She picked up her book from where it had fallen beside her pillow. Aspects of Religious Theory. She tried to find her place.

. . . in that area, orthodoxy has combined with an older paganism. They believe that the universe was created out of the semen of Beloved Angkhdt, and, more specifically, spring rain comes from the same source, which is responsible for its color and viscosity. They worship stone idols with enormous phalluses. Sodomy and fellatio, as described in Angkhdt verses 21 through 56, among others, they regard as sacraments, though even among these people there are fierce doctrinal disputes. The most austere, or Dharimvars, regard these passages as purely symbolic. Their priests lead lives of strict asceticism. But the Kharimvars, or “followers of the darker path,” interpret these verses literally, using the crudest translations. Worshippers take the celebrant’s sexual organ into their mouths when they receive the sacrament, though here again there are sectional debates: whether this is a public or a private ceremony, whether it should proceed to literal or symbolic orgasm, and so forth. The more extreme of these practices have been proscribed by the emperor, though they are thought to linger in the more backward areas of Charn. They choose their clergy democratically, from among the youngest and most virile, which is a heresy . . .

Thanakar relaxed and sat back, and stretched out his leg. The woman’s arm was off; it lay like a bleeding animal in the straw, bleeding through its open mouth. He had sewn the stump up with plastic thread and then with miraculous skill had spun a new arm for her out of memory and magic, and silver wire and rags of silver latex. He had joined it to her flesh and laid it on her breast, tied in a sling around her neck. It was lifeless still, but pulsing gently, a source of energy and light.

“It’s amazing,” said Spanion Locke, squatting by his side.

“Starbridge technology,” answered Thanakar. “We’ve had to specialize in battlefield injuries.”

“Will it work?”

“It should. Some people never learn to use them. The ones who try too hard.”

It had been a long operation. The blood had soaked their clothes. Spanion Locke had helped him when the woman struggled. She was unconscious now, and the two men looked at each other over her body, feeling a bond. Their hands had touched from time to time during the surgery, slippery with blood.

“Thank you,” said Thanakar, after a while.

For an answer, Spanion Locke took some cigarettes out of the breast pocket of his uniform, lit one and passed the other with his lighter, taking care not to pollute the filter end. The woman was breathing easier now, lying on her back with her head in her sister’s lap, a little spit in the corner of her mouth. Though he rarely smoked marijuana, Thanakar lit the cigarette and inhaled deeply, and sat back with his shoulders against the wall. The cell was so hot, so filthy.