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large and liquid, dark green, and his skin was sallow. He seemed ready to smile with any provocation:
glad to see us, as if we were friends long absent. He wore a simple silver-gray coat and pants, the coat
laced at the front, half open to reveal a collarless white shirt, and his hands were covered by dingy brown
gloves. In one hand he carried a piece of string, which he wound and rewound around the finger of his
other hand.
"Ser Brion, General Beys, these are Sers Salap, Randall, and Olmy." Brion looked me over
shrewdly, rubbing his shoulder with one hand as if it pained him, then tapped his fingers in a silent tattoo
on his biceps. He approached and looked me over as if he were deciding whether or not to buy me. He
smiled. "General?"
Beys wore a gray tailored suit. Little taller than Brion, he was thickset and broad shouldered, a small
bull, powerful, with thick, ruddy hands. His eyes seemed almost merry, set deep in a milky countenance
above reddish cheeks. Beys shrugged. "I can seldom judge men by their appearance. We hide ourselves
so well."
Randall stood stiffly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes focusing on the others in the room, one at
a time, mechanically. I could sense by his posture and the tight, white-jointed tangle of his fingers his
passion against Beys and Brion.
Brion lifted his eyes and stared directly at me, his smile genuine, his eyes gleaming with intense
interest. "All right. Show me something. Kill me now rather than wait. I'm sure you've been filled with
hatred by Lenk's people."
I think he half expected me to lift a finger and blast him to ashes. He seemed happy with the thought,
and a little disappointed when I did nothing. His eyes dulled and his smile weakened.
"You don't want to kill me?"
"No."
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"Could you kill me if you wanted to?"
"I don't have any weapons," I said.
He examined me again, as if the first time had not been sufficient. "Inside or out?"
"No weapons," I said.
He focused suddenly on Salap. "You are Mansur Salap. I know your name, of course. Your
assistant, Shatro, seems to think he's been useful to me. Actually, I've been aware of Ser Olmy's
presence on Lamarckia for some time now."
He turned his gaze on me again and his smile grew, as if he were reading my thoughts. "Usually I
hear about poseurs and unfortunates. In your case, my contacts may have stumbled on the real thing."
Brion's smile broadened. "How long have you been here?" he asked.
"One hundred and forty-three days."
"Does Lenk know who you are?"
"I don't know."
Brion stepped back but still stared at me. "I expected the Hexamon would send an army to punish
us and take us back to Thistledown."
"I never expected that," Beys said mildly.
"Well, I hoped for one," Brion said. He motioned for us all to sit on the thicket-xyla chairs. We
formed a circle around the table in the center of the square room. "Ser Shatro thought he would gain
some advantage or revenge by turning you in. He doesn't like you. He doesn't like anybody much now.
He's a very disappointed man."
"Not my best student," Salap said.
"It's interesting, the first time I have a chance to meet with Lenk, and he brings people far more
interesting than himself ... Among them, key scientists rescued from a shipwreck. A ship captained by
Keyser-Bach. I'd have enjoyed meeting that man. I regret his death. I'm honored to meet you, Ser
Randall, and you, Ser Salap. I've received copies of all your journals and publications."
Salap nodded, but said nothing. My admission had thrown this meeting into confusion. Only Brion
seemed to have a sense of direction.
He turned to me, hands on his knees, and asked, "Are you here to judge us?"
"I'm here to see if humans have damaged Lamarckia."
"It's taken them a long time to get around to us," Brion said. "Time enough for a new generation to
be born -- and for a lot of us to die. Is the Hexamon going to descend on us and reclaim our planet?"
"I'm not in communication with them."
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"Do you have a clavicle?"
"No."
"No way to communicate with Thistledown?"
"No," I said.
"Did Lenk bring his clavicle on the ship?" Brion asked Beys.
"Yes," the general answered, lifting his chin and scratching his neck. His fingers left pale marks on the
reddish, stubbled skin there. His eyes seemed small in such a broad face, one eye brown, one eye pale
green.
"It doesn't work anymore," Brion confided. "He still carries it with him, but he broke it in anger years
ago. That's supposed to be a secret." Brion sniffed and flicked his gaze back to me with birdlike speed.
"So, if nobody comes for you, you can't return to the Way. You're one of us now."
Beys shook his head. "He can never be one of _us._ Shatro tells us you witnessed the destruction at
a village on the Terra Nova River."
"I did," I said. "The village of Moonrise."
"Are you here to judge us for that, and pass word back to the Hexamon that we're criminals?"
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