“Unless the message came from the ship or ships that attacked the liner in the first place. Which would mean there was something about the wreck they didn’t want me to see.”

Adalwolf shook his head. “If that were the case, sister, they have already had five days to cover their tracks and make good their escape. Why would they have lingered at the scene of their supposed crime?”

“Could the Geest van Amsterdam still be functional and somehow eluding them?”

“I think it’s doubtful.”

“Then what do you think I should do?”

For a few seconds, I listened to the pops and hisses of the hypervoid. When Adalwolf spoke again, he simply said, “Heed the message.”

“What?”

Had his feed become corrupted? I sent a request for him to repeat his last transmission.

“Do what it says and stay away.” He sounded irritable. “Return to Cichol and wait. Should any survivors from the liner remain, we can call you in to deal with them once we are certain we have secured the system.”

“Return to Cichol and wait?”

His features rearranged themselves into the approximation of a kindly smile. He was used to being the leader of the pack, the one we had all listened to and whose suggestions we had followed. “I know you mean well, little sister, but you aren’t fully armed and this isn’t your fight. You’re not one of us any more.”

Twenty-Eight: Nod

TWENTY-EIGHT

NOD

Ships all irritable.

Have served many ships since leaving World Tree.

Have served for six times four years.

All irritable.

All bad-tempered.

But none as irritable and bad-tempered as Hound of Difficulty.

None as sad.

I repair everything except sad.

I fix.

I work.

But sad remains.

Loss remains.

Some damage can’t be fixed. Some things stay broken.

Like grief.

Only fixed when we return to World Tree. When we die and become one with Tree.

Until then, I patch ship, and move on.

I fix ship’s hull.

Fix systems.

But ship still damaged.

Bits missing.

Bits taken.

I patch and move.

Always something else needs fixing.

Always work.

Work, then sleep.

But can’t fix sad.

Can’t grasp sad.

I work.

I know World Tree waits.

And dead wait in roots of World Tree.

Wait for us.

We leave Tree and we serve.

We have always served.

We fix, and we move on.

Nothing is ever lost.

Nothing gone forever.

Will see again.

After work.

After serving.

After sleep.

Twenty-Nine: Ona Sudak

TWENTY-NINE

ONA SUDAK

As we followed the canyon, I watched the shadows chase each other up and down the cliff-like walls. Days on the Brain were around seventeen hours in length. When the sun was directly overhead, the base of the canyon was a bright marble path stretching away before us. The rest of the time it lay in the shade.