Vacumn Flowers

Bors was waiting for an answer. “I understand,” Rebel said bleakly. “You’ve waited longer than I expected, even.

Okay, I’ll do my bit. And when you get back to Geesinkfor, have somebody drag the stretch of the equatorial sea just out front of a dive there called the Water’s Edge. That’s where I ditched your crate of prints. You’ve done your best, and I’ll keep my side of the bargain.”

Bors looked surprised. Then he patted her shoulder roughly, started to say something, gave up on it.

He ran back to Retreat.

The next day Rebel was feeding the goats when Li scampered up, all but squeaking with excitement. “Look,look!” Li cried, tugging at Rebel’s sleeve.

Rebel slapped her hands together, wiped them on the front of her earth suit. Goat-tending wasn’t exactly tidy work. The pens were going to need a good mucking out soon. “Li, whatever it is, I’m really not in the mood for it.”

“No, look!” Li insisted. Rebel turned to look where she pointed.

Staff in hand, Wyeth limped over the top of the hill.

13

ISLAND

Rebel?” he said in a small, stu

Then Wyeth shook his head wearily. “Eucrasia. Don’t be angry with me. Since I broke this leg, I’ve been seeing things off and on. I thought…”

She felt as if she were a phantom wandered from the realms of shadow and suddenly confronted by mortal flesh. This man before her, with a face more worn than she remembered and eyes infinitely sad, was too solid, too real. She was numb and bloodless before him. Rebel tried to speak and could not. Then something broke, and she leaped forward, hugging him as tightly as she could. Tears tickled her face. Wyeth’s arms went lightly about her, staff still held in one fist, and he said, “I don’t understand.”

“It’s Rebel Mudlark,” Bors said dryly. “Her persona didn’t collapse after all.”

Wyeth’s staff clattered to the ground. He was hugging her, making a noise somewhere between tears and laughter. Nearby, rooks scavenged the rock, strutting and pecking. A wolverine wandered by, stood watching for a while, then left. Finally Rebel gathered herself together and said, “You must be tired. Come on, my hut’s not far.”

Bors moved to block their way. He cocked his head and squinted up at Wyeth. “You haven’t made your report yet.”

“Later,” Wyeth said. “Everything’s set, it just took me a little longer than I expected.”

Inside, Wyeth stretched wearily out on the stone slab.

“God, Sunshine, it’s good to see you again! I don’t have the words for it.”

“Hush, now, let me take a look at that leg.” Rebel wired herself into the library, hunting up the medical skills as she eased off his earth suit.

Wyeth looked at her oddly. “That’s new.”

“I’ve come to terms with the stuff,” Rebel said. Then, seeing his expression, “Its me, honest and truly. Eucrasia is buried for good. I’ll explain it all later.” Slowly, lovingly, she began to wash the dust of travel from his body, using a folded cloth and a basin of water. She started at his brows, and Wyeth closed his eyes at the touch of the damp cloth.

“Ahh, now that’s heaven.” He was looking better and more familiar by the moment.

“So where have you been all this time?” she asked, not really caring.

“Spying. Getting the lay of the land. Stealing a ship. I take it from your being here that you know all about the plan?”

“No, Bors didn’t think I should have that information,”

she said, ru

“He didn’t tell you?” Wyeth tried to sit up, was stopped by her hand on his chest. “This is going to be dangerous.

He had no right to involve you without—”

“It wasn’t his choice.” She was washing his torso now, those lean, hard muscles.

“Oh, Sunshine, I really wish you hadn’t… This isn’t going to be an ordinary raid. You remember the shyapples? The three crates I bought in the orchid? Well, I drew off almost a gallon of their liquor. We’re going to go in among the Comprise and dose them with it, to see what happens.”

She was humming silently to herself. “Why?”

“It’s a rehearsal for Armageddon,” he said in his clown’s voice. Then, serious again, “It’s a weapon that’s proved effective against small numbers of Comprise. We want to try it out against all of Earth. See what kind of defenses it can mount against us. If it works at all well, the Republique will sponsor a buying trip to Tirna

“Ah.” She washed a little lower, a bit more lingeringly.

“Just how dangerous do you think this raid will be?”

“I honestly don’t know. Anything can happen. But listen, I’m sure I can get Bors to smuggle you into a down station—security is nil from this end. You could be cislunar before the…” He stopped. “I’m not going to talk you into it, am I? I know that look.”

“Hey. It’s just you and me, gang. Right?” Rebel took his hand, squeezed it tight. “You think you’re going to pry me away from you now, you’re very badly mistaken.” She bent down to kiss him, Wyeth drew in his breath, and she smiled. “Should I stop?”

“No, no, that’s nice,” he said quickly. Then, “Well, maybe you should. I mean, I’d really love to, but I just don’t think I have the energy.”

Rebel put the cloth down. “You lie there, and I’ll do all the work.” She shucked boots and trousers, then knelt over his body, careful not to touch his injured leg. Withone hand, she inserted him inside her.

“Ah,” Wyeth said. “I’ve missed that.”

“Me too.”

Some time later, Rebel lay snuggled into Wyeth’s side.

Her blouse was bunched up under her arms, but she put off tugging it down. The pinhole lights were off, and she lay in the grey air, feeling Wyeth’s silent tension. A similar tension was growing within her and silently heterodyning to his, until finally she had to speak. “Wyeth?”

“Mmm?”

“Don’t do it.”

He said nothing.

“They don’t need you. They’ve got your shyapple juice, they’ve got your plans, you can tell them whatever it is you’ve spied out. They don’t need you. The two of us could slip into a down station, go up the tube, and be orbital by morning. We could be up and gone before the raid begins.”

In the gloom, the hut seemed to close about them, like a stone womb contracting. Wyeth cleared his throat, a slow protracted noise that was almost a groan, and said,

“Sunshine, I couldn’t do that. I gave my word.”

“Fuck your word.”

“Yes, but it’s my duty to—”

“Fuck your duty.”

Wyeth laughed easily. “I can’t argue if you’re going to do that to everything I say.”

“Who wants to argue?” She struggled out of his grasp and sat up. “I don’t want to argue—I just want you to do this my way. I went through a lot to get you back, and I don’t want to see you run off and get yourself absorbed into the Comprise.”

“Well, neither do I, Rebel. But you have to understand, this is the fight that I created myself for. This is not just myduty, it’s my cause. It’s my purpose. And if I’m not true to it, then what will I be true to?”

“Next you’ll be singing patriotic songs!” She looked down on that smug, confident face and wanted to hit him.

“God, but you’re exasperating. Sometimes I think Eucrasia was right. She should have unwritten you entirely and started all over again from the ground up. Then—” She stopped and eyed Wyeth with sudden speculation. She held up both hands before her face, thumbs tucked in.