“Oh, yeah. Sure, Captain.” The Mouse suddenly looked into the ruined face. The captain looked down at him. Deep among the broken lines and lights, the Mouse saw humor and compassion. He laughed. “I wish I had my syrynx now. I’d play your eyes out of your head. I’d turn your nose inside out from both nostrils, and you’d be twice as ugly as you are now, Captain!” Then he looked across the street: at once wet pavement and people and lights and reflections kaleidoscoped behind amazing tears. “I wish I had my syrynx,” the Mouse whispered again, “had it with me… now.”

They headed back to the monorail station.

“Eating, sleeping, current wages: how would I explain the present concept of these three to somebody from, say, the twenty-third century?”

Katin sat at the edge of the party watching the dancers, himself among them, laughing before Gold. Now and then he bent over his recorder.

“The way we handle these processes would be totally beyond the comprehension of someone from seven hundred years ago, even though he understood intravenous feeding and nutrition concentrates. Still he would have nowhere near the informational equipment to understand how everyone in this society, except the very, very rich, or the very, very poor take their daily nourishment. Half the process would seem completely incomprehensible; the other half, disgusting. Odd that drinking has remained the same. At the same period of time these changes took place—bless Ashton Clark—the novel more or less died. I wonder if there’s a connection. Since I have chosen this archaic art form, must I consider my audience the people who will read it tomorrow, or should I address it to yesterday? Past or future, if I left those elements out of the narrative, it might serve to give the work more momentum.”

The sensory recorder had been left on to record and re-record so that the room was crowded with multiple dancers and the ghosts of dancers. Idas played a counterpoint of sounds and images on the Mouse’s syrynx. Conversations, real and recorded, filled the room.

“Though all these dance around me now, I make my art for a mythological audience of one. Under what other circumstances can I hope to communicate?”

Tyy stepped from among Tyys and Sebastians. “Katin, the door-light flashing is.”

Katin flipped off his recorder. “The Mouse and Captain must be back. Don’t bother, Tyy. I’ll let them in.” Katin stepped out of the room and hurried down the hall.

“Hey, Captain”—Katin swung the door back—”the party’s going—” He dropped his hand from the knob. His heart pounded twice in his throat, and then might as well have stopped. He stepped back from the door.

“I gather you recognize myself and my sister? I won’t bother with introductions then. May we come in?”

Katin’s mouth started working toward some word.

“We know he’s not here. We’ll wait.”

The iron gate with its chunk-glass ornamentation closed on a scarf of steam. Lorq looked about the plants in silhouette against Taafite’s amber.

“Hope they still have a party going,” the Mouse said. “To go all this way and find them curled up in the corner asleep!”

“Bliss’ll wake them up.” As Lorq mounted the rocks, he took his hands from his pockets. A breeze pushed beneath the flaps of his vest, cooled the spaces between his fingers. He palmed the circle of the door plate. The door swung in. Lorq stepped inside. “Doesn’t sound like they’ve passed out.”

The Mouse grinned and hopped toward the living room.

The party had been recorded, re-recorded, and re-recorded again. Multiple melodies flailed a dozen dancing Tyys to different rhythms. Twins before were duodecuplets now. Sebastian, Sebastian, and Sebastian, at various stages of inebriation, poured drinks of red, blue, green.

Lorq stepped in behind the Mouse. “Lynceos, Idas! We got your—I can’t tell which is which. Quiet a minute!” He slapped at the wall switch of the sensory recorder—From the edge of the sand-pool the twins looked up; white hands fell apart; black came together.

Tyy sat at Sebastian’s feet, hugging her knees: gray eyes flashed under beating lids.

Katin’s Adam’s apple bounded in his long neck.

And Prince and Ruby turned from contemplating Gold. “We seem to have put a damper on the gathering. Ruby suggested they just go on and forget us, but—” He shrugged. “I’m glad we meet here: Yorgy was reluctant to tell me where you were. He’s a good friend to you. But not so good as I am an enemy.” The black vinyl vest hung loose on his bone-white chest. Ridged ribs scored it sharply. Black pants, black boots. Around his upper arm at the top of his glove: white fur.

A hand slapped Lorq’s sternum, slapped it again, again. The hand was inside. “You’ve threatened me a great deal, and interestingly. How are you going to carry it out?” Bearing Lorq’s fear was a net of exaltation.

As Prince stepped forward, a wing of Sebastian’s pet brushed his calf. “Please ..…” Prince glanced down at the creature. At the sand-pool he stopped, stooped between the twins, scooped his false hand into the sand, and made a fist. “Ahhhh .. .” His breath, even with parted lips, hissed. He stood now, opened his fingers.

Dull glass fell smoking to the rug. Idas pulled his feet back sharply. Lynceos just blinked faster.

“How does that answer my question?”

“Consider it a demonstration of my love of strength and beauty. Do you see?” He kicked the shards of hot glass across the rug. “Bah! Too many impurities to rival Murano. I came here—”

“To kill me?”

“To reason.”

“What did you bring beside reasons?”

“My right hand. I know you have no weapons. I trust my own. We are both playing this one by ear, Lorq. Ashton Clark has set the rules.”

“Prince, what are you trying to do?”

“Keep things as they are.”

“Stasis is death.”

“But less destructive than your insane movements.”

“I am a pirate, remember?”

“You’re fast on your way to becoming the greatest criminal of the millennium”

“Are you about to tell me something I don’t know?”

“I sincerely hope not. For our sake here, for the sake of worlds around us…” Then Prince laughed. “By every logical extension of argument, Lorq, I’m right as far as this battle goes. Has that occurred to you?”

Lorq narrowed his eyes.

“I know you want Illyrion,” Prince continued. “The only reason you want it is to upset the balance of power; otherwise, it wouldn’t be worth it to you. Do you know what will happen?”

Lorq set his mouth. “I’ll tell you: it will ruin the economy of the Outer Colonies. There will be a whole wave of workers to relocate. They’ll swarm in. The empire will come as close to war as it’s been since the suppression of Vega. When a company like Red-shift Limited reaches stasis in this culture, that’s tantamount to destruction. That should kill as much work for as many people in Draco as the destruction of my companies would mean in the Pleiades. Does that begin your argument well?”

“Lorq, you are incorrigible!”

“Are you relieved that I’ve thought it through?”

“I’m appalled.”

“Here’s another argument you can use, Prince: you’re fighting not only for Draco, but for the economic stability of the Outer Colonies as well. If I win, a third of the galaxy moves forward and two thirds fall behind. If you win, two thirds of the galaxy maintains its present standard and one third falls.”

Prince nodded. “Now, demolish me with your logic.”

“I must survive.”

Prince waited. He frowned. The frown parted with puzzled laughter. “That’s all you can say?”

“Why should I bother to tell you that the workers can be relocated in spite of the difficulty? That there will be no war because there are enough worlds and food for them—if it is properly distributed, Prince? That the increase in Illyrion will create enough new projects to absorb these people?”