"He was a good man, I think," the soldier said, removing the trout and filleting it expertly with his shroud-cutting knife. He handed half to Mirsky and threw the head and bones into the bushes.

Mirsky nodded and ate his fish, skin and all, chewing thoughtfully until he spotted a silvery glint in the trees behind the soldier. His chewing stopped. The soldier saw him staring and turned his head.

A long metal object floated between the trees and stopped a few meters away. Mirsky's eyes widened; it resembled a chromium Russian Orthodox barred cross, with a heavy teardrop on its lower extremity. At the junction of the angled bar and the horizontal post of the cross was an intense glowing red spot.

The soldier stood. "Is it American?" he asked.

"I don't think so," Mirsky said, also standing.

"Gentlemen," a female voice said, speaking English. "Do not be alarmed. We intend you no hurt. Our detectors tell us there is a corporeal individual here who has undergone supplementary surgery."

"It is American," the soldier said, backing away and preparing to run.

"What are you?" Mirsky asked, also in English.

"You are the one who has received supplementary surgery?"

"I think so," Mirsky said. "Yes."

The soldier made a peculiar grunt deep in his throat and crashed off through the trees.

"I'm the one, don't bother about him."

A woman dressed in black walked slowly between the trees. Mirsky thought for a moment that she had to be American, because of the uniform—but he noticed the style was quite different. And her hair—shorn to fuzz at the sides, with a sweep of crown hair cascading behind her head—was certainly not American. It took him some seconds to see she had no nostrils, and her ears were small and round. She stood beside chromium cross and held up her hand.

"You're not a citizen of the Axis City, are you?" she asked. "Not an Orthodox Naderite?"

"No," Mirsky said. "I'm a Russian. Who are you?"

She touched the bar of the cross and flashes of light passed through the air between them. "Will you accompany me? We are gathering all the occupants of these chambers. No harm will come to you."

"Do I have any choice?" he asked, still calm. Could a man who had died once already feel any fear?

"I'm sorry, no," the woman said, smiling pleasantly.

Judith Hoffman had just completed a marathon nine-hour session on the restructuring of the legal system for the NATO personnel on the Stone. Beryl Wallace had insisted she return to the women's bungalow afterward. Hoffman had fallen asleep in her room immediately, so exhausted that it took her some time to crawl up to awareness, and a few seconds more to realize what had awakened her. The comline alarm was chiming. She hit her switch. "Hoffman," she said, her tongue thick and unwieldy.