Postsingular

Thuy's mind was alert. Nibbling her cookie and sipping her tea, she checked out the vibes of the far-flung islands where the tea and spices had grown. And then she took a few minutes to arrange her mental representation of Wheenk along the seemingly endless spike of memory that the curious topology of Hibrane space had given her. When she was done, she teeped the images and emotions to Durga, who was sitting in a chair nearby. Right away Durga routed copies of Wheenk onto, of all things, five little cactuses in handmade pots.

"Once I sell these off, I'll make more," said Durga. "I'll give you half the profits-if you're still here to collect." She gave Thuy an empathetic smile. With amazing mental rapidity, Durga had already absorbed much of Wheenk . "I hope things work out for you and Jayjay."

Of course that set off a fresh round of self-flagellation in Thuy's head, along the lines of, "Why was I so cold to Jayjay for so long!" To distract herself from her tedious internal wheenking, Thuy teeped around the enormous room, skimming across the masses of data in the items on display. "Can I read one of these?"

"Sure. You pick. Relax and enjoy."

Thuy was just settling in with a dried gardenia that contained a romance adventure when-as they'd been expecting– Gladax appeared, old and strict. For once Gladax wasn't dressed like a street person-instead she was swathed in the virtual robes of her mayoral office. She shimmered with the diverse faces of the Hibrane San Francisco citizenry, thousands of gold-framed images cascading from her shoulders like sheets of water. A further tessellation of faces rose up behind her head like a peacock's fan. But, as before, she was carrying a net.

Ond grabbed Thuy's arm, as if restraining her. "I was about to bring her to you," Ond told Gladax in an ingratiating tone.

Thuy could see that Chu was literally biting his tongue to keep from contradicting his father. It pained the literal-minded boy to hear an untruth.

"Stand back," said Gladax, swaying her net. Her hands were like slow butterflies against the glittering mosaic of faces. The rubbery net floated down; Thuy let herself be trapped. Gladax cinched the bonds around Thuy; Ond lent a hand.

Thuy struggled, but not for real-that would come later. Already she could feel why the net was elastic. For a dense, powerful gnome, the flexible meshes posed more of a problem than brittle ropes and chains.

Gladax forced some images into Thuy's mind: views of a long, su

Gladax's tai chi room occupied the eastern side of the first floor of the house. Tightly bound and lying on her side, Thuy was facing a long window with a view of the garden. Winter and spring flowers were in bloom: oversized poinsettias, cyclamens, irises, tulips, freesias, snowdrops, and jonquils-bright against the gray background of the lowering sky. All the petals were in shades of red. The coaxer-tweaked blossoms seemed to have a certain level of intelligence: there was a considered elegance to the way they bobbed in the breeze; more than that, they were faintly messaging a tune.

The rubber net lurched, slamming Thuy's knee into her chin. She saw stars. Grunting with effort, Gladax was hauling the net into the air, using a rope through a pulley in the ceiling. A

The net rose higher, bringing Thuy's face even with Glad-ax's. Gladax had set aside her mayoral trappings; she was back to looking like a sloppy old woman in dark green sweatpants and a souvenir T-shirt.

"I'll have to addle that jump-code away from you," Gladax told Thuy. She secured the net. And now she extruded a slender rod of light from the tip of her forefinger; the glowing probe was six or seven inches in length. "If you cooperate, this won't have to hurt you. I have a very delicate touch."

"All I want is to stop Luty's nants," cried Thuy. "You want that too. Don't stick that thing in my head. Let me-let me take your harp back to the Lobrane and I'll leave right away."

Gladax snorted impatiently. "Upstart gnome. That harp's been in my family for over twenty generations. From the Dutch side. You wouldn't know how to use it. You'd ruin it, likely as not. Or let the subbies steal it from you while you're jumping branes."

Thuy could telepathically sense Ond and Chu in the street outside Gladax's mansion. They were supposed to save her by tu

Gladax leaned closer, narrowing her finger ray to the thi

Gladax hopped over to the antique harp. "I'm going to isolate you now," she said. "I wouldn't want you to be messaging anything to your little friends."

Maybe Thuy should teleport herself out of here before-

ZONGGG

-it was too late. Gladax had struck the harp. The sweet, icky chord hung in the air. There was no way to be at ease with the harp's vibration, which showed no sign of damping down. Everything on the psychic plane was wavy, messy, screwed up. Telepathy was impossible. Thuy no longer heard the songs of the flowers or the quarreling of Chu and Ond. But, thank God, she heard the calm voice of Azaroth, low and slow. He'd just walked into the tai chi room, talking aloud.

"It's about your garden, Aunt Gladax," said Azaroth. "Sorry to interrupt. I got a message from the plant-coaxer. He's too shy to teep you himself. Some of the flowers want to change color."

"What!" exclaimed Gladax, taking the bait. "I told those flowers they have to stay red right through to the end of the Cuttlemas holidays."

"You'd better come outside and explain it to the flowers yourself," rumbled Azaroth. "This little Lobraner-Thuy, isn't it? Should I watch her for you?"

"I don't trust you alone with her," said Gladax. "I know you two are friends. You come out to the garden with me, nephew. My harp will keep Thuy isolated. My harp likes to sing." Gladax inched open the door to the garden and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. "I need to settle my nerves. That chord is so dreadful. It curdles the auras."

"Do you really have to addle Thuy?" asked Azaroth.

"I have to erase her knowledge of the jump-code, and thanks to her I'll have to addle Ond and even Chu again. I suppose you know those two gnomes were pla