“So the theory is she’ll ask the navy for help?”

“It’s a theory. Right now it’s the only one we’ve got.”

“Well, let’s hope it works.”

“Yes. And the one trustworthy contact she has with officialdom is you.”

“Oh, bloody hell.”

“There’s something else.”

Oscar gave up and rolled his eyes. “What?”

“Someone called Troblum may get in touch. If he does, I need to know immediately. And you must not lose track of him. If possible, take him directly into custody.”

“Okay, so who is he?”

“A slightly strange physicist who may know how to get through the Sol barrier. I’m sending his file. Oh, and the Cat is after him as well, so be careful.”

“Is she? Well, that’s just made my day. Anything else?”

“That’s all, Oscar. Thank you.”

Oscar watched the file load into his storage lacuna, and then the secure link closed. He let out a breath and started to review Troblum. He kept on getting distracted by Beckia. Her mind was emitting little pulses of dismay and anger into the gaiafield. The gaiafield was Oscar’s private additional method of watching for Araminta. They already had thirty stealthed sensors scattered across Francola Wood to try to spot her should she return. On top of that, Liatris had tapped into sensors and communication links from the other agents and the Welcome Team. But Oscar was hopeful that he would somehow get advance warning of her arrival from the path. He thought, though he was in no way sure, that he could sense the alien wormhole. There was something there, some intrusion into the gaiafield that wasn’t quite right, a feeling of age and incredible distance. Very faint, and the more he concentrated on it, the more elusive it became. So he was content to let it wash against the edge of his perception, which meant he had to open his gaiamotes up to their full sensitivity. That was why Beckia’s little outbursts were becoming quite intrusive.

“What?” he finally asked when a particularly sharp burst of indignation shunted his attention from Troblum’s amazing collection of Starflyer War memorabilia. He shifted around so that he was looking back into the lounge. His visor was open, so she could see his ire as well as feel it in the gaiafield.

Beckia gave him a look etched with rebuke. She was curled up on a long corner couch, sipping a hot chocolate. Her armor was open and ready on the floor beside her. “Haven’t you been following the news?” she replied.

He waved a gauntleted hand toward Francola Wood. “No! This is my shift, remember? I’d like to focus on that.”

“No need to get touchy. The remote sensors will give us plenty of warning. Besides, you don’t really think she’s coming back here, do you?”

“We have to be ready in case she does,” he said, hating how lame he sounded.

“Do you know something we don’t, Oscar?”

It was there again, that niggling little question of trust that had hung between them all since they had bumped into the Cat. “Apparently, some agents got onto the path at Chobamba,” he said. “Paula thinks they might flush her out faster than she’d like. Personally, I think that’s bullshit, but …”

“The paths aren’t straight lines; you know that.”

“I know. So what’s troubling you?”

“Local news. It’s getting worse here.”

“I’d like to say: impossible.”

“Take a look. I’ll watch the remotes for a minute.”

Against his better judgment, Oscar told his u-shadow to prepare a summary. Beckia was right; it wasn’t pleasant. Once it had been confirmed that Araminta was on Chobamba, Phelim had begun withdrawing the paramilitary troops from Viotia. It was a well-planned pullout; starting with the cities farthest from Colwyn City. Ludor, the capital over on the Suvorov continent, had been among the first places to see the big dark capsules streak away. It also had the highest number of Living Dream followers. Without the paramilitaries to guarantee protection, Viotia’s native population began to turn on them. Local police forces did nothing to prevent the attacks; on several occasions they were seen joining in. Hospitals, already overcrowded from riot casualties, were deluged by yet more injured.

In response, Phelim announced that the Ellezelin presence in Colwyn City would remain until Living Dream followers were safe. He didn’t say anything about the rest of the planet, and the paramilitary withdrawal continued unabated. Thousands of the faithful fled in their capsules, hoping to pass through the wormhole. But Phelim wouldn’t lower Colwyn City’s force field for anyone except the Ellezelin capsules. Thousands of the frantic refugees were stacking up in the skies outside the city. The lucky tens of thousands of followers who originally had taken up residence in Colwyn City were now trekking across a phenomenally hostile urban landscape, desperately trying to reach the docks where the wormhole would take them back to Ellezelin. It was almost impossible for them to get there; every street was seething with locals on the lookout for the faithful. All the Ellezelin capsules inside the force field were doing now was running a massive evacuation operation. Phelim had indicated that if there was no end to the violence against Living Dream members, he would impose a daylong curfew. That didn’t help; vigilante groups weren’t even waiting for the followers to try to make a dash for safety. Reports were coming in of houses being broken into to extract justice. Images of bodies savagely beaten to death in their own homes were snatched by braver reporters; there were a lot of children caught up in the violence. Of course, the most devout Living Dream followers didn’t have memorycells, because Edeard never had and they were all going to follow Inigo’s dreams into the Void, where such contrivances were an irrelevance.

“Crap,” Oscar muttered. It would take a generation for Viotia to recover, he knew. If it ever did. If it even still existed in a generation.

“We’re not supposed to get sidetracked,” Beckia said quietly. “But it’s hard sometimes. That’s when your strength is really tested.”

“I lived through worse before,” Oscar said, aiming for tough and failing woefully. Dead children, for God’s sake; in the Commonwealth, where everyone should be safe and happy.

“So it would never happen again.”

“Yeah,” he said as he pushed the news shows to peripheral mode. “Something like that.” Because he was distracted, because he wasn’t paying full attention to that strange ancient strand of neutral thought in Francola Wood, he was almost immediately aware when it began to change, to stir. Freshen: the only analogy he could come up with.

“Uh oh,” Oscar murmured. Naturally, when he tried to chase down the sensation, the damn thing slithered about, dwindling from perception.

“What now?” Beckia was rising from the couch.

“Get your suit on.” Oscar’s u-shadow was relaying images from the stealth sensors. It looked like he wasn’t the only one in tune with the path. Several members of the Welcome Team were on the move, emerging from the tangle of whiplit fronds to slip past the dapol trunks. Through the lounge windows he saw a flock of caylars take flight, their ultramarine wings flapping urgently. She can’t be this stupid, he thought. The girl he’d seen in Bodant Park had been scared, yes, but everything she’d done spoke of a smart mind.

Oscar opened a secure channel to Tomansio, who was in their stolen capsule, flying a random course over the city. “Get over here. I think we’re going to need you.”

“She’s coming?”

“I don’t know, but something’s happening.”

“On my way. Two minutes.”

Sensors showed several team members stepping out of their apartments in full armor. They began to sprint over the long gardens that led down to Francola Wood.

Beckia walked up beside him, her helmet sealing up. Oscar’s visor closed as his integral force field established itself. He ran a check on his heavy-caliber weapons. Accelerants flooded into his bloodstream as biononics complemented his muscles. “Here we go again,” he said in complete dismay. A low-power disrupter pulse shattered the lounge’s big window wall, and they ran out onto the lawn.