“You know everything I know,” Rhita said, near tears, utterly exhausted. “What can I do for you?”

“Lead us to those who built your clavicle. Give us clues. But—” He held up his hand as she was about to protest, “I realize you do not know these things. Still, there is some hope you can reveal more by your actions, or by your presence—the clavicle may be sought by others than ourselves. Only you can operate it. You still have some value in your active form.”

“What about my…companions?”

“They will be brought here if it makes you more comfortable.”

“It would,” she said. “Please.”

Typhōn smiled. “Your forms of social appeasement are wonderful. Such simplicity masking such aggression. The request is made; they should meet us at Rhodos, if we do not exceed the energy budget.”

“I’m not sure I can stand here much longer. I’m very tired.”

Typhōn encouraged her to squat on the platform. “You will not be clumsy in my eyes,” he said.

With a grimace, she not only squatted; she lay down on her stomach, peering over the edge. “Are we going to Rhodos?” she asked.

“Yes.”

A green line appeared from nearby clouds and spread out before the bubble into a radiance of grasping curves. In a cage again, the bubble transported them high above the ocean. She could not tell in which direction of the compass they were heading.

“Am I the first human you’ve ever studied?” she asked.

“No,” Typhōn answered. “My selves studied dozens of humans from this world before investigating your preserved record.”

“Do you know everything about us?” Anger was her dominant emotion now; she bit off her words, hoping the sour edge was not lost to the escort.

“No. You still have many subtleties, many things to study. But I may not be allowed to study you to completion. There are higher tasks, and my number of selves is fully occupied.”

“You keep saying that,” Rhita said wearily. “My ‘selves.’ I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I am not an individual. I am actively stored—”

“Like grain in a barrel?” Rhita asked sarcastically.

“Like a memory in your own head,” Typhōn said. “I am actively stored in the flaw. We can induce resonances in the flaw and store huge amounts of information—literally worlds of information. Is that clear to you?”

“No,” she admitted. “How can there be more than one of you?”

“Because my patterns, my self, can be duplicated endlessly. I can be merged with other selves of differing designs and abilities. Various effectuators can be built for us—machines or ships or more rarely, bodies. I do work when any of my selves are required.”

“You’re trained to take care of strangers?”