Perhaps some of his old vulnerability to the glamour of the Nymphs still was buried somewhere in his nervous system, for Soorm said only, “Do you really think my fur is beautiful?”

6. In the Middle of a Duel

Soorm descended the handholds until he was halfway down the cliff, and he sprang into the air, his massive arms overhead, and his dark body taut as an arrow, his long tail straight. Down he flew, striking the water with a silver splash. His tail opened his flukes and slapped the surface and then he was gone.

“Showing off for you, was he? That was stupid,” said Menelaus. “Water ain’t that deep.”

Oenoe, smiling brightly, waved prettily toward the water. “A cautious man would not have volunteered at all. He will clear the way, and return.” There was silken rustle from her green mantilla as Oenoe, and the pleasing scent of Oenoe, drifted closer to him. She looked at him from the corners of her eyes, lids half closed, her ripe, red mouth pursed as if suppressing a shy smile. She whispered. “I alone of all this company know you, Your Honor.”

“If you have to use a fancy title, call me ‘Doctor’—and you’re not the only one. I have a very old and very fat friend from my brief days among the Witches. He programmed his coffin to open when mine did, so he could follow me into the future. And I told Soorm who I was.”

“You must regard them with deep love, to entrust your secrets and your soul to such men. I will adore them likewise for your sake.”

“It’s partly trust and partly desperation. If I don’t stop the Blue Men from their digging, they will break into a lower level and find my gene-traces, which are all over the place. Also, I think I left my pot of Texas nine-alarm chili on the stove, and I know that’s got traces in it, because I always put back whatever I don’t eat up from my bowl.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Unsanitary!”

“You kidding? I come from the Plague Years. I have so much antibiotic crap in my bloodstream that food gets less buggy when I spits on it.”

“So if the blue eunuchs find your disgusting stew-bowl, what does this mean?”

“It means I am royally screwed up my Mary-pucker with an industrial-strength heavy-torque screwdriver.”

“Ah! Congratulations!”

“No, in my language, that phrase means that I am, uh, disadvantaged ignominiously.”

“Your translation is awry! That phrase refers to anal copulation, which is a cherished and sacred form of the arts of pleasure.”

“That’s what I like about you Nymphs. Always looking on the bright side. Well, sister, there ain’t no bright side here. If you fail, I am just royally—” He cleared his throat. “—disadvantaged.”

“You are posthuman. Surely you are above the blue eunuchs, and all their petty devisings.”

Menelaus said, “Don’t overestimate me. A genius who is thrown out of his bedroom window and down the street while blissfully a-snooze and wakes up to find his house surrounded and besieged by armed idiots is still locked out of his house. It is not the Blue Men, but whoever or whatever is behind them, that I fear.”

“You fear the Master of the World.”

Menelaus looked at her in surprise. “The Nymphs aren’t known for knowing about the past. I suppose your hubby told you all about him?”

“Even had he not, I would have known. For this is not a thing of the past. It has been, and now is, and shall be. You and the Master quarreled at the dawn of time over the Swan Princess. By lottery, you divided the world between you. The dying machines as Ghosts go to the Moon to be with him; the dying men go to you beneath the ground as ice. Some say there is a power in the sea vassal to neither of you, where the dying whales go.”

Menelaus smiled. “That’s not as inaccurate as some things I heard.”

“I do not understand why, if he is on the dark side of the Moon, with his Ghosts and unclear spirits and machines, why has he not unleashed one of those old, dread weapons the Unnaturals use? He could lay waste to any land where he suspected you might pass.”

“He wants to kill me himself, up close. Blackie and I are in the middle of a duel. Damn tower fell on us halfway through. I feel I was winning. It’s his damn fault I’m here and not in space where I should be.”

Oenoe was looking at his face carefully. “You are very lonely, because the only other female of your species in existence is in the White Ship, and the bent eternity of Lorenz transformation, light-years and years, stands between you and your beloved.”

“Thanks. I try to keep busy, and from time to time I wake up and shoot people, and I have my hobbies, but there is no one to talk to on this damned dumb world.” He tried to say it lightly, as a joke, but he raised his hand to his face to wipe his eyes.

Her expression was one of wonder. “You weep! One would suppose a superior being would have control of all emotions?”

“Nope. The smarter you are, the worse it hurts when everything does not fit into its proper pattern. If anything, my emotions are worse than they used to be. I remember back when everything was not so painfully, blindingly, piercingly crystal clear. All that happened when I evolved up is that my emotions evolved up too. And this would make even the Mother of Jesus cry, ’cause if I mess up, not only is the whole human future flung overboard, but I lose my wife who is counting on me.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “Were I a cautious maid, I would flee now and throw myself upon the cold mercy of the blue eunuchs. You know we have no chance for success.”

He snorted. “What made you leave caution behind?”

“My husband is a prisoner here somewhere in the camp, or elsewhere, just as your wife is a prisoner of eternities and stars. So I am as you are.”

“What, crazy? Soorm thinks I am.”

“He is too rational a creature, for he was instructed by a Jesuit, was he not? You are lovesick and helpless in your lovesickness. It is only in such things Nymphs trust, things of the maddened heart beyond all control. We do not believe in reason.”

“You are a strange creature.”

She inclined her head. “I could say the same of you.”

Soorm, by that time, had returned, and now was waving a webbed hand.

Oenoe stood on tiptoe and made as if to kiss Menelaus, but he backed up and held up his left hand. There was a gold ring on his third finger.

He pointed at it with a finger. “I’m married. Married. That word means something to you. I thought Sir Guy had you baptized and such, Mrs. Von Hompesch?”

She pouted. “I meant only to share the kiss of peace.”

“I’ll give you the handshake of wary and temporary cease-fire.”

Oenoe stepped too close to him. Her hand was small and delicate and warm, and so gentle in its touch when they shook hands, that it was as intimate as a kiss, and his fingers tingled.

She turned, and climbed slowly and carefully down the cliffside, her green robes billowing around her, shedding white petals.

7. Extremely Low Frequency

It was twenty minutes later when Menelaus sensed, through his implants, an electronic whisper and a flicker of bioelectromagnetic energy leap from tree to tree.

He put his hand on the nearest trunk, wishing he had a clearer connection. The tent material he wore had broadcast-receiver beads woven through the fabric, nothing on the correct frequency, but he was able to program in a mutual interference between the bead distances to set up a resonance effect that acted, crudely, like a step-down antenna for his implants. The geometry of it required him to stick stiffened triangles of his cloak left and right, above and below, and the jury-rig was so delicate that shifting his weight, or having the leaves toss in the breeze, created static interference. He had to stand on one leg with one arm overhead.

“Nobody had better put this into the legends they make up about me.” He grimaced.