“I’m sure she does. But the Academy needs heroes.” She looked at the lightbender and looked at him. “She’s giving you a chance, Dig.”

Kellie saw to it there was no time for him to sit around feeling sorry for himself. They tied the unit into the lander’s systems, connected field belts around the hull, ran a successful test and headed for the surface.

KELLIE TRUSTED HIM. Had it been someone else, she might have been frightened. The prospect of being caught out there alone, weeks away from the nearest base, with a guy who was coming emotionally apart, would have been unnerving for anyone. But she’d known Digger a long time.

This wasn’t their first flight together, and though she’d been aware from the beginning of his interest in her, she hadn’t taken him seriously until the beginning of this mission. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe she’d gotten to know him better. Maybe it was that he hadn’t embarrassed her by becoming persistent. Maybe it was that she’d simply realized that he was a good guy. In the end, she’d come to enjoy just being with him.

But the way in which Jack had died was a nightmare. And the ironic aspect of the event was that she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t have made a grab for the coin herself. Mistakes happen. And if you get unlucky, there’s a price to be paid. It doesn’t make you culpable, she told herself, and occasionally, when it seemed necessary, Digger.

She was glad to see the library request come through. It provided a challenge and gave him something else to think about.

THE MOST ACCESSIBLE means of entry into the center of Brackel was through the harbor. But she couldn’t simply set down in the water, even with the lightbender field protecting the lander. Its treads would create twin depressions in the water, an effect that would startle any witnesses. So they waited until the sun went down. When it was reasonably dark, Kellie came in over the harbor, past a vessel anchored just offshore (there was a light in a forward cabin but no other sign of life), and descended a few meters away from a deserted pier.

Digger was beginning to feel like an old hand. He slipped into the gear, turned on the Flickinger field, switched on his converter, put his laser cutter into a pocket, and activated the lightbender. Kellie climbed into her own gear and followed him out the airlock onto the pier.

He looked back at the lander. Its ghostly silhouette rose and fell in the incoming tide. Kellie directed Bill to move it well out into the harbor. They watched it go, then turned toward the city.

It was a bright, clear night. The big moon was overhead; the smaller one was rising in the west. It wasn’t much more than a bright star.

Digger led the way through the harbor area. Lights were going on, cafés filling up, crowds roaming the streets. They had four pickups, two for the library, and two, as Digger said, “for a target of opportunity.”

The target of opportunity showed up when they passed the two structures they’d thought of as theaters-in-the-round. Both were busy. Oil lamps burned out front, signs were prominently displayed, and the locals were pushing their way in.

“Care to stop at the theater first, my dear?” asked Digger.

“By all means,” she said. “We can do the library in the morning.”

They chose one and took pictures of the signs, several of which featured a female Goompah with a knife, her eyes turned up. (When a Goompah turns those saucer eyes to the heavens, one knew that great emotions were wracking his, or her, soul.)

They waited until most of the patrons were inside before they joined the crowd.

The circular hall was three-quarters filled. Most of the patrons were in their seats; a few stood in the aisles holding conversations. Most Goompah conversations were animated, and these were no exception. That they kept looking toward the stage indicated that they were discussing the show. Stragglers continued to wander in for several minutes. Kellie and Digger stayed near the entrance, where they had room to maneuver.

Oil lamps burned at the doors, along the walls, and at the foot of the stage.

“What do you think?” asked Kellie, pressing a finger against the pickups, which were in his vest.

“I think Collingdale would kill to have a record of whatever’s about to happen.”

“My feelings exactly.”

They waited until everyone seemed to be settled, then picked an aisle, moved in close, and squatted. An attendant went through the auditorium extinguishing some of the lamps. There was no reasonable place to attach a pickup, so Digger simply aimed it manually.

THE SHOW WAS a bloodbath.

At first Digger thought they were going to see a love story, and there was indeed a romance at the heart of the proceedings. But all the characters other than the principals seemed angry with everyone else for reasons neither of the visitors could make out. An early knife fight ended with two dead. Swords were drawn later and several more perished. One character was hit in the head and thrown off the stage to universal approval.

The action was accompanied by much music. There were musicians down front, manning wind and string instruments and a pair of drums. Onstage, the characters danced and sang and quarreled and made love. (Much to Digger’s shock, there was open copulation about midway through. The audience, obviously moved, cheered.) Later there was what appeared to be a rape. With Goompahs it was hard to be sure.

The music jangled in Digger’s ears. It was all off-key. It banged and rattled and bonked, and he realized there was more to it than the instruments he’d seen. There was something like a cowbell in there somewhere, and noisemakers clanked and clattered.

Eventually, the female love interest gave in to temptation a second time, either with a different character, or with the same character wearing different clothes. Digger couldn’t make it out until the end, when three apparently happy lovers strode off arm in arm. Hardly anyone else was left standing. The audience pounded enthusiastically on any flat surface they could find.

“Romeo and Juliet with a happy ending,” said Kellie.

Romeo, Frank, and Juliet, Digger thought. Nevertheless, in his view, a distinct improvement. Digger liked happy endings.

The crowd drifted out. Some headed for cafés, others strolled into connecting streets. Everyone was on foot. No carriages rolled up, no horses.

It had gotten late. There was a sundial in front of the theater, but that obviously wouldn’t work at night. He wondered how the locals scheduled a show. When the moon touched the sea? Sunset plus time for dinner plus time to walk in from a half kilometer away?

Anyhow, he had gotten it all on the pickup. They returned to the lander and sent it off to the al-Jahani, wondering how it would be received there.

THEY STAYED IN the lander, in the harbor, overnight. It was hard to sleep, because it was the middle of the afternoon their time.

Despite everything, despite his culpability in Jack’s death and his sympathy for the Goompahs, he had never felt more alive. Kellie had fallen into his arms like ripe fruit, and he knew beyond any doubt that whatever happened out here he would take her home with him.

She lay dozing inside a blanket while he considered how well things were turning out and fought off attacks of guilt over the fact that he felt so good. It was possible his career might be over; he might be sued by Jack’s family and possibly barred from future missions by the Academy. But whatever happened, he was going to come out ahead.

After a while he gave up trying to sleep and opened a reader. He scanned some of the more recent issues of Archeology Today, then tossed it aside for a political thriller. Mad genius tries to orchestrate a coup to take over the NAU. But he couldn’t stay with it and eventually ran part of the show they’d watched that evening. The Goompahs seemed less childlike now.

“The audience loved it.” Kellie’s voice came out of nowhere.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“More or less.”

“It was all pretty matter-of-fact,” he said. “Nobody seemed shocked.”

She shrugged. “Different rules here.”

“I guess.”

She rearranged herself, trying to get comfortable. “But you know, if I was reading the story line right—it’s hard to be sure of anything—but I thought they reacted pretty much the same way we would have. You could pick out the villain, and they didn’t like him. They approved of the young lovers. Even if there were three of them. They were silent during the killings. Holding their breath, it seemed to me.”

Digger had had the same reaction.

“What did you think of the score?”

He laughed. “Not like anything I’ve heard before.”

THEY WENT TO the library next day. It was a battered L-shaped gray stone building set along two sides of one of the smaller parks just a block from the theater. They found a signboard posted inside the heavy front doors. Several pieces of parchment were displayed, on which someone had listed about two hundred items. “Maybe it’s an inventory of the holdings,” suggested Kellie.

They took a picture and drifted into a large room given over to reading. Nine or ten Goompahs sat at tables, poring over scrolls. A couple more were standing before boards to which notes were attached. (Looking for a ride home?) Another examined a map at the back of the room. A couple of the readers were making notes. To do that, it was necessary to go to the librarian, secure a pot of ink and a pen, and do it right there at his station, where he could watch, presumably to ensure you didn’t have any sloppy habits. You used your own parchment, which was sometimes attached to a piece of wood and resembled a clipboard, and sometimes rolled inside a cylinder.

Digger noticed that the windows were screened with metal crosspieces and supported heavy shutters. Unlike many of the public buildings he’d seen, this one could be locked and bolted at night.

There were two librarians, both male. Both wore black blouses and purple leggings. Otherwise, they were not at all alike. One was older, obviously in charge. He moved with deliberation, but clearly enjoyed his work. He was constantly engaged in whispered conversation with his patrons, helping them find things, consulting a wooden box in which he kept sheaves of notes. None of the material seemed to be in any kind of order, but he kept dipping into it, rummaging, and apparently coming up with the desired item, which he would wave in the air with satisfaction before showing it to those he was assisting.

His name, or perhaps his title, was Parsy.

His aide was equally energetic, eternally hustling around the room adjusting chairs, rearranging furniture, flattening the map, talking with clients. He had something to say to everyone who came or went.