Kutulbha was the city where the Armada War had ended. There was a passage about it in Firestorm. Baru remembered it vividly. When the last fires went out in the Ventricular Villages, and the silent rains fell on burnt Kutulbha, nothing remained except the concrete made from the ash of their bodies.…

“Exactly so.” Tau-indi offered them each a pita. “Wherever the human fabric frays, then older powers come through into our world. Powers that are cloaked in tragedy. One of those powers assaulted this ship. And because we saw that power, and heard its voice, all of us on Cheetah are now cut off from the mbo and doomed to eternal solitude. Unless we can reconnect ourselves to the human community, we will carry this wound wherever we go. Just as I thought you carried a wound, Baru, when I met you on Moem.”

Iraji clutched at Baru’s elbow with desperate need. She stared at him, absolutely baffled. This was nonsense, superstitious raving: it meant nothing. “Fine,” she said, “what do we do to, er, help you reconnect yourself?”

“Very simple.” Tau set their legs under them and tucked their khanga against their hips. “We attempt to create a bond of trim.”

“Do we get to play Purge?” Baru asked, eagerly.

Tau stared at her in bemusement. “I don’t like that game. I thought we might share a meal and a story. And if the reconnection succeeds, then trim will rescue us from Cheetah.”

“If by trim you mean sailors from Helbride, then yes”—Baru laughed, ha ha, how funny that we might drown—“we’ll be rescued.”

“Oh no.” Tau shook their head, solemnly. “We must find our own way out, through our own togetherness.”

“Yes,” Baru repeated, frowning, “we must find our own way out, until Helbride’s sailors come rescue us.”

“You misunderstand me. I’ve had us locked inside.”

“What?” Baru leapt to her feet. “You’ve done what?”

“I’ve had us locked inside Cheetah while she sinks,” Tau said, apologetically, “so that only trim can save us. So as to guarantee that our survival is a function of genuine human connection.”

“Baru.” Iraji seized her arm. “Baru. I can’t swim.”

*   *   *

BARU couldn’t batter the door open. The Rathpont shipwrights had built a very fine jamb—of course they had, damn it, they’d engineered the sunroom so it could be sealed against flooding. The hive-glass at the rear of the sunroom might be opened, but they’d have to swim, and what about Iraji?

“Why did you come?” the Prince asked Iraji, as Baru scurried about trying to escape.

Iraji folded up a handful of salt beef in his pita bread. “We hoped you could protect us from our enemies. Your diplomatic status could save us.”