"Obviously such masses could not be transported from space," the Qax said. "The rebels must have evolved some technique of assembling such materials from the substance of the planet."

Once humans had been able to engineer artifacts of exotic matter. Evidently not all of that technology had been lost, or confiscated by the Qax. Parz imagined wells of magma, shaped and compressed, imploded into a stream of singularities by immense forces… He marveled at the earth-craft. "It’s bold, audacious, ingenious."

"You sound proud."

Parz shrugged. "Why shouldn’t I be proud? In impossible circumstances, humans have achieved a remarkable feat. Even to come so far as these rebels have—"

"Keep your sense of perspective," the Qax snapped. "This hardly represents a serious threat to the Occupation. For all the ingenuity of its construction we are faced by a single, ramshackle raft, barely capable of maintaining its structural integrity. And it was constructed furtively, like the earth of a hunted animal. Where is the cause for pride in that?"

"Perhaps the rebels see themselves as hunted animals," Parz said.

The Qax hesitated. "Your admiration for these criminals is interesting," it said mildly.

"Oh, you don’t need to worry," Parz said with vague self-disgust. "I talk a good rebellion. I always have. But when it comes to action, that’s a different matter."

"I know. I understand this feature of yours. So did my predecessor."

"Am I as predictable as that?"

"It is a factor that increases your usefulness, in our eyes," the Qax said.

From behind the curved flank of the Spline, another ship appeared. This, Parz saw through the Spline’s lens, was one of the craft indigenous to the period: a squat, ungainly affair, gaudily painted, hovering before the eye of the Spline like some insect. The sensors showed there was a crowd of these barges, clustered around the Interface portal. So far none of them had interfered with the Spline — or attempted to interfere, rather.

Parz said, "Aren’t you concerned about these local craft?"

"They cannot harm us," the Qax said, sounding uninterested. "We can afford to take time here, to check through the Spline’s systems, before the cross-system hyperspace flight."

Parz smiled. "Qax, listening to you I can hear the voice of the commander of a twentieth-century atomic carrier disdaining the painted dugout canoes of islanders, drifting out to meet him on the curve of some sea. Still, though, the most primitive weapon can kill…

"And I wonder why they don’t attack anyway." He pressed his face to the cornea and glanced around the sky; now that he looked for them he saw how many of the strange local ships there were, and how diverse in design they were. The political structure in this period was chaotic, he recalled. Fragmented. Perhaps these vessels represented many different authorities. Governments of moons, of the inner planets, of Earth herself; as well as of the central, international agencies… Perhaps no war-footing coalition existed here yet; perhaps there was no one to command an attack on this Spline.

Still, Parz was irritated by the Qax’s complacency.

"Aren’t you at least worried that these vessels might be raising a System-wide alert? Maybe the inner planets will be able to pack more of a punch against you," he said grimly. "And if they’re allowed to prepare…"

"Jasoft Parz," the Qax said with a trace of impatience, "your death-seeking fantasies are beginning to grate. I have monitored none of the dire warnings you seem to yearn for."

Parz frowned, absently scratching his cheek through the thick, clear plastic of his face-mask. "The situation doesn’t make sense, actually, even given the political fragmentation. The Friends have been in this time period for a year. They’ve had plenty of time to warn the human natives of this era, to coordinate, assemble some sort of force to oppose you… perhaps even to close the Interface portal."

"There has been no evidence of such coordination," the Qax said.

"No, there hasn’t, has there? Is it possible the Friends haven’t warned the natives? — perhaps haven’t communicated with them at all, even?" Parz could still make out the Friends’ craft against Jupiter, an island of green on a sea of pink. What were the rebels up to? The Friends must have had some project in mind when they made their desperate run to this period… but they had not felt the need to enlist the resources of the natives of this period.

Parz tried to imagine how a handful of rebels on a single improvised ship could hope to strike across fifteen centuries at an interstellar power.

"It makes little difference," the Qax murmured, its disembodied voice like an insect buzzing somewhere behind Parz’s eyes. "The second Occupation craft is minutes away from the rebel craft, now; this absurd episode is nearing its climax."

"Michael Poole. Miriam."

Poole dragged his eyes away from the astonishing sky. Shira stood before them; Poole saw that the customary blank composure of her skeletal face was marred by a tightness of the mouth, a pink-white flaring of her small nostrils. Beyond her, Poole saw now, the earth-craft was full of motion; Friends bearing slates and other pieces of equipment ran across the wiry grass, converging on the stones at the heart of the craft.

Berg snapped, "Shira, those are Spline warships up there."

"We understand what is occurring, Miriam."

"Then what the hell are you going to do about it?"

Shira ignored this and turned to Poole. "You must stay inside the teepee," she said. "The surface of the earth-craft is not safe now. The Xeelee construction material will shield you from—"

Poole said, "I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what you’re going to do."

Harry, his image restored to brightness outside the hut, folded his arms and stuck his jaw out. "Me too," he said defiantly.

Shira’s voice was fragile but steady enough. "We are not going to respond directly to the incursion of the Qax," she insisted. "There is no purpose—"

Berg shouted, "You mean that after bringing them here you’re just going to let them walk in and do what they want?"

Shira flinched away from the other woman’s fury, but stood her ground. "You do not understand," she said, the strain still more evident in her voice. "The Project is paramount."

Harry tried to grab Poole’s arm; his fingers passed through cloth and flesh in a cloud of pixels. "Michael. Look at the Spline."

The first warship had crossed the zenith now and seemed to be receding from the earth-craft. As it worked its way through the sky it rolled, as if peering from side to side like some obscene eyeball; deep in craterlike pores Poole saw the glint of blood and metal.

The Spline’s partner, the second warship, was clear of the Interface. It was already the size of a large coin, and it grew visibly.

The second ship seemed to be coming straight down at them.

"Only two," Berg muttered.

Poole glanced at her, startled; her face was screwed up tight around peering eyes, a mask of appraisal. "What?"

"No sign of any more coming through the portal. There’s already been time for a third to start appearing."

Poole shook his head, amazed at her ability to think her way through the looming threat from the sky. "Do you think something’s stopping them, at the other end?"

Berg shook her head with a brief, dismissive jerk. "No way. Two is all they think they need."

Shira’s hands climbed over each other like anxious little animals. "Please," she said. "The teepee."

Poole ignored her. "What do you think they’re doing?"

Berg, her fear gone now, or at least suppressed, tracked the silent motion of the Spline. "The first one’s leaving Jovian space."