“We have five recitations, perhaps less.”

Dawn and the ruddy first light were rising. King smiled so that his teeth shone. “Make her cross in the rain. Make her wet and soggy.”

“She won’t,” Father said. “I insisted, but she instantly refused me.”

“You’re the Archon of Archons.”

The man lifted a hand, checking the lay of the bright bronze scales on his son’s magnificent chest. “Prima has her excuse,” he said.

This was a fun test. “Is it a good one?”

“The very best. She says she has a prisoner, a young aide from her office. The man is a traitor, and after some hard interrogations, he has unveiled a string of names and various intrigues. She has a clear picture about who organized the first attack and what we should do once morning arrives.”

“You should see this prisoner for yourself,” King said.

“Indeed, I should.”

“Tell her to wrap him in chains and drag him to your bridge.”

“Except there’s a risk,” said Father. “Her prisoner has survived this long inside the Panoply, which means that he must be safe there. But the traitor has powerful allies, and she isn’t convinced that he would survive the walk.”

Both mouths snarled. “The woman wants you to cross to her ground, on her terms.”

“And I should have already gone.”

“What about me?”

Father looked at his eyes, the mouths.

“She doesn’t want me with you,” King said.

“Prima said a few words about you, and my sense here . . . yes, she’d prefer me to leave you in bed, asleep.”

Father’s narrow face smiled, tiny teeth showing.

“You can’t leave me behind,” said King.

“If I thought otherwise, I’d have left you dreaming.” Father opened the door, walking into the suite’s main room. “And since the gangway is uncovered and I don’t want to arrive at this meeting dressed in a drippy rubber poncho, I think we should leave immediately.”

But King had made one decision about himself. He kicked off the first boot, and with a few hard jerks of the arms, he tore away the new trousers and the shirt. Short trousers made from growler hide was perfect for this kind of day, and he kept the belt on and left his feet bare, and in case Father had doubts about his uniform, King got fine smiles ready with both mouths, plus flattering words about being the good son happily standing at a great man’s side.

Eyes open, standing on the long tarmac while waiting for dawn, sleep took hold of her and she was dreaming.

Nothing about the moment was surprising or sudden. Maybe she had been dreaming a long while but didn’t realize it. Every mind kept secrets, particularly from itself. Whatever the circumstance, Divers found herself feeling warm inside a special old dream, the dream where she was tiny again. She was a frail voice inside other voices that were scared like her and lost like her. The hand doesn’t name its fingers and thumbs. None of the Eight wore names. Yet each voice was unique, and they were forgotten and frightened together, nothing outside the rounded shared body but darkness and heat, stomach acids and the roaring of a beast that carried them back and forth.

The nameless Divers couldn’t move. She couldn’t envision being mobile. Trapped and miniscule, she had nothing to do with her thoughts but share them, and the others shared what they thought, and nothing changed outside. Nothing was new. But the unrelenting sameness drove them to invent fresh notions, injecting what was new into a conversation that had gone on for thousands and millions of days.

“I belong here,” she thought.

With seamless ease, she thought, “I am happy.”

Happiness was what shook her, alerted her. The attack had begun, and there might have been a moment when inroads were possible. But Divers saw the truth and roused herself, discovering that the giant body had taken only two full strides without her being aware.

Divers was standing in the middle of the long smooth tarmac, in the final blackness of night. The hanger’s long door had been closed since the sun vanished, but a smaller access hatch was propped open, revealing lights and the shadows riding on the lights, and she heard the bright hard whine of a corona-tooth drill cutting a precise hole through some fresh piece of corona bone.

The Eight were alone, nobody watching them.

Divers studied the rising slopes of the reef on her left and her right, dark and a little cool after the brief night. This was the world’s quiet time. No nocturnal animal wanted to walk in the open, exposed at dawn. Without orders or some deep personal need, no sane human would risk the storm.

Aloud, she said, “Tritian.”

Inside her, Tritian’s voice said, “Yes.”

“You tried,” she said with her mouth.

“I tried very little,” he whispered.

“You wanted to scare me, did you?”

“Are you scared?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then the game’s a miserable failure,” Tritian said.

She agreed but said nothing.

Other voices began to flow, and recognizing each speaker and the connotations, Divers hunted for codes in the ordinary words and any implications and the hints of emotion that should worry her or make her happy.

Tritian had sympathizers. Yet Divers had allies and genuine power, inside the body and across the world without.

“Attacking me now,” she said. “Is this the best time to seed chaos? Everything at stake and you launch an assault?”

“That accomplished nothing,” said her enemy.

Diver’s eyes—their eyes—were gazing down the long black runway. Where the pavement ended the reef fell away, and beyond the reef was open air and the first hints of red light. A giant fire was blazing under the demon floor, turning alien plants into volatile steam, and she intended to stand here, motionless as coral, allowing the hot first waves of rain to wash across the long potent body.

A child said her name.

Zakk said, “Divers.”

And she woke again.

The Eight were standing where she imagined the body to be, and the scene in her dream was the same as reality—the hanger behind her, full of noise and frantic shadows, the sleeping reef and the tarmac, and the air and fire beyond, great waves of water poised to rise like a wave over the world. The trick of the dream had been masterful. But the mastery was wasted; the body was hers and hers alone.

The boy called to her again, asking, “Is something wrong?”

“You aren’t sleeping,” she said.

“I couldn’t. I’m excited.”

“Did you ever meet the other children?” Divers waved at the village hiding higher up on the reef.

“Not yet. I was watching mechanics repairing the wing.”

“That is fun,” she agreed.

“I’ll meet the other children today,” he said.

She couldn’t care any less. What mattered was the gnawing urge to be suspicious of everything.

“I have an errand for you,” Divers said.

“Good,” Zakk said.

“In the hanger, ask someone for a mid-length pry bar. Find one with a sharpened end and bring it straight to me.”

The boy broke into a nervous laugh.

“Are you going to hit me with it?” he asked.

“Maybe that too,” said Divers. “But no, my plan is to stab myself. The bar is a tool, and pain is an even better tool. You see, I could be lying in a hole, sleeping and stupid. But more likely, I’m trapped in a sleepwalking state, which is an even worse prospect.”

Zakk had the largest eyes that she had ever seen on such a tiny, young face. He stared at Divers and at all of them, and then he said, “Yes,” as he turned, running quickly for the open hatch.

Something about that boy was wrong. In subtle, persistent ways, he made no sense, and she couldn’t decide why, and she watched him until he vanished and then turned to look at the brightening glare.

Little time passed before feet came back across the landing, aiming for her.

She pivoted, ready to compliment Zakk on his speed.