Even with the shade thrown by tall willowy trees, it was hot in the late-morning sun. There weren’t many people about. However, she eventually sensed one old couple who didn’t quite share the disquiet of their fellow citizens. The woman was even emitting a small amount of concern and sympathy from her gaiamotes.

“Excuse me,” Araminta asked. “Can you tell me if there’s somewhere to stay in town?”

The couple exchanged a look. “That’s an offworld accent,” the woman said.

Araminta pressed down on a giggle. To her the woman’s accent was strange; she was almost slurring her words as she ran them together. Thankfully, the pair of them weren’t wearing the old-fashioned kind of clothes Living Dream followers usually favored. But then, it was unusual to see anyone whose body had aged to such a degree. “Yes, I’m afraid so. I’ve just arrived.”

The woman emitted a glow of satisfaction. “Good for you, my dear. Have you been away long?”

“I’m, er, not sure,” she replied honestly.

“I tried once,” the woman said with a tinge of melancholia. “Never got anywhere. Maybe I’ll try again after rejuvenation.”

“Um, yes. That hotel …?”

“Why don’t you just get your u-shadow to find out?” the man asked. He had a thatch of white hair that was slowly thinning out. His whole appearance made him seem harmless, but the tone he used was quite sharp.

“I’m a Natural human,” Araminta offered by way of explanation.

“Now, Earl,” the woman chided. “There’s the SideStar Motel off Caston Street, my dear. That’s four blocks this way.” She pointed and gave Araminta a kindly smile. “Cheap, but clean with it. You’ll have no problem there.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Do you have money?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Araminta gave them a jerky nod and set off. She stopped after a couple of paces. “Uh, what is this place?”

“Miledeep Water,” the man said drily. “We’re on Chobamba’s equatorial continent; that’s an External world, you know.”

“Right.” She smiled, trying to give the impression it had just slipped her mind for a moment.

“In fact, we’re the only settlement on this entire continent, which is a desert from shore to shore. Lucky you found us, really.” The irony was quite blatant now, even through the odd accent.

“Yes.”

The woman gave him a mild jab with her hand, hushing him. Araminta smiled again and backed off fast. As she went down Caston Street, she was uncomfortably aware of the pair of them standing watching her. The man’s mind was filling with mild amusement coupled with a trace of exasperation.

It could have been worse, she told herself. They could have been suspicious or recognized me.

Araminta’s encyclopedia files said Chobamba had been settled for barely two hundred fifty years. She guessed that the StarSide Motel was one of the earlier businesses to be established. Its chalets were an exception to the town’s clapboard buildings. They’d been grown from drycoral, which was now long dead and starting to flake under the unremitting sun. It was a similar variety to the pale violet dry coral they’d used for barns back on the farm in Langham, so she knew that for it to reach such a state, it had to be at least a century old.

The motel occupied a wide area, with the chalets spread out in a broad circle to surround a swimming pool. Their concrete landing pads for visiting capsules were all cracked, forced open by weeds and clumps of unpleasant-looking red fungus balls. Only one capsule was currently parked.

Irrigation nozzles were squirting pulses of spray onto its front lawn as she walked up to the reception building. She supposed the whole crater wall must be irrigated.

The owner was in the back office, tinkering with an ancient air-conditioning unit. He came out wiping his hands on his shabby white vest and introduced himself as Ragnar. His glance swept up and down, giving her clothes a quick appraisal. “Been a while since we’ve had anyone walk in,” he said, stressing “walk.” His accent was the same as that of the old couple she’d met.

“But I’m not the first?” she asked warily.

“No, ma’am. The Silfen path ends somewhere out there beyond the crater wall. I’ve met a few travelers like yourself over the years.”

“Right,” she said, relaxing slightly.

Ragnar leaned over the counter, speaking quietly. “You been out there long?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Okay. Well, you’ve not chosen the best time to come back. These are troubled times for the old Greater Commonwealth, yes indeed.” His eyes narrowed at her blank expression. “You do know what the Commonwealth is?”

“I know,” she said solemnly.

“That’s good. Just checking. Those paths are pretty tangled, by all accounts. I had someone once come straight out of a pre-wormhole century. Boy, oh boy, were they confused.”

Araminta didn’t argue about how unlikely that was. She smiled and held up her cash coin. “A room?”

“No problemo. How long will you be staying?”

“A week.” She handed over the coin.

Ragnar gave her clothes another skeptical viewing as he handed the coin back. “I’ll give you number twelve; it’s a quiet one. And all our rooms have complimentary toiletries.”

“Jolly good.”

He sniffed. “I’ll get you an extra pack.”

Room 12 measured about five meters by three, with a door on the back wall leading to a small bathroom that had a bath and a toilet. No spore shower, Araminta saw in disappointment. She sat on the double bed and stared at her feet; the pain was quite acute now. It took a while for her to tackle the problem of getting her boots off. When she did unfasten them, her socks were horribly bloody. She winced as she rolled them off. Blisters had abraded away, leaving the raw flesh bleeding. There was a lot of swelling, too.

Araminta stared at them, resentful and teary. But most of all she was tired. She knew she should do something about her feet, bathe them at least. She just didn’t have the energy. Instead, she pulled the thin duvet over herself and went straight to sleep.

Paramedics were still working in Bodant Park ten hours after the riot, or fight, or skirmish-whatever you called it. A lot of people were calling it mass murder. Cleric Phelim had thrown the Senate delegation out of his headquarters when they had leveled such an accusation against him, hinting broadly that the Commonwealth would convene a war crimes tribunal with him as the principal accused. But in an extraordinarily lame public relations exercise, five hours after the agents had finished blasting away at each other, he had finally lifted the restriction on local ambulance capsules. However, he wouldn’t switch off the force field weather dome or allow the injured to be transferred to hospitals in other cities. Colwyn’s own hospitals and clinics, already swamped by earlier injuries from clashes between citizens and paramilitaries, were left to cope by themselves.

Casualty figures were difficult to compile, but the unisphere reporters on the ground were estimating close to a hundred fifty bodyloss victims. Injuries were easily over a thousand, probably two with varying degrees of seriousness.

Oscar had directly added two people to the bodyloss count. He wasn’t sure about collateral damage, but it wasn’t going to be small, either; no one in that fight had held back. On one level he was quietly horrified at his own ruthlessness when he’d protected Araminta from the agents converging on her. He’d allowed the combat programs to dominate his responses. Yet his own instincts had contributed, adding a ferociousness to the fight that had exploited every mistake his opponents had made. And his biononics were top of the range, producing energy currents formatted by the best weapons-grade programs the Knights Guardian had designed. It had also helped that Tomansio and Beckia had bounced over to his fight within seconds, adding their firepower and aggression. Yet he’d held by himself for those first few vital moments; the feeling was the same as on the Hanko mission back in the good old days, flying nearly suicidal maneuvers above the star because it was necessary.