At Colony the nightside before, as she had been preparing to leave for the Redoubt, Oakes had escorted her into the tiny plaz dome far above his quarters.

“There,” he had pointed out a large white glow slowly traversing the horizon, “there is your ship. Another pinpoint in the night. It takes no mysticism, no degree of godhood whatsoever, for one bit of mass to orbit another.”

“That’s blasphemy,” she answered, because he expected it.

“Is it? Ship can defend itself. Nothing is out of the hearing or the reach of Ship. Ship could terminate my program at any instant—but chooses not to. Or can’t. Either is the same to me. Blasphemy?”

He had squeezed her hand tight, then. Convincing himself, she thought, and she had enjoyed the power this observation gave her.

He gestured widely, indicating the entire display of stars.

“I have brought you to this, not Ship. Ship is a tool. Complexity to the fifth power, granted, but still a tool. Built by people, thinking people, for the use of thinking people. People who know how to take charge, how to see light in the darkening storm of confusion. . . .”

As he had raved on into the night, Legata had realized that much of what he said held a surprising sense of truth. She knew that, at the bottom of whatever was happening to Shipmen both on and off Ship, it was a result of non-interference by Ship itself. But she had delved into the secrets of Ship’s circuitry for too long and too deeply to believe that Ship was a piece of steel and molded plastics, that Ship didn’t care.

She stood in the garden at the Redoubt and looked up at what she guessed to be Ship’s position above them.

I wonder, she thought, I wonder if we’re a disappointment.

Two patrol drones screamed over the dome and shattered Legata’s reverie. She guessed that Oakes would be coming soon; they were gearing up for him. She realized that she should prepare too.

Nothing, she reminded herself, is sacred.

Then, in a sudden leap of insight during the heavy stillness following the drones, she added, but something should be. This thought was liberating, exhilarating.

Chapter 38

Chapter 38

The universe has no center.

—Shipquotes

RAJA THOMAS stood under the gigantic semi-inflated bag of the LTA in the main hangar. Lavu’s crew had gone, turning off most of the lights. It was full nightside now. The bag was a dim orange bulk tugging gently at its tethers above him. There were great folds and concavities in it yet, but before Alki joined Rega dayside, they would be airborne, the bag as full and smooth as a hylighter.

Except that no hylighter of that size had ever been seen.

Thomas glanced across the dark hangar, impatient to leave. Why does Oakes want to meet me here?