'Parker talks enough for both of us.'

The officers' mess seemed colder as Gretchen entered and sat down. The lights were dimmed and the hatchway to the galley was closed. A man was sitting cross-legged on the mat at the head of the table, watching her. He seemed to be of medium height, lean and wiry, with a solid nut-brown face and deep-set eyes. Gretchen sat quietly, her face impassive. She felt on edge, but not nervous. The man was wearing a plain white shirt, cut to resemble a traditional mantle with long sleeves. His hands were hidden under the edge of the table.

After a long period of silence, he said, 'Do you understand how dangerous you are?'

Gretchen blinked, then shook her head. 'I don't follow your meaning.'

The man continued to sit. The nearest ceiling light illuminated the crisp white cotton of his shirt, but not his face. 'You are a scientist, a thinking being. Tell me why you are dangerous.'

'I am not dangerous,' Gretchen replied, her voice acquiring an edge. 'I am a loyal citizen of the Empire, a dutiful employee, a careful scientist. My work may place me in physical danger, but I am not, of myself, dangerous. I have never hurt anyone.'

The man continued to sit quietly, watching her. More time passed.

At last, nervous, Gretchen said, 'Is this interview complete?'

The man shook his head, no.

'You have not given me enough information to form a hypothesis,' she said, after another long pause. Then she stopped before saying anything more. She realized that he had provided her with three – no, four – data points. Enough for a three-dimensional structure… Unconsciously, her head bent down a little, and she frowned, her lips pursing.

'You say that I am dangerous. I am a scientist. I think. If my work is successful, something unknown to our science becomes known. That would be something new. Newness is change, which may inflict pain, or suffering, or death. Do you think there is something on Ephesus I might find, where others have not? Something dangerous?'

The man leaned forward a little, and the overhead light caught in his eyes. They were a smoky, jadite green. 'There is a man in your cabin. His name is David Parker. He carries a weapon. Is he dangerous?'

'I don't think so,' Gretchen said, turning her head a little sideways, eyes narrowing. 'I know him, he is a companion. He is not dangerous to me. But yes, I understand. He is, of himself, dangerous. He could kill or hurt another.'

The man leaned backward, the smoky green light fading. 'Is he very dangerous?'

Gretchen bristled at the new tone in the man's voice. Where before it had been calm and level, now it took on a patronizing tone, as if she were a small child having trouble with her maths. 'No, not very. Not in a large context. He might kill one other, then be slain himself. The duration of his dangerousness is limited.'

'Is yours?'

'Limited? It must be, for I am only one person. What could I do? I could be easily killed or imprisoned if I prove dangerous. Is that what you do? Do you watch for 'dangerous' persons and remove them from society? Is this what it means to be a judge?'

The man placed a small blue pyramid of what seemed to be leaded glass on the table. In the brief moment when his hand was visible, Gretchen saw that it was gnarled and twisted, muscular, a farmer's hand. Like her grandfather's hands, roughened and seamed by the elements. Fine puckered scars ran across the palm and the wrist. The stiff white shirt-cuff hid the forearm, but Gretchen was suddenly sure his whole body was marked in this same way, like etched glass.

'The tlamatinime, the wise men, have a sacred duty. It is to sustain the world.' The man turned the pyramid a bit, so the light fell upon it squarely. 'They are ceaselessly vigilant, watching over each of us while we go about our daily business. Do you see this book?'

Gretchen raised an eyebrow in surprise. The blue pyramid did not look like a book at all, though she supposed it might contain a holostore or memory lattice. 'Yes.'

The green-eyed man smiled faintly, holding up the pyramid. 'It is very dangerous. A world might be destroyed by it. But it is not as dangerous as you are, right now.'

Gretchen felt a chill steal over her. She could not see the man's other hand, and she suddenly imagined the scarred fingers holding a gun, a weapon, a small flat gray pistol with a round black muzzle. The gun, she was sure, was pointed at the pit of her stomach. It would fire a shock pellet, striking her flesh, ripping through her shirt, then bursting violently, shattering her pelvis, gouging a huge gaping red hole out of her back. She would die slowly, as blood leaked away from her brain and the wrinkled gray organ asphyxiated.

'Why am I dangerous?' Her voice sounded very faint.

The man put the blue pyramid away. 'Telling you why would serve no purpose. It is enough, for you, for now, to know you are dangerous. In you, the life of every living human being is at risk.' His gaze sharpened and Gretchen felt his scrutiny like a physical pressure against her face. 'Are you are afraid of me?'

'Yes.'

'That is good. Are you afraid of death?'

'Yes.'

'Better.'

Then he was silent. Gretchen waited, sitting, her palms damp with sweat. She wondered what the blue pyramid contained. A dangerous book? Books had always been friendly to her, offering her succor, sanctuary, and advantage. Friends who didn't mind if you only called once a year. But it might contain plans for a weapon – a virus, a bomb, something truly deadly. With that, she thought she understood his question. What if I find something like that on Ephesus? Some First Sun weapon that could shatter a star, or burn a planet to a cinder?

Green Hummingbird stood up, moving stiffly. Gretchen realized he was very old, far older than his voice suggested. He looked down at her, his face grim, then limped to the door. Without turning her head, Gretchen tried to see if the man really had a pistol. Nothing. The hatch chuffed open and the Mйxica went out into the passage. Gretchen let out a long, slow breath, feeling suddenly awake and relieved of a great weight which had lain upon her.