She took out the old watch again, inspected it and made a little growling noise at the back of her throat. The waves beat at the margin of the land, hissing like static.

She would walk, she decided, almost as far as the beachcomber, then she would turn round, head back to the hydrofoil, and go. Whoever had set up the rendezvous probably wasn’t coming after all. It might even be a trap, she thought, glancing round at the line of dunes, old fears returning. Or a hoax; somebody’s idea of a joke.

She got within twenty paces of the old beachcombing machine, then turned, walking away with her just-a-little crippled walk and singing her little, monotonous tune, relic of some-or-other post-atomic.

The rider appeared suddenly on the crest of a large dune, fifty metres to her right. She stopped and stared.

The sand-coloured animal was man-high at its broad, muscled shoulders; its narrow waist held a glittering saddle and its massive rump was covered in a silvery cloth. It put its great wide tawny head back, reins jingling; it snorted and stamped its front paws. Its rider, dark on dark against the dull weight of cloud, nudged the big animal forward. It put its head down and snorted again, testing the shard-fringe where the sand at the top of the dune became glass. The beast shook its head, then trod carefully down the edge of sand to the hollow between two dunes at the urging of its rider; his cloak billowed out behind him as though hardly lighter than the air he moved through.

The man muttered something, stuck his heels into the beast’s flanks; the animal flinched as the spur terminals connected and sent little involuntary shivers of muscle movement up its great haunches. It put one broad paw tentatively onto the glass, then two; its rider made encouraging noises. Still snorting nervously, the animal took a couple of steps on the inclined deck of the shore, then-with a noise like an enormous whimper-it skidded, tottered, and sat heavily on its rump, almost unseating its rider. The animal put its head back and roared.

The man jumped quickly from the animal; his long cloak snagged briefly on the high saddle, and he landed awkwardly on the glass surface, almost falling. His mount was making sudden lurching attempts to get back up, paws skittering over the slick surface. The man collected his cloak about him and strode purposefully to the woman who was standing with one hand under the opposite armpit, the other hand up at her forehead, as though shading her eyes while she looked down at the beach. She was shaking her head.

The man was tall, thin beneath his riding breeches and tight jacket, and had a pale, narrow face, topped with black curls and edged with a neatly trimmed black beard. He walked up to her. He looked, perhaps, a few years older than she was.

“Sharrow,” he said, smiling. “Cousin; thank you for coming.” It was a cultured, refined voice, and quiet but nevertheless assured. He put his hands out to hers, squeezing them briefly then letting go.

“Geis,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the bellowing mount as it finally got shakily to its feet. “What are you doing with that animal?”

Geis glanced back at the beast. “Breaking it in,” he said with a grin that slowly faded. “But really it’s just a way of getting here to tell you…” He shrugged and gave a small, regretful laugh. “Hell, Sharrow, it’s a melodramatic message; you’re in danger.”

“Perhaps a phone call would have been quicker, then.”

“I had to see you, Sharrow; it’s more important than some phone call.”

She looked at the saddled animal, sniffing experimentally at the anchor-grass lining the nearest dune. “A taxi, then,” she suggested. Her voice was soft, and possessed a heavy smoothness.

Geis smiled. “Taxis are so… vulgar, don’t you find?” he said with a trace of irony.

“Hmm, but why the…” She gestured at the animal.

“It’s a bandamyion. Fine animal.”

“Yes, well; why the bandamyion?”

Geis shrugged. “I just bought it. Like I say, I’m breaking it in.” He made a dismissive gesture with a gauntleted hand. “Look, never mind the animal. This is more than mildly urgent.”

She sighed. “Okay; what?”

He took a deep breath, then breathed, “The Huhsz.”

She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged and looked away. “Oh, them.” She scratched at the glass beach with the toe of her boot.

“Yes,” Geis said quietly. “My people at the World Court say there’s a deal being arranged that means they’ll get their… their Hunting Passports, probably very soon. In a matter of days, perhaps.”

Sharrow nodded, not looking at her cousin. She crossed her arms and started to walk slowly along the beach. Geis took off his gauntlets and-after a glance at the ruminating bandamyion-followed her.

“Sorry I have to be the one to tell you, Sharrow.”

“That’s all right,” she said.

“I don’t think there’s any more we can do. I’ve got the family lawyers working on an appeal, and my corporate people are giving all the help they can-there’s a chance we can injunct on grounds of due notice-but it looks like the Stehrins have dropped their objections and the Nul Church Council is withdrawing its demurrance action. The rumour is the Huhsz have done a land deal in Stehrin, carving up some enclave, and the Church has been bought off, either with straight credit or the offer of a relic.”

Sharrow said nothing; she kept walking along the beach, staring down. Geis made a resigned gesture with his hands. “It’s all blown up so suddenly; I thought we had those assholes tied up for years, but the Court’s fast-tracked the whole matter, side-lined cases that have waited generations.” He sighed. “And of course it’s Llocaran’s turn to provide the Court President this session. Their nominee is actually from Lip City.”

“Yes, Lip City,” Sharrow said. “I imagine they are still upset about that damn Lazy Gun.” She gazed ahead to the dimly glinting shape of her distant hydrofoil.

(And in her mind saw again the line of desert hills beyond the stone balustrade of the hotel room balcony, and the faint crease of dawn-light above, suddenly swamped by the stuttering pulses of silent fire from beyond the horizon. She had watched-dazed and dazzled and wondering-as that distant eruption of annihilation had lit up the face of her lover.)

Geis’s voice sounded tired as he said, “Actually, I think the Huhsz must have got to one of the justiciaries. There’s been talk of one of the old guys being found in a snuff parlour a few days ago. I wouldn’t put it past the Huhsz to have set the whole thing up just to pocket a judge.”

“My,” Sharrow said, pulling a hand through her thick hair (Geis watched, eyes following those pale fingers as they ploughed that black field). “What energy and enterprise those Huhsz boys display.”

Geis nodded. “They’ve been lucky with their recruitment and investments recently, too,” he said. “Highly fluid; probably the most profitable order on Golter just now. It’s all helped them get their, war chest together.” His brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, Sharrow. I feel I’ve let you down.”

She shrugged. “Had to happen sooner or later. You’ve done all you can. Thanks.” She looked at him, then briefly put a hand out to touch his forearm. “I appreciate it, Geis.”

“Let me hide you, Sharrow,” he said suddenly.

She shook her head. “Geis-”

“I have interests they can’t-”

“Geis, no; I-”

“No; listen; I’ve places nobody-”

“No, I-”

“Safe houses; offices; whole estates that don’t appear on any inventory, here and on other planets; cascade-owned companies my own chief execs don’t know about…”

“I appreciate the offer, Geis, but-”

“Habitats; whole asteroids; mines on Fian and Speyr; island barges on Trontsephori-”

“Geis,” she said, stopping and turning to him, taking his hands in hers for a moment. His thin face shone palely in the deepening red light. “Geis; I can’t.” She forced herself to smile. “You know they’d track me down eventually and you’d only get into trouble for Harbouring. They’ll use the Passports. If they wanted to-if they had the excuse that they thought you were sheltering me they could tear you apart, Geis.”