“In another few diurns,” he said, “all that will remain of the kelp will be holo approximations and our memories. If we’re right about the hylighters, they won’t endure much longer.” He glanced out the plaz where the after-glow of the setting suns had left golden luminescence in the sky and two fans of shadowy lines radiating upward from beyond the curve of the sea. “None too fond, eh, Legata?”

She shuddered as his fingers touched a nerve in her neck.

“Cold, Legata?”

“No.”

She turned and her gaze fell on the mural. Sensors had ignited low illumination to compensate for the shadows filling the porch. The mural. It drank her mind.

I did that. Was it real or dream ?

She stared into the mural at the world of her dreams, that peculiar soothsayer of the mind called imagination—a world Oakes could never see without the intervention of someone like herself.

Again, she shuddered, recalling the holorecord which had inspired the painting: the eerie moanings of the hylighters and the whoosh and thump when they exploded, the tortured screams of burning Colonists. Even as she recalled the scene, she imagined the smell of burning hair. It seemed to fill the porch. She tore her attention away from the mural and stared out at the sea—all darkness out there except for a distant white line glowing along the horizon. It looked threatening, more threatening than her memories.

“Why did we have to build so near the sea?” she asked.

The question was out before she could think about it and she wished she had suppressed it.

The drink. It loosens the tongue.

“We’re high above the sea, my dear, not very near at all.”

“But it’s so big and . . .”

“Legata! You helped draw the plans for our Redoubt. You agreed. I recall your words clearly: ‘What we need is a place to get away, a safe place.’”

But that was before the Scream Room, she thought.

She forced herself to look at him. The dim illumination erased the soft edges of his features and left the shadows controlled by his skull.

What other plans does he have for me?

As though he heard the question in her mind, Oakes began to speak, addressing her reflection in the plaz.

“As soon as we get matters orderly down here, Legata, I’ll want you to make a few trips back to the ship. We’ll have to keep an eye on Ferry until we can find a replacement.”

So he still needs me.

It was clear now that he feared going shipside more than he feared the terrors groundside. Why? How does Ship threaten him? She tried to imagine herself as Oakes back in his cubby shipside, completely surrounded by the presence of Ship. Not the ship. Ship! Did Oakes, after all, believe in Ship?

He put an arm around her waist. “You agreed, my dear.”