being but a thing.
But there was no sign of recognition when he looked up at her now, no acknowledgment of the irony of their reunion. She backed up a step from the stink of him, his filthy coveralls, remembering the richness of his clothes the last time. Maybe the drugs had gotten the last laugh on him after all... She almost smiled. There were a half-empty bottle and a dented can with a handful of coins in it sitting on the box beside him. As she came along the alley she had seen a Blue lieutenant with incongruous pink freckles give him a citation for begging. But the truculent expectation faded from his face as her question registered; he inventoried her, and Pollux with her, in a quick, expressionless glance. 'Maybe I know a Herne. Can't seem to remember.' His hand closed significantly around the can. 'Why?'
She dug into a pocket, tossed her loose change into the can. 'I hear he's down on his luck. Maybe I want to change it.'
'You?' He took a swig from the bottle, wiped his hand across his mouth. 'Again, why?'
'That's between him and me.' She folded her arms, almost beginning to enjoy the game. 'So where is he?'
'I'm Herne,' grudgingly.
'You?' She echoed his incredulity; laughed, going it one better. 'Prove it.'
'You bitch!'
She leaped back from the memory of his brutal strength; but he only swayed forward on the box, would have fallen off it if Pollux had not put out a rigid hand to push him upright again. Tor stood staring, still beyond his reach, while she tried to assess what she had just seen. 'So that's what he meant. You're a cripple!'
His mouth twisted. 'Who? Who sent you here?'
'Nobody important.' She shrugged awkwardly. 'I'm the one that wants to see you, Herne. I'm the one you better worry about.' She leaned against Pollux, ran a hand along the cool metal of his shoulder, smiling. 'What do you figure you'd do to me, if our positions were reversed ... ?'
Startled doubt tightened the muscles in his cheek. He studied her again, and Pollux. For a moment she thought she saw recognition; or maybe it was only the fear of recognition. How many enemies did a man like that have in a place like this ... how many real friends did he have in the whole universe? Herne slouched against the wall, resigned. 'Do what you want, I don't give a fuck.' He took another drink from the bottle.
'No.' She shook her head, remembering Dawntreader and her own troubles with something nearing empathy. 'Just asking. So how's business?' She peered into the can.
'Slow.' She felt him refusing to ask her her own business; a subtle tension filled the half of his body that still responded. Patrons from the Parallax View passed them by with averted eyes.
'You've come a long way down, since the last time we met.'
He didn't remember. She was certain now, not sure if she was glad or sorry. 'I've begged before; it never killed me.'
She shifted her weight against Pollux, looked him over slowly. 'I think it might, this time.'
He glanced up, down again; didn't answer.
'I hear you really knew your way around the Maze before your-uh, accident.' She wondered what or who had done this to him. 'I hear you really know which way the power flows, off world and on. Well, that's worth something to me.'
'Why?' sharply.
'What's it to you?' She countered, not sure what reason was going to come off her tongue that wasn't the truth. 'You ask a lot of questions for a beggar.'
'I want to know why a Winter would want to know. There's only one Winter—' He frowned.
'There's thousands of us, and we're just as interested in making it big as your are, foreigner.' She unfastened a pocket and pulled out her credit card, held it up in front of him as Sparks had held his up to her. 'Maybe I don't want to be a loader forever. Maybe I want to get my slice before all of you go off world and take the cake with you.' She felt a dim surprise that the words made sense to her.
He nodded, noncommittal, as though they even made sense to him. 'You said it's worth something. How much?' He squinted at the card face.
'I don't have much ... but it's more than you've got. You even got a place to stay?'
A single shake of his greasy, unkempt head.
She swore. 'That's what I figured. You can stay at my place, for now. You need somebody around to feed you and clean up after you anyhow.'
'I need money, not somebody to wipe my goddamn nose! Don't waste my time.' He reached over his shoulder and scratched, grimacing.
She watched him scratch. 'It's a wonder anybody gets close enough to put anything in that,' she gestured at the can. 'What are you going to do when your clothes crawl right off your back some night?'
'You want to take 'em off tonight, instead, sweetheart?' He leered.
Her mouth thinned; she forced it back into a smile. 'You're not my type, cripple. Pollux here does all my dirty work for me. He's used to dragging around dead weights.'
'Whatever you say, Tor,' Pollux droned benignly. There was an indefinable suggestion of approval in the toneless voice. She stood away from him again, a little uneasily. Sometimes it was hard to remember that he was nothing but a predictably programmed loading device.
'You can have food and shelter as long as you're worth it to me, Herne. Take it or leave it.' Take it or leave it, you bastard. I'm screwed either way.
'I can't keep up with what's happening unless I get to circulate. I need money for that, I need a way to —'
'You'll get what you need — as long as I do.' As long as Dawn treader keeps his bargain with us.
He leaned back, with a smile that was something ugly on his handsome face. 'Then you've got yourself an advisor, sweetheart.' He stretched his arms, carefully.
'I've got myself a big pain in the ass.' She picked up his battered can and emptied the coins out into her hand. 'All right, Polly, cart him home.'
Chapter 19
The limitless absence of light and life wrapped Moon's senses in a smothering shroud, deprived her of all sensation. Falling into a bottomless well, she knew herself for the last feeble spark of life in a universe where Death reigned undisputed ... the consort of Death, whose intangible embrace sapped her of strength and sanity. She had come into this place outside life, searching for her lost love, by a gate she had passed through many times; but this time she had lost her way, and there was no one to answer her cries, no ear to hear them, no voice to carry... Let me go home...
'Let me go home!' Moon sat up in bed, her voice beating back at her from the tight walls of the tiny room.
'Moon, Moon — it's only a nightmare. You're safe with us now. Safe.' Elsevier's arms were around her, gentling her, as Gran had comforted a child in the night; so long ago, so long ago...
The room filled her wet blinking eyes with painful artificial day; the threedy set into the wall fountained noise and motion — just as they had before she slipped down into uncertain sleep. Since the ordeal of the Black Gate, she could not stay in a darkened room. She swallowed a knot of aching grief, rested her head against Elsevier's soft-robed shoulder, feeling the cool movement of air over the back of her own clammy nightshirt. The world slowly congealed around her, reaffirming her place in it; her heart stopped trying to tear itself out of her chest. She found herself listening for the sound of the sea.
'It's all right. I'm all right now.' Her voice still sounded thin and unconvincing ... the nightmare loss of strength and control had become a part of her waking existence. She sat up again, away from Elsevier's reassuring presence, pulling strands of damp hair back behind her ears. 'I'm sorry I woke you again. Elsie. I just can't—' She broke off, ashamed of her helplessness, rubbing miserably at her eyes. They burned as though they were full of
