"And you knew the cost of staying! Did you really think that I would be satisfied just reading and scanning the outside world?"
"No. We're not perfect here." She plucked the pipette from Promise's hand, and slipped it back into the rack. "We make mistakes. We feel fear. We make rules to protect ourselves. We know what happened to you when you left."
"You knew?"
Ariane's expression was almost scornful. "Can you really believe that I wouldn't care?"
"I think I want to come back."
"You were told that the option was open."
"Just ... let the decision be one of love, not need. Please." Promise took a step toward the woman who stood clipboard pressed to her chest like a shield. "Please let me decide. Everything I did in the outside world I did to survive."
"You think that I can't understand survival?" Promise stepped closer, into the light. Her mother looked much older than she remembered, as if more than mere years had crept into the equation. Some poison of the soul, perhaps. Her facial skin looked doughy and too malleable, like someone who has made one too many concessions to necessity.
"I built all of this."
"And it's beautiful."
"Is it? It was meant for women, as a refuge from the filth of men. And it was structured as a democratic society. If only I'd known how deeply the poison has seeped."
"What do you mean?"
"I tried to build something strong and good here. My patents brought in money—more money than I would ever need. If I'd only known." She shook her head, for a moment seemingly unaware that Promise was even in the room. "I wanted to give life. To extend life. My God. That man can twist anything."
"What man?"
Ariane caught herself. "Men." She looked up at Promise again, eyes bright. "You were my daughter. You were to follow my work. We taught you to dance, and you gave it to men. We taught you love, and you whored yourself for men."
"And women," Promise breathed. "Women paid me, just like men. And they treated me no better."
"Corrupted women!" Dr. Cotonou screamed.
"Then the entire species is corrupted," Promise said quietly. "Then mothers corrupt their children in the cradle. Who was it who said 'give me a child for the first five years, and you can have him thereafter'? That's the mother's role. If we've so abdicated responsibility, what sense does it make to blame men for that? Why not just consider it a basic flaw in the species and give the damn planet back to the roaches?"
"I won't debate with you, Promise. You asked sanctuary, and it was granted. You asked for your man to have an opportunity to prove himself to us. He did work with us, that is clear. And he was given an opportunity to dance. If he takes it, there will be a vote. I can't interfere."
"Not pro or con."
"No. Neither pro nor con. Heaven help me." She held the door back. "I have to ask you to leave."
Promise walked out past her, past the little woman who seemed terribly bowed by age and time, as if staggering under a burden she dared not share.
"Mother . . ."
"Go on now," Ariane whispered.
As Promise passed through the door she turned, and hugged her, kissing Ariane's face desperately, hoping for a response. Any response.
"Go, now."
Promise turned and left.
The dinner was delicious, but Promise's tastebuds simply weren't in gear. She couldn't enjoy it at all. The tastes made it as far as her conscious mind, but not to her pleasure centers.
She listened to the blur of conversations in the room, feeling guilt atop the loss. Aubry was gone. He had left his things, and just gone. He was through with her, with them.
The grief was so strong that she could barely move. She found herself staring at her fork for long moments, until Jenna came to her.
"Are you all right? You haven't eaten much. I've watched."
"I'm fine. Just frightened. Just . . ."
Jenna sat, and took Promise's hand in her own. "If it's over, it is."
Promise slid her own hand free. "You wouldn't understand. Everyone acts as if he's doing me a favor to go away. Jenna ... I love him. I only loved one other man, and he betrayed me. Aubry never has. He saved my life. He gave me my child. I . . ." Promise buried her face in her hands, and wept.
Jenna watched her, face betraying no emotion. Finally, she spoke. "I think that I can understand. He's a lot of man, Promise. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't attracted."
Startled, Promise glanced up. "You?"
She nodded. "Nothing happened, or would have happened. You're my sister. He's your man. And we both knew the score. But the feeling was there."
"I didn't think you liked men."
"Most men are little boys. When they don't get what they want from life, they have their women stroke them, let them feel that life is against them. I just didn't feel that from Aubry. He's a man, and most aren't. What he isn't is a whole human being."
"What ...?"
"It's just an observation. He is the most dangerous fighter I've ever seen. I couldn't kill him with a hand grenade in a locked room. He could have broken every bone in my body without effort, just by breaking the rhythm of the flow. But he didn't. He let me have my honor. But that isn't enough. He doesn't know that he is the power. Oh, it's the Nullboxing. Or it's this man Warrick. But Aubry can't see who Aubry is. And so he'll keep searching until he finds someone who'll show him. By killing him."
Promise dropped her fork onto her plate. "I don't think I'm hungry."
"I don't blame you." Jenna straightened her back. She changed the subject without artifice. "Dancing tonight. Three of the girls are making their debut."
Promise sighed, and leaned back against the cushions.
The places were cleared, and Promise drew herself up and back. Why inflict her private demons on others?
The three girls appeared, greeted by a polite round of applause as they stepped onto the stage. They wore gray tights that were so sheer they made silk seem like burlap, and clung to their young bodies like a spray of moondust. Promise was transported. She remembered her own moment, so many years before, making her first appearance here, the butterflies swarming in her stomach.
The girls began to move.
Shyly at first, the barest tilt of their heads giving the desired impression of the moment: vulnerability. A child's—
There was a sudden, abrupt hush in the room and Promise looked to the rear.
"Oh my God ..."
Aubry stood, stripped to the waist, wearing gray tights that had been stitched together roughly. They threatened to pull apart at the seams. His body, massively muscled, was certainly larger and more spectacularly proportioned than any other body in the encampment. The stitches were ragged X's, but still, the tights fit.
Head down modestly, Aubry walked the center aisle to the middle of the room. The three girls in the front stared, then tittered. Then, bless them, they made a place for him between them, and joined hands.
What was he ... ?
They began to move. Aubry moved more lightly than the girls, despite the grotesque inequity of weight. There was grace, but no elegance in his movement, only leashed power.
Promise's heart went out to him. She could see the concentration on his face, in his eyes. Aubry fought for control, fought for both their lives.
There were titters of laughter in the room, and then an unrestrained guffaw.
But the girls somehow managed to keep their poise. They allowed Aubry to be one of them, and the four of them tried to flow together. Their backs were more flexible than his, but his legs split as wide. His pirouettes, clumsy though they might have been, were perfectly balanced.
And slowly, the tenor in the room changed. His body was soaked in sweat. The catcalls increased. Dasha stood and called: "This is a mockery! Get him off the stage."
Aubry turned, and looked out at them, and his eyes were vast and dark. He didn't have even a grain of resistance left in him. He just shrugged and began to step down.
Jenna
leapt to her feet. "The hell you say! This man is trying. And he deserves your respect if not your admiration. He has his heart open. He is willing to be vulnerable, and all you're doing is kicking him where he's open. Is that what we are? Is that it?"
There was a grumble of protest, but Glenda Wright's stolid, massive figure joined Jenna's slight one. Her massive forearms were folded, and her eyes narrowed. The room quieted swiftly.
Aubry joined hands with the girls again. They began to move, and this time the flow was a little more relaxed—he wasn't trying so very hard.
And the catcalls became clapping, tentative at first, then spreading through the room like a joyous infection. Here was this great, hulking brute of a man spinning on his toes, flexing and rolling his hard, gleaming stomach muscles in rhythm to the music. Promise felt some of the ice around her heart begin to melt. It was possible. It was just possible.
And she turned. In the back of the hall, a lone woman stood. And as she turned, the entire gathering turned, and stood to face Ariane. Ariane said nothing, just watched Aubry on the stage, and then turned to look at Promise.
Please. Please . . .
Ariane nodded her head slightly, and the room exploded into cheers.
It was at that moment that the alarm klaxons rang.
Chapter Sixteen
Fire
Ephesus was in an uproar. Aubry stood in the middle of the oval, still dressed in his tights. Cars and aircars, motorbikes and teams of firefighters on foot, weaved around him in controlled chaos. Children in endless streams ran to safety, herded by nursemaids. He felt lost. This was not his place, not his world, but it was a fight. He wanted in.
Promise rushed past him without a word. She and five other women entered a long, low sheet-metal shed. She emerged moments later wearing hip boots and carrying a shovel. They headed directly toward one of the reconditioned school buses pulling smoothly into the oval.
He snatched at her arm. "I'll grab a shovel or something and come with you—"
She took his face firmly in her hands. "No. I know, exactly what to do, and where I'm going. Stay here. Go to Firewatch Central, in the communications building, and get an assignment." His face must have been a holoboard, because Promise's attitude suddenly changed. "This isn't a put-down, baby. It's the way things have to be."
The bus door hissed shut behind her, and it lurched into motion, heading out toward Marjo Valley.
Aubry ran west across the camp and just missed colliding with two women who scurried out of the communications building. They barely noticed him.
The building held more electronic apparatus than the rest of the camp combined. The first floor was bisected by an immense map which tilted back at forty-five degrees to the floor. At present one triangular patch was alight with red, spreading out to black.
He stepped through the door, unnoticed by any of the women in the room as they concentrated on the sights and sounds before them.
"We have identified the fire area. South of Trask River, north of Marjo Valley. Satellite confirmation coming through from Northwest Digital. Please stand by . . ."
"—icopters? This is area 1402, Northwest, awaiting confirmation of availability. This is an urgent situation. We have two fires in process. We are—"
Jenna met Aubry at the door. "Aubry. Bad timing. You'll have to leave."
"There has to be something that I can do. I can't just stand here and watch everything happen. It's not my nature."
"We don't have time to argue. Look at the map. The way the fire is circling Marjo, it looks like arson. The best thing for you is to stay here. We'll need help with burn and smoke inhalation cases. If I have time, I'll find a better position for you—it won't be make-work, but I don't have time to argue with you. Can you understand that?" "Not much choice, is there?"
A call from the other side of the room. "Jenna ... we have the weather prediction coming in now. We've got no rain fronts in sight, but no high winds either. No help or hurt. It looks like we're in this alone."
"All right. Let's set up a backburn here along Flint Ridge. Fire's burning south here? OK. Get a crew in. Chop back the undergrowth, burn it here, up the ridge. When the fire gets to the other side, it won't—shouldn't— have anything to eat. I want security checks run on any aircraft in the area. See if there's been any unusual activity. Copters and hovercraft would be the worst. Ground vehicles have to worry about being caught by the fire. They'll be a lot more cautious—"
Aubry backed out of the room. He could see that he wasn't needed there, but still itched for action. He sat on the porch outside, watching a thin plume of smoke curling up in the distance. Out there, death was cooking, and he felt awesomely impotent and vulnerable. What could he do?
Nothing, until the situation had been judged, the forces organized. Until then, he had to sit back and do what he was told.
It galled him, that was all.
A woman's solitary figure moved across the oval, stopped in the middle. The camp was almost deserted. A final truck raced by her, leaving a trail of settling dust. It was Ariane who stood there, shoulders sloped as she watched the destruction of her dream.
He walked up behind her softly.
"Ariane . . . ?"
She turned, and he saw tears in her eyes. For a moment— but only for a moment—there was tremendous vulnerability in that expression. Then it hardened. "All for nothing," she said.
"What are you talking about? It won't be so bad. You seem damned organized."
"You don't understand. How could someone like you ever understand?"
She turned and walked toward the Bioworks building. Before she reached it an explosion shook the camp's southern end. The library gouted fire from its shattered roof. Aubry curled on the ground as wood splinters, mixed with smoke and soot, rained from the sky.
"Damn!" He rolled to his feet and sprinted toward the building. "What's happening here?"
As women ran from Communications/Firewatch, Aubry sank back into the shadows. What he was supposed to do was run toward the fire. What he was supposed to do was try to save people, try to save buildings. What no one would expect him to do was sit back and observe.
Where was the enemy . . . ?
There was a muffled whumpf, and a soft whistling sound. Another building roared with flame.
Rocket attack! Who in the hell would hate these women enough for that? To attack a woodland area with incendiary rockets was insane unless . . .
Distraction.
He backed out of the camp, scrambled back up into the woods, and watched. The entire scene was a madhouse now. Fires raged at two corners of the camp. Every available pair of hands was bent to extinguishing them. All right. The enemy has pulled attention away from the center. That had to be the true target.
He slipped back into camp, through the shadows, as much a part of the night as the moon.
Ariane. Bioworks. All for nothing . . .
She was the target, and she knew it.
Why? Why would anyone want to kill her?
Aubry crept into the Bioworks building, hunkered down in a shadow, tried to absorb the size and shape of the structure, find its relationship to his body, until he felt it down to its foundations.
Vibration. It was an overwhelming part of the night. The sound of traffic outside, of voices. And then of another explosion next door to Bioworks. A painfully bright surge of yellow light flooded through the windows. Administration!
And there, of a window being broken in the back of Bioworks.
The power went out in the building.
Killing time.
Aubry's eyes searched the halls, looking for a weapon. He found nothing. Very well. Until he could kill the first assailant, it would be empty hands only.
On the balls of his feet, Aubry moved through the darkened halls. Outside, the fires raged but Aubry's attention was on the blaze within him, realizing that he felt at peace for the first time since aiding the NewMen in Los Angeles. This was his world. It wasn't a place. It wasn't a
person, it was a feeling, a particularly nasty void between ethic and efficiency. A place where violence lived like a hungry, red-eyed predator. Here, a man like Aubry Knight found his balance in a universe that didn't, couldn't, care about the lives of individual people. Only people could care about people. Ariane could think what she wanted of him. He wouldn't allow her to die.
Freeze.
Shape at the end of the hall. Aubry faded into the wall, aided by the natural darkness of his skin, and his affinity for the shadows.
The man walked right to him, was almost on top of him before he knew that Aubry was there.
The edge of Aubry's foot speared out, cracking the knee. Before the man had time to use the long-barreled handgun, Aubry's arm was around his neck. The gun discharged, too near Aubry's eyes, and the barrel flash shocked the world into a blur of reds and blacks. Aubry wrenched sharply, and the body slithered to the floor.
He felt rather than heard the footsteps on the floor behind him.
Aubry dove and rolled, tearing the gun from the dead man's hands as he did. His hand slid over the weapon as he bounced toward safety. A silenced automatic pistol. Perfect for assassin's work.
Slugs chewed wedges from the floor. Aubry skittered sideways. Even through his clouded vision, he saw the laser sighting dot slide across his chest and off his shoulder. A wild surge of adrenaline twisted him out of line, ; and slugs tore up the wall. All the killer needed to do was keep the trigger depressed, and Aubry would have been dead.
He dove into a side room, checked the door connecting it with the next chamber, and slammed the flat of his foot against the door, finding the lock on the second thrust. It shattered, and he rolled through as bullets spattered around the room behind him. Without stopping, he hit the hall door, bursting out and into the hall, firing blindly. His shoulder and the door hit two people on the other side.
One went down instantly. Eyes tearing, Aubry ripped ' the man's throat out on the way back to his feet.
The second was smaller. Much smaller. Lither. Aubry wiped frantically at his eyes, doubting what his blurred sight told him: the tiny figure had rebounded like a rubber ball, snapping back to guard and attack faster than anything human could possibly move.
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