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"Precisely," said Yishna, feeling a loosening in her chest.

"So precisely what relevance does this have to our situation now?" Harald asked.

Her sense of relief was short-lived. "Don't you see yet? This whole conflict was caused by the Worm!"

"I do not see that. Yes, I see the Worm's manipulation of us, but that was just an aggravating factor. This conflict has really been about Combine scrabbling for power, and thus weakening the effectiveness of Fleet at a time—with this Polity now barging its way in—when we need to remain strong."

She had failed. He was obstinately holding to his beliefs, no matter their source.

"You don't really believe that," she protested. "I think you're just afraid of what will happen to you if you stop now."

Anger twisted his face—that last shot that had gone home. He turned away, then lowered his gaze. She saw he was now looking at his control glove, which rested on a table nearby.

"To face this new threat from outside, the Sudorian people need to be united under a single force," he said.

"The Polity is not a threat to us, Harald." Her hands down at her sides, she walked over towards him. "I've spoken with their Consul Assessor, and I know that for sure. Do you doubt my judgement?"

He glanced at her. "Did you know that their machines are already lurking here among us?"

And so he slid into his paranoia. What a mess must have been churning around in his mind while ensconced up here in this disconnected Haven. Maybe he had felt the Worm's departure. Or maybe it did not matter either way. It was so difficult to abandon faith for hard reality. He stepped nearer to the table, stooping to reach for the glove.

Yishna took a long step forward, then brought her foot up in a hard arc, the toe of her boot directed towards his face. He dropped into a squat, as if only ducking, but his leg swept out just above floor level at her other foot. She managed to avoid it, but retreated slightly off balance, bringing her one usable arm up defensively, anticipating his attack. He snapped himself upright, one fist shooting out. He wasn't close enough to hit her, yet something slammed into her guts, sending her staggering backwards. Suddenly she could no longer breathe and her legs felt weak. There came a cracking sound as something hit her leg, and it gave way. Collapsed on the floor, she gazed in bewilderment at her knee: broken open, bone and blood. She peered down at the blood soaking into her clothing from a wound low down on the right of her belly.

"Did you really think you could bring me down?" Harald enquired.

She looked up into the barrel of the small Combine handgun he held—the one she had seen in his cabin what seemed an age ago.

He continued, "Jeon will patch you up—I don't want to lose a sister as well as a brother." He slid the handgun back into his belt, then stepped over and picked up the control glove.

"You…don't want me to die. Yet you are prepared to kill…all those people?"

"It's necessary," he said, "and anyway I don't know them."

"Then I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?"

"Yes…for the crew of this ship."

Yishna held up her control baton, turned one of the twist rings round by one click, then pressed the transmit button.

"What have you done?" he bellowed.

Yishna closed her eyes, as the floor slammed up at her and everything turned to fire.

McCrooger

I felt the sudden acceleration, which meant my inner ear was still functional at least, but it took me another second to understand what was happening. Tigger had reacted to the electromagnetic pulse with a speed that only artificial intelligences are capable of, so we were already beginning to move away just as that eye into Hell opened in the mid-section of Ironfist. A blast front sped either way along the length of the hilldigger, and fire illuminated it from the inside, as if it were an iron bar fresh from the forge, then began exploding from ports, bays and breaks developing in the structure. The megaton range explosion of that mine in the cargo area of Yishna's shuttle swamped all in a fireball. As the first blastfront hit us, it tumbled our Brumallian ship through vacuum, knocking out all the sensors. I was grateful for the blindness.

Epilogue

McCrooger

The planetoid hung in the bloody glare of a red giant, the ring around it far too even and too close to the surface to be mistaken for any natural formation.

"I'm astounded," admitted Rhodane, gesturing about at the Polity vessel we were aboard.

I guessed Polity technology was astounding. Feeling an itch on my nose, I scratched it quickly, satisfied at dispelling this minor irritation. I too was astounded: should synthetic skin itch or was my other nose itching? I glanced past her as Slog, and one of the other Brumallian crewmen from the organic ship, entered the viewing pod to join us, then returned my attention to that glowing ring. While I watched it, I considered the update relayed to me here from the AI Geronamid.

After the surrender of the remaining hilldiggers, Orbital Combine had mooted the idea of its taking control of them but, at the instigation of Chairman Duras, this had been quickly slapped down by Parliament. Those surviving vessels would remain under the control of the Sudorian Parliament, and apparently Combine must hand over control of its Defence Platforms too. I considered this an astute move on the Chairman's part. For, without the Worm at its core, that amalgamation called Orbital Combine might easily come apart with the result of further conflict. Parliament needed to assert its authority, and become the only organisation in full control of such hefty weapons.

"What's it doing?" Rhodane asked.

"Feeding, as far as we can gather," I replied. "It's definitely sopping up solar energy, and there's also some piezoelectric effect within it, generated by the tidal forces of the planetoid."

While political moves continued in Parliament, there was still a great deal of work to be done. On the surface of Sudoria itself there was the wreckage to clear, fires to put out, but this was balanced out by a sudden freeing of human resources as it was discovered how many mental patients were abruptly recovering. In space the two crippled hilldiggers were being moved to a safe orbit, meteor guns were kept firing perpetually to vaporise chunks of debris, and the night skies of Sudoria glittered with falling stars. A day ago Geronamid had chosen to offer Polity assistance, but Duras had politely replied that though Parliament would like a Consulate established on Sudoria, and would also like to begin trade negotiations with the Polity, no assistance or intervention would be required. I think that was precisely the answer Geronamid wanted, anyway.

Rhodane stepped up beside me.

"How are you feeling?" I asked.

"Lost," she replied, "and somehow cheated. I should be grieving now but for what the artificial intelligence here has done to my mind."

"On request, it will return you to your previous state." I paused, studying her. "Do you think that experiencing the grief would make you a better person, that the pain is somehow advantageous?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I, really, but I trust that the AIs do. They repair us when they can, and never stand in the way of us improving ourselves. I've never known them to be overanxious about our suffering if it might be of benefit to us."