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"I am alive," it said, wonderingly. "I have a body."

"Yes, you do," Yskatarina said in relief. The Kami looked out at her from the former Matriarch's dull gaze. Yskatarina held up a small silver phial. "This is a copy of that which belongs to the current Matriarch. My aunt gave it to me. It contains the substance that controls the excissieres. And I now will tell you what you must do, when you are strong enough…"

Fragrant Harbor

Mars/Earth

Yskatarina held tight to the spiny claw of the Animus as the ship—a public carrier—wheeled over the Crater Plain. Other passengers shifted and grumbled around them. She did not like being confined so closely with so many others, but at least all kept their distance from the Animus, eyeing it askance, drawing skirts and robes aside.

From the view port, misted with droplets of ice, Yskata-rina could see the plain in its entirety, all the way to the slopes of Olympus. The Memnos Tower rose up out of the red earth like a diseased finger.

Yskatarina, with a trace of wistfulness, remembered the gaezelles and wondered where they now ran.

She was pleased with her work at the Tower. She was confident, after a further conversation with the Kami that now occupied the body of the former Matriarch, that Memnos would be unable to tell the difference. Very soon, now, the Kami would be able to carry out its task. She wondered that the current Matriarch had taken the risk of reanimating the ancient thing, given Nightshade's involve-ment. But Martians were always arrogant, always over-reached themselves.

Then there had been the emotion-wipe, of which few memories remained. Something about a shred of flesh, and Elaki sitting on a crag… Nothing more than this, but when Yskatarina looked within, to the place where that turbulent storm of resentment and loyalty and love had raged, there was only a small dark hole. Wonderful to feel nothing but hate for the woman who had threatened to take the Animus away from her—no more conflict, no more tearing on the mind's rack. She felt whole for the first time since childhood. Now she could begin to plan. Now she could keep the Animus safe. She did wonder, for a mo-ment, whether all of her emotions had been similarly im-planted, whether the bond that existed between herself and the Animus had artificial origins, but then she dis-missed the thought. That bond was a given; there was no voice within, telling her that it was wrong.

She had been luxuriating in hate for over two days now. Memnos had done its work well. It remained to be seen whether they had slipped anything else past her men-tal guards: some small neural bomb.

There was nothing Yskatarina could have done about it if they had; they would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it. But she now had a weapon, in the form of the old Matriarch.

Thinking of this, Yskatarina smiled.

The ship flew on, arching past Olympus and around, across the cities that populated the eastern part of the planet. The Small Sea lay at the edge of the horizon, the green-blue glow of algae forming a vivid contrast with the soil. One by one, the cities fell away: Caud, Winter-strike, Ardent, and Ord. Yskatarina watched them pass without emotion. Soon, the ship reached the Martian edge of the Chain.

Night was falling over the South China Sea when Yskata-rina's craft emerged from the Earth-end of the Chain above the Kita Hub. Passengers stirred and muttered restlessly around her; she longed to be alone with the Animus. She looked through the view port to see an ocean of lights be-low, towers nailing the sky. Along a narrow channel, boats starred a narrow harbor.

"What is that city?"

"Fragrant Harbor," the monitor said. Its voice took on a tinny quality. "First city of the region."

"I can see islands." Then, as the ship turned, "It is
all
islands."

She surveyed the ragged, eaten edge of the coast. Helpfully, the seat oreagraph sent a highlighter running through the view port, so that each island was delineated with a tiny ring of light. There must have been hundreds: a rash of land.

"Ancient mountains and artificially raised settlements like Fragrant Harbor are all that remains. The city has been devoured by the sea, countless times, and each time built again."

To Yskatarina, used to the frozen wastes of Night-shade, it seemed strange to be looking down on this great wash of ocean. It gave her a spinning, disoriented feeling, as though she stood on the deck of a seagoing vessel rather than that of a spacecraft.

She sat impatiently until the-ship docked, then caught a transit into High Kowloon with the Animus.

Compared to the relative emptiness of Nightshade or Mars, the city felt packed. She could sense the press of bodies all around her, feel the city going down and down into its multiple layers, buildings built upon the wreckage of buildings.

"This is an old place," the Animus said, echoing her thoughts.

"Old and dying." She looked through the grimy win-dows of the transit at the peeling paint of a temple wall, a hail of gilt flakes catching the lamplight like golden snow. The bulks of the factory district rose ahead, symbols blaz-ing through the dark. The district went on and on, seem-ingly unending. Figures trudged by, carrying baskets, wheeling carts, and Yskatarina realized that for much of this world's people, little must have changed since the ear-liest days of history. For these women, Mars must be noth-ing more than a cruel, cold dream, and yet it ran their lives.

Eventually they emerged from the factory district. Streets lined with old mansions appeared, half-hidden by trees trailing with moss. But these folk, too, would be de-pendent on the whim of Mars: of the Houses of Winter-strike, or Ord, and ultimately Memnos itself. Yskatarina shifted in her seat and forced open a window. The scent of night jasmine and unburned fuel drifted through, catching at the back of her throat. The transit ground to a halt in front of a towering building, and Yskatarina at last felt safe.

Accompanied by the Animus, she made her way into the hotel lobby and was assigned to a suite at the summit of the tower. Ascending in the silent elevator brought back memories: of Memnos, of Tower Cold. She probed the place where Elaki had lain like a serpent in her mind and again found nothing, only a painless hollow. When she stepped out onto the hotel terrace, it was with an over-powering sense of freedom. Fragrant Harbor stretched be-low, a sprawl of lamplight and shadow, neon and water glitter.

"Tomorrow we travel north," she told the Animus. "I have to make arrangements, speak to the Mission, to find out what they have learned."

The Animus flexed and coiled. "You will still follow Elaki's orders?"

"I want to discover just why this girl is so important to her. Why should it not be I who rules in Tower Cold? If I can gain an advantage over my aunt, I wish to do so."

"What of her sisters? Would you seek an alliance with them?"

"They betrayed Tower Cold," Yskatarina said. "What-ever one might think of Elaki, I could not trust them."

"And those in the Mission? They, too, are of the clan."

"I remember the ones who went to the Mission, the nine sisters. Something about them horrified me. I would be reluctant to encounter them again. Perhaps it was just that I was only a child… I will contact them. And regard-ing other matters, Memnos has put me in touch with a war-madam who supposedly is reliable."

"We could just disappear," the Animus said with a trace of wistfulness.

Yskatarina ran a hand along its gleaming hide. "And perhaps we will. But not yet."

After a pause, the Animus said, "Do you know where we're going?"

Yskatarina nodded. "A place where no one will think to look, that everyone except the old Matriarch has forgot-ten. And perhaps Yri and Yra."

They left before dawn, flying north over the city,

Yskatarina clinging to the Animus's back. If anyone had looked up, they would have seen nothing more than a shadow crossing the sky, and perhaps not even that.

By noon, flying high above the dappled expanse of sea and island, they reached the end of the Yellow River estu-ary. The Animus flew low over sand flats and marsh, steaming with heat, to the tangle of forested bluffs beyond.

"Not far now," the Animus said, voice half-swallowed by the wind.

"I can see it! There, on the cliff."

Yskatarina looked down at the thick walls of the house that had, many years before, belonged to the skin-sisters of the Elder Elaki. The house, once a mansion of massive stone, was now almost a ruin, with the sea en-croaching fast upon the cliffs on which it stood. As they flew lower, she saw that at some point in its history some-one had constructed a veranda around its base, a frivolous, teetering edifice of moldy wood, with a straw roof that had long since been eaten away by the sea winds. The veranda was incongruous, a delicate, rotting lace around the bulk of the mansion. The Animus descended to alight upon it. Yskatarina slid down from its back. There was not much left to explore. They set up a rough base in the inner court-yard, then went out to the surrounding jungle to search for any signs of the lost ship. They found no sign of it. Re-turning to the ruin, Yskatarina put two calls in to the anti-scribe and waited.

Toward the end of the afternoon, the Animus glanced up to a sky that was heavy with rain.

"Is there any word from the Mission?" he asked.

"No, none." Yskatarina frowned at the antiscribe. "I can't understand it. The call went through. They should have responded by now. Yet there is nothing."

"But at least the other has answered," the Animus said. "Look."

Yskatarina looked up. Something was floating down from the heavens: a small insectoid craft.

Yskatarina stood, legs braced, waiting for the arrival of the ship. It touched the rough boards of the terrace and the hatch opened with a crackling snap.

A smooth-faced form stepped down to stand before her, robed in jet and translucent armor.

Yskatarina frowned, wondering whether the featureless visage was a mask, or the things own face.

Impossible to tell whether it was metal, or seamless silvery skin. The eyes were like wells, but as the thing turned its head, they seemed as flat as glass.

"You sent for me," the thing said in a voice like a bell.

"Indeed. The target has been located and her identity confirmed. You are to kill those who guard her, and bring her to me."

"My mistress wants assurance of payment."

"I have sent a guarantee to your war-madam. It con-tains codes, secrets that will become activated upon com-pletion, as soon as I hear from you. I will speak with your mistress directly, in due course."

"My mistress has asked for further clarification."

"She cannot have it," Yskatarina said sharply. There was a short, tense pause. She went on, "No, you must bring the target here. Kill everyone else and secure the weir-wards at the mansion so that no one else can get in. There is something I wish to look for."

"I understand."

"Then I shall leave you to do your work."

The assassin performed a polite bow in acknowledgment of this courtesy, then spun, looking down at its long hands. A split opened up the length of each palm, to reveal a double row of splinter teeth.

Yskatarina watched with curiosity. Carefully, the assassin adjusted the contents of its jaw: blow-fumes and needleswitches.

"I am ready."

"Good," Yskatarina said. The ship rose up from the ve-randa, enfolding the assassin, and began the long glide out to sea.

Earth

The house seemed quiet today, Dreams-of-War thought as she made her way to Lunae's chamber.

Even the hum-ming of the growing-room, which usually she could detect against the background murmur of equipment and the oreagraph sensors, was muted. She wondered uneasily whether the enhancements on the armor were malfunction-ing, whether the blacklight matrix had affected it.

Outside the chamber Dreams-of-War paused for a moment. She could hear nothing within; perhaps Lunae was asleep. She knocked lightly on the door. There was no reply. Frowning, Dreams-of-War touched her palm to the lock release. The door glided open. Dreams-of-War stepped through. Lunae's bed was shrouded behind the draperies and the blinds were drawn down over the win-dows, casting the chamber into an underwater gloom. There was no sign of Lunae.

Somewhere beyond the window, someone was singing: a thin, sweet song that captivated Dreams-of-War. She stood mesmerized, her head on one side as the intricate notes fell around her, filling the room. She gave no more thought to Lunae. The song held her, trapping her in a web of sound, running filaments along the neural skeins of the armor un-til Dreams-of-War could not have moved even if she had wanted to. She felt no dismay at this, only fascination as she followed the song. She did not even react when a figure stepped out from the shadows beside the bed: something tall, with a silvery face and hollow eyes, dressed in black. Its mouth was pursed, as if whistling. It carried a sword like a web of lights, a thin katana curve that glittered through the air as it brought the sword down upon Dreams-of-War's un-resisting head.

The world opened up. Dreams-of-War was falling through sudden space. She saw the sword whirling against a backdrop of stars, spinning toward a sun. A black form hurtled far below, face openmouthed with surprise. Dreams-of-War twisted to see a great dark world rising to meet her. She cried out and a hand curled around her wrist and pulled.

She was back in the chamber, sprawling on the floor-boards and gasping with outrage and fear. She snatched her hand away from Lunae's grasp.

"It's all right," Lunae said above her, fierce as a hunting cat. "I took it away. You are safe."

Lunaes memories of the assassin and what she had done with it remained hazy and blurred. She recalled the gray plain and the slow-flowing river, a glimpse of stars and the way that the assassin's hand had twisted in her own, as though she clutched a beetle in its death throes. But the memories were incomplete, and faded as a dream fades once morning has begun.

After she had taken the assassin away and returned, the kappa had come, fussing and quivering, and insisted that Lunae go to bed.