Reclamation

Eric knew he was deceiving himself. Ten years and ten times as many light-years of travel hadn't been enough to wipe the Words out of him. No matter how hard he'd tried. Part of him would never call anywhere but the Realm home, and it would not stop resenting the ones who drove him away from it. It would take the death of every Teacher in the Realm to silence the Words in the world.

Somehow, he doubted liberation of the People from their superstitions was what the Skymen were after.

I don't care, I can't care! Eric buried his face in his hands. It's the Rhudolant Vitae I've got to worry about, not…not the Realm or their war. It's their war, over their laws. Not mine. Not anymore. Not again.

He stayed like that for a long time. When he was finally able to raise his head again, he stared out at the void, hearing the screams of women in his mind.

3—The Hundredth Core Encampment, Hour 11:34:25, Core Time

Our world is gone. Gone. They stole the whole world while from on high…we watched

—Fragment from "The Begi

Whatever else, I was honest. I held to the terms of my contract. Whatever judgment they make against me, it will not be for breaking my word.

The thought did nothing to warm Basq. In truth, the chill hadn't left his blood since he'd reported the loss of the artifacts. He sat stiffly in the shuttle's padded seat, hands spread on his knees. The robe that covered him was pure white, a color that allowed no status, no allegiance, and no work.

"You do not have to wear this," said Caril, even though she got it out for him with her own hands instead of leaving it to the automatics.

"I do. Eric Born was my study. The security of him and the other artifacts was my responsibility." Basq could still feel the rough edges of the shattered bolts under his fingertips.

"The Contractors will not say it was a breach. They will see there is no way you could have known. All the evidence indicated that he manipulated datastreams, not hardware."

The memories of Caril's reassurances didn't offer Basq any more warmth than preening himself for his honorable behavior had. His study of Eric Born had contributed directly to the rediscovery of the Home Ground. The promotions that had followed had been exhilarating. He had been able to tell himself that memory of his past shame had been wiped away by this success.

Do I have the strength to defend myself again? Do I have the means?

Basq felt his whole body slump farther down in the seat. I don't know.

The view wall in front of him showed the gleaming length of tether stretching out to its anchor on the encampment's core. Outsiders compared Rhudolant Vitae encampments to spiderwebs or jewels on strings, depending on how they felt toward the Vitae at the moment. For this gathering, fifteen white and mirror-ski

If the current was cut, the tethers could fray and tear, sending the ships careening out into space.

Basq realized, with a small jolt, why he was brooding on them. He felt as if his tethers had already been torn.

At this distance, Basq could see the curve of the core's mottled side. As the shuttle slid forward along the tether, it looked to Basq as if the core expanded. The curved side became a gleaming wall that blocked out the vacuum and the starlight. Modules and ante

Basq glanced toward the rear of the shuttle, in the direction of his ship, the Grand Errand. He did not move his hand to switch on the view wall that would let him see it.

They will not let me go home again.

Eric Born and the female were too important for any Contractor to let this matter go. The Home Ground was at stake. His failure might have delayed the Vitae's chance to fully return.

The gravity and inertial regulators adjusted themselves so that Basq could feel the shuttle slowing. The view wall showed the docking corridor extending itself from the core to lock onto the shuttle's hatch. Basq stood and smoothed the fabric of his white robe.

Now the real work begins. The invocation sounded in his mind before he could stop it.

The docking corridor led straight into the Home Hall. Basq stepped through the arch into the domed chamber. All around him, simulated constellations blazed on a black background. A sun the size of his head burned to the left. Directly opposite, the blue-and-white swell of the Home Ground filled the entire wall. Rising behind it, a grey moon caught the sunlight. Farther off, planets shone as coins of light, or thumbnails, or pinpricks.

Terra, Luna, Ares, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune. Begi

How many times have I heard that? How many times have I repeated it? And when the time comes…

A tiny breeze told him the door had opened. Basq turned to see the two Contractors walk forward. Avir, with her chestnut hair braided so it hung down the back of her midnight-colored tunic, looked Basq over with critical eyes surrounded by star-shaped scars. Black-robed Kelat, who stood beside her, was a member of the Amputants. He had only four fingers on his right hand. He would not have the missing one regrown unless and until he walked on the Home Ground. Basq bent in obeisance until his forehead pressed against the smooth, warm floor. These two held his name.

"Please get up, Ambassador Basq," said Contractor Avir.

Basq's heart skipped a beat. Used my title. Then they don't consider my contract broken yet. He lifted his head.

Kelat nodded once. "No code or lock currently in place could have kept the artifact designated Eric Born confined if he wanted to escape. You are not at fault. You fulfilled your contracted duties to the level of the available resources and information. We do not need to continue this audience. You are required at the strategy conference." In unison, the Contractors turned and glided into the corridor.

Basq raised himself to his feet and trailed behind them, half-dazed.

Not at fault. Not at fault. The words sang inside him. For a moment, the idea flashed through him that the singing was loud enough for Caril to hear.

Multiphase frescoes lined the corridor walls. Each depicted a sequence from the Flight, moment blending into moment so that the blur of history surrounded Basq and the Contractors as they passed. At Basq's right side, an Aunorante Sangh bowed to a crowd of people, then leaned over a control bank. The scene twisted and dissolved into a shower of sparks. To his left, a trio of Survivors crowded around a ship's empty data-hold and raised their fists to the sky, then they bent to their work, growing old and older until, at last, fresh generations took their place. Beyond that, a globe of the Home Ground rotated serenely. Clouds shifted across its surface and, in a heartbeat, it vanished.