Holos of water augmented the pool, overlaid on the real water like multiple exposures: waves in impossibly sharp points, or serrated like a saw, glowing phosphorescence in red, purple, green, blue-green, gold, and silver. Gusts in the studio whipped the true water into peaks that added random accents to the holos.
The Jatos split again, along with their shadows. They all stopped and raised their hands, the motion feathered among the images, as if it portrayed multiple quantum universes, each projecting a future that diverged from the original. The image of a rainbow-hued waterfall sprayed over the figures, making them shimmer. But no blurring could hide the fury on those faces.
"Saints almighty," Soz said. "It’s spectacular."
Jato tried not to grit his teeth. "That’s why he’s so famous."
"I can see why he wanted you for his model."
"You can?"
She motioned at the holos. "You couldn’t get that purity of emotion-that fury-from a Dreamer. From most anyone. But from you, it’s perfect. Pure passion unadulterated by civilization."
"Am I supposed to be flattered by that?"
Soz winced. "I didn’t mean-" She stopped, staring at the sculpture. "Jato, look at your eyes."
"That would be a feat." But he knew what she meant. He studied the images-and when he saw it, he nearly choked. Crimson. Ruby hard and ruby cold. The eyes on each image had turned red. The hair was changing too, going from dark brown to crystalline black. He couldn’t believe it. Crankenshaft was making him look like a Trader.
He stood up, his fists clenching at his sides. "I’ll kill him."
"It’s guilt," Soz said. "And catharsis."
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It’s all there," she said. "The guilt the Dreamers feel, knowing the brutality their disowned kin have inflicted on a thousand peoples. And catharsis. Realizing the monster isn’t in them anymore. They’ve freed themselves, become Dreamers instead of Traders."
"Then it’s a lie." Jato was so angry he could barely get the words out. "For this ‘catharsis,’ Crankenshaft made himself into the very thing this is supposed to free him from. He’s made me look like what he hates in himself, what he can never get rid-" Jato stopped cold. Then he sat down again. "Oh, hell."
Soz was watching his face. "What?"
"His greatest work. Face his demons and exorcise them. I’m the substrate." It was suddenly all too obvious. "Get rid of me and he loses his inner devils." Jato swallowed. "He’s going to kill me as part of the sculpture. It’s what he’s always intended."
She stared at him. "That’s sick."
Jato wished he had never pulled her into this. "If we had died on the Promenade, he would have worked with that footage. Now you’re onto him, so he has nothing to lose by bringing us here where he can tailor the work to his needs."
"Actually," a voice said. "You’re the one who is going to kill her."
He looked up with a jerk. Crankenshaft was standing across the studio, by the console in the corner where the two holo-walls met. In one hand he held Jato’s bird sculpture; in the other, he had a laser carbine.
"A tragedy," Crankenshaft continued, in the voice he used when he wanted to bait Jato, to drive his rage. "She came to the greatest artist alive hoping to inspire a dream. A beautiful woman, after all, has certain advantages. Unfortunately she arrived while you were here." He sighed. "I should never have left you two alone. But who would have thought an Imperial Messenger would be in danger? Besides, Jato, we thought we had cured you." He shook his head. "She was overconfident. An unguarded moment and you were able to bind her." Lifting the bird, he said, "A blunt instrument you stole from me brought about her death. I was forced to kill you in self-defense."
Jato stood up, an explosion working up inside of him. But before it let loose, Soz spoke in a mild voice. "You’re Granite Crankenshaft."
Unease showed on their captor’s face. "You should have never pried into his records, Messenger."
"Why would you claim Jato stole that bird from you?" she asked. "He made it."
The tic under Crankenshaft’s eye gave a violent twitch. He shifted the sculpture, his hand gripped around it as if he held a weapon. "No one would ever believe he created a work as stunning as this, with that fugue. Only his exposure to me enabled him to do it. Me. He could never have done it by himself. So the credit belongs to me."
Jato knew he should be infuriated that Crankenshaft would claim credit for his work. But the implication in his captor’s words so staggered him that the arrogance of the statement rolled off his back. He could hardly believe it. The great Granite Crankenshaft was threatened by his work.
Crankenshaft unhooked a cord from his belt and threw it at them. It landed at Jato’s feet, a leather thong with ceramoplex balls on each end that could have been anything from decorations to superconducting webs.
"Tie her hands behind her back," Crankenshaft said.
Jato crossed his arms. "No."
Crankenshaft touched a panel on the console. A giant globe crept through a slit in the thermoplastic wall and floated to the center of the studio.
"Non-linear dynamics and metapsychology," he commented. "Do you know that with detailed enough initial conditions, you can model procreation? The correlation between the calculated results and an actual act that proceeded from those conditions is quite high."
Jato scowled. "What are you talking about?"
"Sex," he said. "Establish the initial scene well enough and you can model the rest with amazing accuracy."
"Go to hell," Jato said.
"Tie her hands."
"No."
"Commence protocol," he said.
Three syringe guns slid out of the globe. Jato didn’t duck fast enough, but it didn’t matter: none of the shots were aimed at him. Soz moved in a blur, but she couldn’t go anywhere with her ankles chained to the ledge. One shot missed her, but judged from her reaction, the other two hit home. She jerked as if she had been struck and her entire body tensed.
"What are you doing?" Jato shouted at Crankenshaft.
"Jato, it’s all right," Soz said. "I’m fine."
"It’s a clockwork venom," Crankenshaft told her. "Even your meds can’t adapt enough to deal with it."
She said nothing, just focused her attention on him with an unsettling intensity.
"What’s a clockwork venom?" Jato asked.
Soz glanced at him. "The name comes from clock reactions." Although she sounded cool, sweat was beading at her temple. "Combine certain chemicals under proper conditions and they cycle through a series of reactions. In human blood, clockwork venoms undergo a cycle, each step producing a different
poison."
"Can your nanomeds fight it?" Jato asked.
Crankenshaft answered. "Even sophisticated meds have trouble with complicated cycles. This one has hundreds of steps, all with varying duration lengths and side reactions that change from cycle to cycle. It’s a brilliant work of chemistry." He gave Jato an appraising look. "You’ve felt one poison in the cycle. Last time you were here. Perhaps you recall?"