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Dancing to death…

Other musicians joined them, and the crowd urged the group of them out into the center of the square. Jenny ended up on a precarious spot high on the central statue of the first ship to Gaia leaving Earth. Perched up there, surrounded by singing and stamping, she felt like the heart of a bright-burning bonfire that shone out on hundreds of faces at tables, in windows, and crowding the open space as well.

She realized people were being drawn here from all around.

Like moths to a flame? Or like a firestorm, sucking everything into infernal destruction? And what became of those at the center of such a storm?

Where was Dan? She found him, leaning against the base of the ship, singing along with the rest. This couldn't be bad. Dan wasn't bad. He was just flaring, burning off his whatever, and creating light against the dark at the same time.

But why tonight did Dan the fixer need so much light, laughter, and song? Why did he have so much energy to burn, even after fixing that boy's leg? What did it say about the blighters?

Jenny escaped that by diving back into the music.

Tom called an end to it at midnight.

"We've got to stop. I'll get fired if my mates turn up." He was a policeman. "Last song!" he called in his strong voice.

Despite protests, they huddled, trying to come up with the best piece to wrap this up without a riot.

" 'Gaia,' " Jenny said.

Tom looked at her. "The anthem?"

"You can sing it, can't you? I think it's right."

No one argued, which was strange. They weren't in the habit of singing the planet's syrupy anthem based on a bad poem by one of the first settlers. Each settlement had its own anthem, but Gaia was dragged out at any planetary-wide event — usually to groans.

Jenny wondered where the idea had come from and glanced at Dan, but he was sitting now, an adoring woman on each arm. She didn't even know them.

Flies to jam. She'd better watch it. She wasn't going to ruin a friendship by turning stupid over Dan. But if he wanted the anthem, he could have it. She struck up a chord and Tom started to sing in his deep, strong voice.

What a wonder it is To find a planet like this In the limitless oceans of space. Where the air is pristine, And the oceans are clean. Oh, Gaia, you sweet, blessed place. Though hellbanes may ash, Our dream will not crash. We will cherish our new home forever!

The crowd was singing along by then, and in the chorus, the thunder of it seemed to rattle the windows all around. With the gates closed and blighters attacking, the words had new meaning. Power crept up Jenny's spine, almost making her hands fumble on her fiddle.

She glanced down at Dan again. He had his head back and his eyes closed as if he was absorbing something from the air.

We come from an Earth  Under burden of birth,  Its beauty long gone and turned rotten.  But here it is new,  A rich gift to the few.  Oh, Gala, here pain is forgotten.  Though hellbanes may ash,  Our dream will not crash.  We will cherish our new home forever!  With a treasure so grand,  With such beauty to hand,  What can we be but peaceful and giving?  Never strife, never war,  We will spill blood no more.  Oh, Gaia, you were made for blessed living.  Though hellbanes may ash,  Our dream will not crash.  We will cherish our new home forever!

It was the crowd rather than Tom that repeated the chorus one last time, almost softly despite the hundreds of voices.

Though hellbanes may ash, Our dream will not crash.  We will cherish our new home forever!

Like a lamp turned down, the roaring energy settled to a glow, and everyone began to drift peacefully away.

Jenny sat in the convenient dip between ship and Earth because her legs had turned weak. The others looked pretty shocked.

"The power," Tom said.

The magic, she thought, and she might have a bit of it.

Dan stood waiting to help her down, but she jumped down by herself, then hurried back to the tavern with her fiddle.

The publican, Ozzy Rooke, shook his head. "You're supposed to get the customers drinking, not out there singing the planetary anthem!" He was joking, though, and he gave them all a free round of beer.

Dan sat beside Jenny at the bar. She made a business of picking up her glass because it let her move an inch away. She probed the air around him. Nothing. Nothing more than the usual aura that was Dan. Had he burned it all up in that singing?

By the time Ozzy threw them out and locked up, the city was quiet — a soft quiet that seemed infinitely safe. They set off home together, but Rolo and Tom split off not far from the square. Jenny, Dan, Gyrth, and Yas carried on in a group, singing, teasing, and even tussling sometimes.

Like kids again. Or like teenagers. Dan kept apart a bit, and Jenny remembered that he'd missed most of these nights — the singing, the horseplay, the maneuvering for possible bedmates. She noticed Yas maneuvering for Dan. That'd be nothing new, but she was glad he wasn't responding tonight.

In Chestnut Copse; Yas went into her building alone with a last, hopeful look, Gyrth turned off at the next corner, leaving Jenny and Dan alone for the last little way. Nothing unusual in that, except that, for the first time, she was nervous.

It was just that it had been a strange day, but she hoped he wouldn't touch, wouldn't even want to talk. Perhaps he felt the same, because he walked beside her in silence, and by the time they came to his place, that silence was comforting as a lambswool blanket. It said that everything was all right.

The fixer's flat took up the whole ground floor of a large house. They held parties there sometimes because no one else had such a space to themselves. Jenny still lived at home.

They paused at the bottom of the steps. "Night, then," Jenny said.

"I'll walk you to your place."

She stared at him. "You expect a blighter to leap out of the pavement?"

"You never know." But then he smiled. "I'm just not ready to go to bed."

Tension ricked her shoulders, but she said, "Oh, okay, then. Thanks."

He touched her arm. "You're feeling the effects of the music, aren't you?"

"No. Yes, but it was okay. It was good." She might as well tackle it. "Did you make it happen?"

"I helped." He turned her, and they walked on. "I am the town's fixer, after all."

"What were you fixing?"

"The closing of the gates upset a lot of people."

How often did he do things like that? Could he, did he, fix people's moods? Fix hers? They were on her street now, a tall terrace facing a small park called Surrey Green.