The average Human brain masses a little less than 1400 grams.  Its density is a gram per cubic centimeter, about the same as water.  You can look at it and choose to see just a lump of meat.  Or you can see everything that defines an individual:  the electrical impulses its ten billion neurons generate are responsible for physical functions from blood circulation to breathing to hunger, and also are the seat of knowledge, emotion, and that ill-defined quality, personality.

Dr. Tomas Kosloff's killer assaulted him inside the research laboratory in his small crowded space station out in the middle of nowhere, in Drodusarel space.  The killer employed a common stunner, which normally would do little more than scramble some neural pathways for a few seconds or minutes, rendering its victim unconscious.  When pressed hard against that window to the brain called an eye, however, even a stunner can kill, especially when its bolts course through that liter and a half of flesh again and again and again.

Dr. Kosloff's wife Irina discovered his body the next morning and immediately alerted the other two beings aboard the station.  The first threats from the Drodusarel starcraft came hours later.

Mike Christopher stood in the short embarkation corridor between the exploratory craft Asaph Hall and Dr. Kosloff's space station.  The station was the last place he wanted to go, but lives were at stake.  Why was it taking so long for the airlock to cycle?  Perhaps what he'd heard was true, that the station was pretty rundown, despite its smart-tech's best efforts. 

Mike's right hand touched the smooth cool metal of the stunner at his right hip.  He clenched his left hand into a fist and glanced at the sensor readouts on the back of that hand.  Pressed a finger behind his left ear.  The datalink that would keep him in contact with the Hall and translate Cetronen and Drodusarel speech for him, and the personal nanotech that would wrap a lifesuit around him within a fraction of a second if this shithole of a station sprung a leak, both checked out.  Just nerves.

Mike glanced at his partner, Linna Maurishka.  Her upraised eyebrows and soft sigh reflected Mike's own concern, which he voiced:  "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

Linna was far from her usual ebullient self; she didn't even answer him.  Stood there.  Ran a hand through her short dark hair.  Didn't look at him.

That hurt.  It was one thing from a colleague, but when you were also lovers...  He said, "I'm sorry I got us mixed up in this."

She waved that idea away.  "We had to come.  Anything else would've been irresponsible."

"It'll be tough on you."

The indicator signaled green.  Linna said, "Let's get this over with."  The door slid aside.

Reports of the station's cramped quarters were true -- stacks of sensor relays and control sequencers were spread all around, and row upon row of power conduits lined the floor as far down the corridor as Mike could see.  In all, the station was only about thirty meters long and four meters across.

And the smell!  Part Human sweat, part burnt toast, part...couldn't tell.  A sickly-sweet, urine-cinammon scent with something metallic mixed in.

No one was there to greet them.  They were to question three people aboard the station -- the dead man's wife Irina, his Cetronen assistant, and a Drodusarel observer.

The station shuddered.  The Asaph Hall undocking.  Mike and Linna were on their own.  Mike was about to shout a greeting when Linna raised a hand for quiet.  "Listen."

Mike made out two voices from down the corridor, behind a doorway.  One a Human female, the other....  "Sounds Cetronen.  That fits.  Read anything?"  Linna was an empath.  Mike knew she wasn't looking forward to being exposed to raw, even murderous emotions.

She shook her head.  "Too far away."  Linna had to be within about four meters to sense a being's emotional output.

A hatch in the distance hissed open, then shut.  A Cetronen paired symbiont approached them.  The larger being, the major, was over two meters tall, and only barely sentient.  The smaller minor rested in his arms, sitting on a belly hump.  Both of their bodies were covered with short brown fur.  Thin mouths.  No noses, just broad flat nostrils with nictating membranes.  A thick tail on the major, for counterbalancing the minor's mass.  The minor climbed down and spoke as Mike's datalink translated:  "I am Grodulan."

"Mike Christopher, from the exploratory craft Asaph Hall.  Linna Maurishka, my associate.  Was there a problem with another resident just now?"

"Irina Kosloff.  She's consumed with grief.  You realize the danger we're in from the Drodusarel.  If you don't solve this murder, they'll destroy this station."

Linna said, "We don't understand why the murder of a Human scientist upsets them so."

Grodulan blinked.  "We're in Drodusarel space.  This incident is...irregular.  It violates their sense of...art, of beauty."

Mike said, "We're explorers, not detectives."

"Your reputation precedes you.  You're an artificial Human, correct?"

Mike suppressed a groan.  "All it means is I'm designed rather than random in my genetic makeup."  

Grodulan said, "Whatever your origins, your accomplishments are marvelous.  Saving the sulfur beings of Aramir Six.  Making the initial contacts with both species of those doomed Splendorians.  And you were the first Human to make contact with the Drodusarel themselves."

"As they were taking potshots at me!"

"You were on a mission to locate a lost friend.  They respect that."

Mike's eyes fixed Grodulan with a level stare.  "How do they know what I was doing?  I never made direct contact."

Grodulan said, "They always know too much.  Methane breathers.  We know so little about them.  And, please, we must not forget Linna's abilities.  She may be able to identify the killer immediately." 

Linna took a deep breath.  "I hope so.  What about the Drodusarel aboard, Draehmin?"

"Part of the price for being allowed within their space. I can barely communicate with him.  For now, I'll show you the body and the murder weapon."  Grodulan stepped back into his major's arms and led the way down the crowded corridor.  Mike bumped his shin twice and an elbow once.  Grodulan explained, "This station wasn't designed with research partners in mind."

Linna asked, "Dr. Kosloff preferred to work alone?"

"He didn't want any interference."

Mike couldn't help staring as they passed the door behind which the shouting match had occurred.  "Mrs. Kosloff's quarters?" he asked Grodulan.

"She believes I'm the killer."

Mike asked blandly, "Are you?"

"I wondered when you would inquire.  I did not kill Dr. Kosloff."

Mike looked at Linna, who nodded.  So Grodulan was telling the truth.  Which meant no quick trip off this station to safety.  At least that was one suspect eliminated.

When Mike entered the lab, he thought it would've been easy to assume Kosloff had been experimenting with chaos.  More power conduits everywhere.  Nanotech probes, holo-imagers, and flatscreens scattered on tables and the floor or piled into corners of the four-meter-square room.  "What kind of research was he doing?"

Grodulan's minor stepped down from his major's arms again.  Unusual for a Cetronen.  The pair usually remained joined as much as possible.  "Intelligence transfer in Cetronen.  From minors to majors."

Put that to one side for now.  "And the body?"

Grodulan went to one crowded corner.  "Here."  Sure enough, still sprawled face-down against a pile of imagers were the remains of a Human male in his 50's.  Balding, medium build. 

Mike gently touched the back of the man's neck.  Cold, in the manner unique to dead Human flesh.  The tech in his datalink took a reading from that touch and confirmed the obvious, that Kosloff was dead, and the not so obvious, the cause: multiple stunner wounds that had obliterated his neural pathways.  The body was in fine shape, its medtech inside holding off decay.  Just no one home.  Grodulan went on:  "The station nano units cleaned up his...excretions.  Otherwise, the body is preserved as Mrs. Kosloff found it."

Linna folded her arms. "Three days ago?"

"Yes."

Mike looked around the room.  "And the murder weapon?"

"In the autoclave.  Over here." 

A flat metal container about a meter across, 15 centimeters deep.  Raise the lid, put a contaminated, unsanitary, or just plain dirty object inside, press a button, good as new.  No corrosion, no infectious organisms.  Also no fingerprints, stray hairs, or DNA.  Mike asked, "And the station has no security holos or sensor logs?"

Grodulan said, "It was originally designed just for Dr. Kosloff and his wife.  He never saw the need.  And of course, we all spent many hours in the lab.  I did a scan moments after the body was discovered.  I detected evidence of my own presence, of Irina Kosloff's, and of Draehmin's.  No sign anyone else had been here.  And no one else has been aboard."

Mike shook his head.  "I don't get it.  Why place this station so far away from everyone and everything?"

Grodulan returned to his major's arms.  "This research is offensive to many Cetronen, because of the relationship between minors and majors."  He looked into his own major's bland unblinking eyes.  "What if a major were given some of the intelligence his minor enjoys?  This would have huge societal implications."

"Because your evolution designed majors for strength and endurance, not intelligence," Linna said.  "If they possessed both strength and intellect -- "

Grodulan said, "Some of us fear change.  We received threats when we began the research on the Cetronen homeworld.  Since we moved our work here, no one's disturbed us."

The major's nostrils moved rhythmically, open-shut, open-shut.  Mike asked, "How far along had your research gotten?"

"It was all theoretical.  No live testing yet."

Mike glanced at Linna, who said, "He's telling the truth."

Mike said, "I'd like to talk to Mrs. Kosloff next.  Alone, if you don't mind.  And...do you have a place you can store the body?"

"My major will put him into a stasis chamber near our life-support module."

Mike lifted the stunner from the autoclave, made sure the safety was on, then stuck it in his belt.  "We'll talk to Irina Kosloff now."

Grodulan said, "I'll be in my own quarters, just past the lab here."

"Thank you."  To Linna:  "Let's go."

Irina Kosloff wouldn't open her door to them at first.  The edge in the woman's voice was apparent even in the muffled tone from behind the door to her quarters.  "Is that Cetronen bastard gone?"

Mike said, "Grodulan isn't here."

The door slid open.  Irina Kosloff looked...hollowed out.  She was probably barely fifty, yet her eyelids sagged over eyes that seemed a tired blue, eyes whose inner light had faded.  She was thin enough almost to qualify as wiry, and the skin over her cheekbones and beneath her bare arms looked as if it had been stretched to its limit, then left to hang loosely.  "Well, come in," she said in a voice that sounded muffled even with the door open.  "I suppose you should sit down.  But I haven't anything to offer you."

"That's all right," Mike said.  "We don't need anything."  The room was small, sparsely furnished.  The desk in one corner was bare, the bed in another corner neatly made, everything folded and tucked precisely.  Had Irina been compulsively cleaning and straightening, or had she been too listless to create a mess in the first place?

Mike and Linna sat.  Irina said, "He did it, you know."

Linna leaned forward.  "You mean Grodulan."

"He was jealous of my husband's success.  The success he was about to have, that is."

Mike said, "The intelligence transfer tech."

"That...Grodulan...knew my husband was on the verge of a breakthrough.  He couldn't stand that a Human might get all the credit."

"What proof do you have of that?"

"Just makes sense.  And Grodulan's different.  Loves Human music.  Doesn't fit in with his own kind.  Doesn't even touch his major as much as other Cetronen." 

"I have noticed that."  Mike had to admit it made him vaguely uneasy; Cetronen minors seldom liked to venture far from the safety and warmth of their majors.  A Cetronen pair shared neural links that amounted to telepathy.  What one knew, so did the other.  They took turns sleeping, a throwback to more dangerous times in their prehistory.  Cetronen consistently denied that pairs experienced an emotional connection, although when one of a pair died, the other usually expired within days. 

But how were Irina's prejudices against Cetronen any different from the way so many on Earth regarded him, in his status as an artificial Human? 

Linna said, "I can't detect any deception from him."

"Maybe he can fool you."

Linna looked intently at Irina.  "What are you hiding?"

"Hummf.  Damn empath.  I was about to leave my husband.  He was obsessed with his research.  Never paid attention to me.  And I didn't like that he invited that...Drody on board.  Thought it would be a bonus to learn more about them.  Some bonus."

Mike's voice could have chilled a supergiant star.  He'd suffered too many ignorant fools who condemned others for their origins.  "You mean the Drodusarel?"

"No reason I should like him.  None at all.  Can't even help around the lab."

"Because he doesn't have the musculature to handle Human equipment."

"That's right.  And his force field doesn't have physical assist protocols.  So he loafs and spends his days second-guessing my husband's research.  Satisfied?"

Mike asked, "But now you're concerned about your husband getting credit for that research?"

Irina folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them.  "I wasn't in love with the work.  I was in love with the man.  Now his poor body's lying there...as evidence.  The Cetronen and the Earth Unity begged him to stop.  But he wouldn't.  That's why I want him to get the proper credit, despite how much his obsession frustrated me.  It's the last thing I can do for him, see that his work...his brave work...is recognized."

"We're looking into this, Mrs. Kosloff -- "

"Please.  Irina."

"Irina, then.  We're just trying to find out as much as we can, as quickly as we can."

Some of the lost light seemed to return to Irina's eyes.  "Just look at that Cetronen.  That's all you need to do."

"We'll do our best," Mike said.  "Now, if you'll excuse us..."

Irina Kosloff's door hissed shut behind Mike and Linna.  "Let's start toward Draehmin's quarters," Mike said.  "Watch out for that pipe sticking out there.  So, what's your impression?"

"Well, she's obviously angry...you can tell that without empathy."

"A murderous anger?"

"Can't tell.  I'm sorry, my abilities aren't that refined."

"How're you doing?"  Mike asked.

Linna pressed her hands to her temples.  "I was fine until you said something about it."

"Sorry."  Mike wanted desperately to return to their ship, to the life they were building together.  He wanted to be an explorer again.

Mike and Linna stood before the Drodusarel's quarters.  The door hissed open before Mike could buzz.  An unusual scent wafted from the room.  Ozone mixed with cat fur, maybe.  A new voice boomed through Mike's datalink.  "Greet the Human ones.  Do you believe the day controls us, or the world?"

Mike blinked at the being before him.  Draehmin was enveloped within a personal energy field.  His grey-blue energies outlined a figure closer to a meter-wide jellyfish than anything humanoid and, presumably, protected him from the deadly conditions of an oxygen-rich environment.  Mike looked down at the shimmering form that barely came up to his knees and finally found words:  "I beg your pardon?"

"Is it the day, or the world?"

Linna said, "We're not even on a world."

"It is, perhaps the Human speaking way.  The idiom."

Mike rubbed behind his left ear, where a dull pain was beginning. "A figure of speech?"

"The concept!  You understand?  So, the answer -- the day, or the world?"

"I'm sorry, uh...we're here on behalf of your government.  We're looking into Dr. Kosloff's murder."

"Unfortunate.  And he did not have the answer, either."

Linna asked, "May we come in?"

"Certainly you may.  But will you?"

Mike clenched his jaw and looked at Linna.  "Do you read anything from him?"

She shook her head, never taking her eyes from the Drodusarel, who continued his strange dissertation while gliding into his quarters.  Looking around, she said, "I guess we'll just stand."  Draehmin's quarters consisted of walls, floor, and ceiling.  No chairs, no equipment, no bathroom or disposal. 

Mike said, "I like it.  It's...uncluttered."

Draehmin said, "Only need myself.  And the day...."

Mike nodded and said, along with Draehmin, "...and the world.  Can you understand the importance of our visit?"

"Importance, yes.  Necessity, no."

Mike rubbed his chin.  "Was Dr. Kosloff killed because he didn't have the answer to your question?"

Draehmin appeared to be spinning slowly in the middle of the room, though perhaps it was just fluctuations in his energy field.  "It is the question which defines the center of our species' consciousness.  It defines the boundaries of the shores of being.  That all of us are connected is beyond questioning.  It is the manner in which we are connected that is still uncertain. But the killing, it is abhorrent to us as individuals."

"With all respect, I've been on the receiving end of the famous Drodusarel energy pulses.  And one of your ships is threatening this station."

"As individuals, whether in the day or the world.  As a species, we are capable of many alternatives."

Mike couldn't take any more.  "We'll come back later.  We'll have more questions."  He wondered if Draehmin would have more answers.  He hurried down the corridor.  Linna caught up to him and touched his elbow.  "What is it?"

"He bugs the hell out of me.  What could you get?"

"No guilt, no remorse.  In fact, not much of anything.  Maybe he's just too different."

"That may make him our prime suspect.  The perfect killer, undetectable even after the fact by an empath."

"And his motive?"

"Who the hell knows?  Did you even get half of what he was talking about?"

"It could be a clever act."

"Why bother, when you can't read his emotions?  They may not know your capabilities.  Maybe he was trying to confuse us."

Linna shook her head. "Trying or not, he succeeded."

"Let's get back to Grodulan."

Halfway down the long corridor that led past the lab and on to Grodulan's room, the entire station shuddered and Mike scrambled to regain his footing.  Linna stumbled, and he tried to cover her body and protect his own head as the station's structure rang like a bell and equipment containers started to fall over, then floated free as the grav failed. 

Zero-G didn't usually bother Mike, but this time it took him by surprise and his stomach flip-flopped.  He clapped a hand over his mouth and fought to keep his lunch down.  A rush of wind, and Mike's ears popped painfully.  Hull breach?  Then, distantly, came a dull slam of metal against metal and the air grew still.

One of the many stacks of sensor relays had come unmoored and it accordioned toward Mike just as an energy conduit whipped toward Linna's head.  Mike was just close enough to the deck to push off, dodge the relays, and take the brunt of the conduit's force against his left shoulder.  Linna grasped his right arm.  "We've got to get back down toward the floor," she said.

"I know," Mike said.  "In case the grav -- "

Came back on.  It did.  Containers and conduits, relays and general debris obeyed the universal call of down, with a clatter that echoed down the long station corridor.  Mike and Linna shielded themselves as best they could.  Lights flickered once, twice, then steadied.

Through Mike's datalink:  "Asaph Hall to Mike and Linna."  It was the Hall's captain, Rosa Sandage.

Mike picked himself up and held a hand out for Linna.  "Rosa, don't worry, we're both fine.  Just shaken up.  Dr. Kosloff wasn't much on tie-down protocol."

"That Drodusarel ship sliced off one end of your station, the part with most of the life-support.  We intercepted a message -- they don't think they made themselves clear.  They want results, and they want them now.  A specific result.  They want Draehmin cleared."

Mike said, "Well, isn't that interesting."

Linna asked, "Did they set a deadline?"

"Of sorts.  Our scan shows that within eighteen hours, your life support's going to fail utterly.  If it were up to me, I'd get the both of you off there and to hell with everyone on that station.  But the Drodusarel have warned us off.  We don't have the firepower to argue."

Mike said, "Then get the hell out of here, Rosa.  Don't risk yourself and everyone else for us."

"We'll only be about an hour away," Rosa said.  "Good luck."

"And to you," Mike said.  He turned to Linna.  "Let's make sure no one's hurt.  I'll go back to Grodulan.  You check Irina and Draehmin."

Mike was at Grodulan's door within seconds.  It was stuck halfway open and Mike squeezed through, the murder weapon still stuck in his belt scraping against the doorway.  "Are you all right?" he asked the Cetronen pair, who were again separated, as the smaller minor ran around the room scooping up dozens of sheets of paper scattered across the floor.  The major sat impassively in a large Cetronen-designed chair in one corner.  Mike's quick impression of the room was that it was designed for aesthetics rather than practicality.  No instruments here, the only furniture another of the wide chairs and a thin-legged, glass-topped desk.  Flat images of Cetronen landscapes full of red-and-orange vegetation, and holos of distant starfields decorated the walls.

Grodulan mumbled something too low for Mike's datalink to translate.  Mike decided he might as well help pick up the papers -- which were Human sheet music!  Diane Lopez, a personal favorite of Mike's from the previous century, her "Lost Galaxy" quartet.  "Irina said...that is, I heard you enjoy listening to Human music."

Grodulan's minor snatched the paper from Mike's hand.  "Not listening.  Much too harsh to Cetronen ears.  Viewing is different."  He tapped the stack of pages.  "Here the music is a beautiful pattern.  It has not been interpreted or made into distracting noises.  It is direct from the composer's mind onto the page.  A visual splendor I find restful.  Though I've been unable to sleep for the better part of two of your Human days."  He plopped the papers down on the desk.  "Even this hasn't helped."

Linna arrived.  "Irina's shook up but not hurt.  She's not about to leave her room until this is over.  And Draehmin, well, you can imagine."

Grodulan said, "It still wants to know your choice?"

Linna gave him a grudging grin.  "The day or the world."

"More than once I've considered answering, 'neither,' but not revealing an alternative choice.  But that would be impolite."

Mike said, "Not to mention possibly dangerous.  Beings who can slice off a section of a space station with surgical precision...you want to stay on their good side.  Did you receive the details of the Drodusarel threat?"

Grodulan placed his papers on the desk.  "It was coming over the station comm just as their ship fired."  Grodulan pressed a button on the desk and a holo of the Drodusarel ship appeared.  Silvery, baroque, perfect.

Grodulan asked, "Have you come to any conclusions?"

"I have no more of an answer for you than you do for Draehmin.  What more can you tell me about him?"

"You wonder why his own people have threatened a station he is on.  Dr. Kosloff and I suspected he was a spy.  But we had nothing to hide.  We've made our research available to anyone who cares to look at it."

Linna shifted her weight from one leg to the other.  "What's your purpose?  What advantage do you see?"

"We double the brain power available to us.  We advance as a species."

Mike asked, "Might the Drodusarel resent that?"

Grodulan's hand reached out and ran furred fingers across the stacked papers there, as if drawing comfort from them.  "It's difficult to tell.  Individual Drodusarel may interpret events one way, but they have a collective consciousness that views things differently."

"Does Draehmin have access to a shuttle?  Any other way off the station?"

"No.  The very ship that threatens us now, brought him.  But I don't doubt that if the Drodusarel wanted to destroy this station, Draehmin would be sacrificed."

Linna gave Mike a sideways grin.  "No doubt pondering 'the day or the world' to his death."

Mike folded his arms.  "Could it be they want the two of us to solve this murder as independent parties?"

"To give them credibility if Draehmin really is innocent?  That's perfect," Linna said.  "And if it turns out he's guilty, they can still destroy the station as a coverup." 

"Could be.  We know so little about the Drodusarel.  I can't imagine what Draehmin's motive would've been."  Mike turned to Grodulan. "Do you mind returning to the lab with us?  Maybe if we go over it again...."  But he even as his words trailed away, he watched Grodulan rousing his major, who'd begun to slumber.  He'd made the suggestion only out of desperation and a desire to keep busy.  No use thinking of that final Drodusarel pulse that could come at any moment.

"I'll be there shortly," Grodulan said.  My major is still waking up."

Mike and Linna went to the lab.  Mike clenched his left fist and swept his arm around in front of him, watching the sensor readouts on the back of his hand.  No surprises.  Dr. Kosloff's body gone, really gone, in fact, since Grodulan had stored it in the part of the station the Drodusarel had just sliced off.  The same jumble of tech they'd seen when they first came aboard.

Mike lowered his hand.  "This is useless." 

Linna drew in a sharp breath.  "Someone's coming down the hallway.  Severely agitated."  That's when Irina Kosloff rushed past the doorway, brandishing a metal rod. 

"Shit," Mike muttered, and he rushed into the corridor right behind Linna, just in time to see Irina trying to bash both beings of the Grodulan pair with the rod.  The major was fending off the worst of the blows with one muscular arm while holding his minor with the other.  The minor, for his part, was trying to burrow into the major's chest.  Cetronen minors weren't known for their courage or resourcefulness in a crisis.

Linna tackled Irina as Mike grabbed the rod, and it was over in a moment.  Mike tossed the rod aside.  Just an addition to the rubble.  Linna pulled Irina to her feet and Mike aimed his stunner at her.  "You can let her go, Linna." 

Irina stood there, all tousled hair and desperation.  "You listen to me," Mike told her.  "Linna nods, and I stun you and we drag you back to your room.  She'll nod if you lie to me.  Understood?"

All the fight was out of Irina now; she stood silently. 

"This doesn't look good for you.  Why did you attack Grodulan?"

In a voice barely audible:  "You know why."

"Tell me again."

"He killed my husband."

"And you had nothing to do with his death?"

"Oh, God, no!  How could I?"

"Linna?"

"She's telling the truth," Linna said.

Irina squeezed her eyes shut, and tears ran down her cheeks.  "I'm sorry.  But he did it and you're not taking him into custody, you asked if I did it, you're still asking that, and I couldn't let him get away with it.  If you're not going to hand him over, I was going to take care of him."

Mike lowered his stunner.  "Linna, take her to her quarters, please.  Try to find a way to lock her in."

Linna took Irina by the arm.  As Linna passed close to Mike, he told her, "Then try to go away by yourself for a few moments."  He knew Linna couldn't handle being in the presence of such strong emotions much longer.

"Thanks," Linna said, but her tone was odd -- was she actually surprised he was giving her a brief respite?  She proceeded down the corridor, Irina in hand. 

Mike hated this, every moment of it.  This mystery had taken him from his ship, his family really, and was coming between him and Linna. 

And he was actually conducting two investigations.  Who killed Dr. Kosloff?  And who had so seriously pissed off the Drodusarel? 

Maybe if you figured out one, you'd have a clue as to the other.

Grodulan, cradled still in his major's arms, came up to him.  "I am in your debt," the Cetronen said.  "I was as fearful that my major might have been forced to kill her as I was for my own safety."

Mike nodded.  He'd wondered why the major had remained on the defensive.  Apparently the Grodulan minor had kept more of his wits about him than Mike had thought.  And it was the minor, of course, who was really in charge. 

That thought made it all fall together for him.  "I'd appreciate it, Grodulan," Mike said, "if you'd also stay in your quarters for now."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Go back to Draehmin." 

This time the invitation to enter the Drodusarel's room was just as enthusiastic ("Greet the Human once again!), the inquiries ("the day or the world?") just as insistent, but Mike was having none of it.  He waited for the door to Draehmin's quarters to slide closed behind him.  "I know who had the answer to your question."

Mike didn't really expect Draehmin to confirm it, but he did.  Just like that. 

Linna was outside Draehmin's room when Mike came out.  "You've got something?" she asked.

"Maybe.  Can you handle a little more exposure to some extreme emotions?"

"If it'll end this, I'll take whatever comes."

"I'm sorry if I...."

"Don't, Mike.  I'm the one who should apologize.  I know we're doing what's right."  She grasped his shoulder and ran her hand down his upper arm.  "I hope your plan doesn't involve Irina.  She's so distraught over assaulting Grodulan, I can't imagine her killing anyone."

"Doesn't involve her.  We're taking Grodulan into custody."

"The Cetronen?  How'd he fool me?  I couldn't detect any deception from him."

"Not that part.  The big guy.  The major."

They found Grodulan in the lab.  Mike entered with his stunner drawn but held behind his back.  Linna did the same.  How aware was the Cetronen of Human body language? 

The minor stood next to a comm screen.  His thin mouth gaped open slightly and the membranes flicked rapidly over his nostrils.  Mike could have sworn his brown fur was close to standing on end.  The major stood as if at attention just behind him, playing the usual role.  Impassive.  Unnoticed.

The Grodulan minor said, "The Drodusarel.  They're insane.  We only have minutes left."

Mike raised his stunner and pointed it at the major.  Linna moved up to stand next to the minor.  "All the more important I get this over with," Mike said.  "I'm taking your major into custody."

Grodulan's minor started toward his larger counterpart but Linna grabbed his arm and jerked him away, hard.  She found a chair, sat him down and kept her stunner on him.  His deep-set eyes went wide, but he kept quiet. 

The major moved more quickly than Mike could have imagined -- he barely had time to level his weapon before the major struck him across the shoulders and knocked him to the floor.

In that same moment, the Drodusarel starcraft struck again.

Mike's vision was blurry and his right shoulder hurt like hell, more from hitting the floor than from the major's blow.  He tried to get up, but the floor bucked beneath his feet and sent him flying again, and this time he didn't fall back down.  The grav was out again. 

The lab's equipment was secured more thoroughly than the mess in the corridor, but not much.  Mike glimpsed Linna as she grabbed the Grodulan minor from behind and held him tightly against her chest -- he wasn't strong enough to resist.

So Mike only had to worry about the major.  And the Drodusarel on that ship trying to kill them. 

Where was the major?  Mike pushed off against a console.  He had to get to a wall, so he could position himself if he saw a chance to leap at him. 

He dodged sensorpacs, comp units, and other debris as he worked his way across the room.  Anything with any mass, he pushed against.  Slow going.  He made a fist with his left hand.  Sweep around the room -- Cetronen lifesign there.  It was behind a large console in a corner opposite the lab's only doorway.  Mike pressed the datalink connection behind his left ear.  "Mike Christopher, Human, of the starcraft Asaph Hall to the Drodusarel ship.  Stop firing!  I've got your suspect, and it's not Draehmin.  I'm taking Grodulan's major into custody." 

Finally, the wall.  Flatten against it, slide a couple of meters along it.  Don't bounce back into the room.  Catch Linna's eye.  She's still holding onto the minor.  Keep an eye on that console.  No movement.

Another blast -- lights flicker, then hold.  Distantly, Mike hears the low rumble of blast doors. 

Hull breach!  All the room's air rushes toward the doorway, equipment clatters across the room, and Mike's instinct, as his lifesuit snaps into place, is to find a handhold.  Then, remembering he has to cover that doorway, he springs from the wall.

Sure enough, the major launches himself from behind the console right at the doorway.  Mike musters all his zero-G training to twist and flip his body around so he lands feet-first on the wall to one side of that exit.  A quick aim with the stunner -- he fires!

Direct hit on the major's body, but Mike still sees consciousness there as the major slams into him, and his stunner goes flying as his right arm's pinned beneath the behemoth. 

Giant furred hands close around Mike's body, and the major's thick tail whips around to smash against his helmet.  The lifesuit doesn't protect against a slow squeezing, and the major will crush his chest within seconds, if he doesn't lose consciousness first from the pounding his head is taking.

And the major speaks, only the second time Mike's heard such a thing, his deep voice a rumbling growl, Mike's datalink providing the translation:  "I...will kill...you too."

Stunner fire from behind the major -- Linna.  Still no effect, the major must be working on some kind of hysterical strength.  Mike's had his ribs crushed before, and he knows it's happening again.  His left arm is still free, and through the pain Mike fumbles for the stunner still stuck in his belt.  The murder weapon.  He raises it to the major's right eye, deeply-recessed beneath a jutting brow.

Fires.  And again.  The major's limp body presses against him until the winds die down.  Then they both sag to the floor as the grav returns.  Even then, Mike only understands he'll really live when his lifesuit snaps off.  Winds still rush around him as the station's emergency life-support replaces its air.

Events moved quickly after that.  Mike didn't even have time to explain how he'd reasoned out the solution to their mystery by the time he and Linna stood by the station's main airlock.  They were waiting for the Drodusarel ship to dock.  They'd insisted upon taking Draehmin away before the Asaph Hall arrived, and Mike was in no mood -- and no position -- to argue.  The sooner they left the station, the better.

Draehmin's shimmering form glided toward them.  No sign of any belongings, but how would you tell?

Draehmin halted before Mike and Linna.  "I wish we could have met under better circumstances.  We could have had so much to speak of, especially now."

Mike smiled at Linna's puzzled glance.  He said, "You were partially right when you wondered if Draehmin's constant talk of 'the day or the world' was a clever act.  I knew someone had angered the Drodusarel pretty well.  I assumed at first it had to be Dr. Kosloff."

Linna said, "But why kill him when they let him locate here to begin with?"

"My thought exactly.  Especially since they had one of their own on the station to spy on him."

A ripple ran through Draehmin's energy field.  "Please.  To observe him."

Mike shrugged.  "I realized sometimes those closest to you can make you the angriest.  They knew Draehmin, knew he wasn't capable of killing Dr. Kosloff, and wanted to know why he wasn't clearing his name."

Linna placed a finger on her chin and nodded.  "So when the Drodusarel were pounding this station...."

"The warning wasn't for us.  It was for Draehmin."

As he looked down at the Drodusarel, did he seem smaller?  Did his energy field shine a little less brightly?  Draehmin said, "I return to my people to face my shame.  I was horrified when the Cetronen major killed Dr. Kosloff.  Such news could have caused an unfortunate rift in relations between the Cetronen and my own species."

"And," Mike prompted, "you wanted to continue your relationship with the major."

"We hid that from the minor, spoke only when he was asleep."

Linna said, "That's why I didn't detect any deception from the minor.  He wasn't lying when he said he and Dr. Kosloff hadn't done live testing, because he didn't know about it." 

"Correct, " Draehmin said.  "Dr. Kosloff worked on the major in private, telling only me of his plans, because he knew it was dangerous to keep a secret from the Drodusarel.  I, in turn, spoke to the major, engaging his intellect.  He was quite insightful.  In fact, he gave me my answer."

Linna gave a startled gasp.  "For that 'day or the world' dilemma!  So which was it?"

Another, broader ripple through Draehmin's energy field, and -- did his form puff up a little?  He said, "I would not speak of it to an outworlder.  But with my own people...it should help bring them to forgiveness when I reveal the answer.  It will show them the value of the research.  When Mike told me he knew who had given me that answer, I realized I could conceal that fact no longer."

The Drodusarel ship docked with a dull thud that made Mike's teeth ache.  Draehmin cycled through, undocking was swift, and Mike managed to punch up a reading on a worn and battered sensor console that showed him the ship had moved to a position about fifty kilometers out.  The Drodusarel wanted to destroy the station.  Mike was pretty sure they'd wait until everyone left.  Pretty sure.

Mike and Linna went to Grodulan's quarters, where both major and minor were confined.  The Asaph Hall was to take them to a Cetronen colony several days away, from which they would return to their homeworld. 

Mike pulled his stunner, Linna followed his lead, and Mike buzzed the door open.  Grodulan stood there, the major cradling the minor in his arms.  Mike's fingers tightened on his stunner's grip as he thought of those broad hands nearly squeezing the life out of him.

Keep this simple, Mike thought.  After all, the minor was blameless.  "Let's go," Mike said.

Even as he and Linna walked Grodulan ahead of them toward the lock, Mike felt the deck rumble from another hard dock.  So Rosa wasn't wasting any time.  Good.

As the lock cycled again, the Grodulan minor said, "I can only apologize to you both for my major."

Mike kept his stunner trained on them.  Who knew how the major might be influencing his minor's will?  "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I did not detect my major's increased intelligence.  I still cannot feel it.  I have, however, spoken to him.  A strange sensation.  He feared being ostracized.  He knew what it was like being different.  Just as you do, Mike.  Perhaps that is how you guessed the killer's identity..."

Mike nodded in acknowledgment.  "What will happen when you get home?"

"This research path is over.  Doctors will try to reverse Dr. Kosloff's procedure in my major.  He wishes that.  It was not a coincidence that he killed Dr. Kosloff by disrupting his brain functions.  If the reversal is not successful...the major will have to be euthanized."

Linna's eyes widened.  "But that means..."

"Yes.  I will die, too.  The lock has cycled."

Mike opened the hatch and nodded to the two Asaph Hall crewmembers who would escort Grodulan to his quarters, where he would be restricted while aboard.  Linna followed them.  She didn't want to be subjected to the further emotional turmoil Mike's last chore would entail.

Mike went to Irina Kosloff's room.  She'd insisted upon waiting until both Draehmin and Grodulan were gone before she would leave.  Her door opened at his buzz.  The woman stood there with a single shoulder bag.  She seemed to be making a point of standing tall and trying to radiate dignity, but Mike wondered how many conflicting emotions Linna would have detected within her.  "I'm ready," she said.  They started down the corridor.  "How soon can you get me to a ship that can take me to Earth?"

"We're rendezvousing with the exploratory craft Belyanka in a week.  They'll get you home within a month."

Irina fell silent as they came aboard the Asaph Hall.  It was a relief for Mike to get away from the station's stale air and confined spaces.  He showed Irina her room.  "The, uh, other former station residents are on a different level."

"Thank you, Mike," Irina said.  "I'm sorry I was so emotional.  I know I could've been more helpful.  But I was right, you know.  About Grodulan."

"Not in the way you thought."

"Maybe it's best.  Maybe now I can focus on better memories."

Mike didn't know how to respond, other than, "I'll leave you with them."

After that, Mike went to Linna's door.  Knocked.  She wore a musty-smelling sweatsuit that sported ancient food stains.  She ran her fingers through her hair and looked at Mike with a patient affection.  He didn't try to step over the threshold.  "Could I come in awhile?"

She clasped a hand in one of his.  "Maybe in a day."

He understood.  Shipmates, lovers, they still maintained separate cabins because it was difficult for Linna to expose herself to another's emotions for more than a few hours at a time.  He squeezed her hand.  "Tomorrow night, maybe.  Supper in my room?  Wine?"

Linna smiled and nodded.  "I'm glad we went to the station."  She closed her door gently.

Mike went to his own small cabin and stared out a narrow bay window at the stars.  The station was a pinpoint among them.  Mike held his breath at the sight of a silvery streak of light that flashed past the station -- the Drodusarel ship.  It fired several energy pulses -- the station broke apart at its midsection, then its halves flared and...dissolved.

The Drodusarel ship, in all its baroque perfection, whipped around again.  Its powerful gravitic drives arrowed it right through the debris field, then the ship jumped into stardrive and was gone.

The Asaph Hall didn't linger, either; within moments the stars blurred, appeared to speed away from the window, then merged into the swirling colors of the stardrive environment.

Mike opaqued the window against that sight.  He made the usual, expected appearance in the ship's commons to receive his crewmembers' congratulations for a job well done.  They understood Linna's absence, and would summon her for similar treatment in a day or so.

For the next couple of hours, his captain praised him, and his colleagues slapped him on the back and kissed his cheeks, and handed him food and drinks aplenty. 

But Mike considered his friends' sentiments, however well-intentioned, to be mere adulation.  He took little joy in this mission's end, not when he thought of the doomed Grodulan pair, the damaged Irina Kosloff or her dead husband, or even the merely disgraced Draehmin. 

Then the celebration wound down, and Mike returned to his cabin to pass the hours until Linna recovered sufficiently to allow him into the pathways of her life, her heart, again.

The Human Equations

Originally published in ANALOG SCIENCE FICTION AND FACT, November 2002

Reprinted in the collection THE HUMAN EQUATIONS

As many times as I'd been called upon to banish Volatile people to Earth, few of them had ever attacked me.

The final time it happened was within the New Lancaster Habitat, home to 10,000 New Order Mennonites, known as the "Habitat of the Gentle People."  Moments after I arrived at the farm of Bishop Anna Troyer and her son, Samuel, I knew it contained at least one exception. 

As I stepped onto the porch, I couldn't help thinking that the Troyer home looked like something out of history:  wooden structure, metal gutters, the porch sporting a swing and rocking chairs.  An even more primitive-looking building, the barn, stood in the rear.  Between them was an electric car, and a larger vehicle that probably harvested the crops.  In fields both adjacent to the Troyer home and directly overhead, I could see people working in the sprawling fields scattered throughout the habitat.

The heat and humidity of the habitat's interior washed over me.  It was only mid-morning and already conditions here were oppressive; why would people work in those fields all day?  I wished I could've come about a week later when the habitat was due to turn colder.  It was a practical measure; the apple, cherry, and pear trees needed that cold snap to blossom.

I knocked on the flimsy-looking door, which was a thin frame of wood surrounding a fine metal mesh.  Out of the shadows within the house, two figures resolved themselves.  Bishop Troyer was dressed in a gray one-piece dress beneath an apron of the same color, and wore her snow-white hair up, topped with a finely pleated white hat.  I knew she was only middle-aged, about sixty, but her deeply lined face made her look decades older.  Being a Mennonite, I thought, must be a rough life.  I knew it could even be deadly.  Bishop Troyer's husband Amos had died eight years earlier when a grain harvester rolled over on him -- not an uncommon fate for farmers here, apparently.

Samuel was twenty, broad-shouldered, and with skin burnished by countless hours beneath reflected sunlight.  He was wearing a farmer's overalls and thick-soled boots.

Bishop Troyer didn't speak, just glared at me, but she still opened the door -- Congregationalist courtesy, no doubt.  I stepped inside, grateful for the respite from the heat.  "I'm Triage Officer Leo Bakri.  I'm here to carry out the Order of Banishment on Samuel Troyer."

The only thing that saved me was that although Samuel was big, he wasn't a trained fighter, and that my New Human reflexes are faster than those of most Volatiles.  His right fist swung at my face, and I grabbed it with my right hand and twisted sharply, measuring my force so I wouldn't break his wrist.  Samuel yelped and sank to one knee.  I placed my hand on the butt of my stunner but didn't draw it.  

Bishop Troyer went to her son's side and held his shoulders.  I wondered if she was trying to comfort or restrain her son. 

I felt the chill of perspiration drying on my forehead.  The house wasn't climate-controlled, but it was cooler than the habitat's current outdoor setting.  Too much like a "natural" environment, too uncontrolled, I thought.  Why should any environment be uncomfortable for the Humans living in it?

Bishop Troyer said, "You realize that sending Samuel down there is a certain death sentence?" 

I said, "You know the seriousness of Samuel's crime."

"I still have trouble believing that Samuel would -- "

"Attack someone the way he just attacked me?"

Samuel looked up at me.  "You're taking me away from my mom, you bastard!"

"Samuel!" Bishop Troyer said.  "Even in such a time, you'll not use that kind of language."

"Mom, he's taking my life away."

I said, "Samuel, you know the law.  There are no appeals."

Bishop Troyer said, "Triage Officer Bakri, you must understand my son doesn't want to leave his home."

In my heart of hearts, I didn't think his home was anything to fight for.  The many shelves and a mantle above the fireplace (now there was a danger!) here in the living room were crowded with, I believed the term was, "knick-knacks."  They included small stylized figurines with vaguely Human form, tiny woven baskets of an unknown (at least to me) significance, and flat, unmoving pictures of loved ones.  The paintings on the walls seemed to be originals by talented but untrained artists.  The comp in one corner was a bulky console-and-monitor combination. 

Samuel Troyer said, "You didn't prove anything -- "

I told him, "We have cubes.  They show you inside a shop within the Shosha Habitat, assaulting its manager, Saburo Endo."

Bishop Troyer stood.  She held her hand out to Samuel, who took his place beside her and said, "That's not evidence to us.  My people don't use that kind of technology."

"With all respect to your beliefs, the Shosha authorities do make decisions based upon that technology.  We also have nearly a half-dozen witnesses to the assault against Mr. Endo.  You know the penalty for traveling to another habitat to commit violence."

Samuel Troyer tilted his head and squeezed his eyes shut.  "I didn't go there to commit violence."  Then he looked me right in the eye.  "I just wanted to see what it was like somewhere you don't have to get up in the middle of the night to milk cows.  Or spend half your days just growing food.  Where you have time to read and to think -- "

Bishop Troyer shook her head.  "It looks as if you've spent too much time thinking already, and it's allowed ungodly ideas to get into your head.  I never should've agreed to that trip.  You're too young.  You don't understand why our way of life is so important to us."

Samuel's voice held a bitterness I guessed he'd been nurturing for some time.  "You always said these places were so evil.  I wanted to decide for myself.  I always expected to come back here.  And I did.  I wanted to find a way to make a different kind of life for myself here, with you."

I said, "You knew you were here only on probation, awaiting your sentence."

"On something that wasn't a crime.  I just wanted something nice for my mother."

"A gold necklace worth six months pay on Shosha."

Bishop Troyer said, "My son had never been to another habitat.  He had no concept of a market economy."

"You should have taught him, then.  To let a Volatile -- "

"I am so sick of hearing Samuel referred to by that term.  I suppose you're what they call a New Human?"

"I am."  I allowed a little pride to come through in my tone of voice.  Nothing wrong with faster reflexes, added strength, or more immunity to disease.  Not to mention the moral improvements.  Less prone to violence.  More inclined to find peaceful solutions.  "I'm from Newton Habitat."  Customarily, Banishment Orders were carried out by Triage Officers from habitats other than those involved in the original crime.  The Earth-circling habitats have two common rules -- live as you wish, but anyone can leave whenever they want.  And anyone who commits the slightest physical assault is immediately banished.

Samuel shook his head.  "Great.  Not just a New Human, but a scientist.  You think you're better than I am."

I shifted my weight from one foot to another.  No one seemed likely to offer me a seat.  And I wasn't sure I'd accept it -- the Troyers' living room chairs were wooden, some upholstered with actual cloth, everything apparently hand-crafted.  I supposed that was fine if you liked that kind of thing, but it all seemed unnatural and wasteful of time and resources to me.  "Statistics show a Volatile is more likely to act inappropriately.  A point you helped prove on Shosha."

Samuel wiggled his fingers in front of my face.  "They were so upset that these hands touched their precious property."

"In Shosha, it's called stealing."

"And the shopkeeper --

" -- Mr. Endo -- "

" -- was rude.  He yelled at me in front of all those people in the market square.  And he grabbed my arm so hard it hurt."

"You wouldn't let go of the necklace."

Samuel shook his head.  "It was mine.  I'd picked it up.  I tried to tell them I'd send them something in trade later."

"That's when the real crime happened.  When you struck Mr. Endo."

"He wouldn't let go of my arm.  He started it."

I said, "And I'm finishing it.  Get your things."

Samuel pointed to one of the upholstered chairs.  "There's my bag."  His shoulders slumped, as if having prepared the bag also meant acknowledging his crime.  He picked the bag up and stood passively, his attention focused on his mother. 

I told him, "You can see that I'm accustomed to dealing with Volatiles.  If you try to assault me or anyone else again, I'm stunning you and carrying you to the port.  If you give me your word you won't be violent, I'll let your mother come along."

Bishop Troyer folded her hands in front of her.  "Thank you, Triage Officer."  She looked meaningfully at her son.  "We may be plain unaltered Humans, but we won't be any trouble."

I said, "My car's waiting." 

I insisted that both Bishop Troyer and Samuel ride in the rear of my borrowed police cruiser.  The car mostly drove itself, which let me keep an eye on them on a heads-up vid display.

As we drove off her property, Bishop Troyer said, "All this for a trinket I wouldn't have wanted anyway."

Samuel said, "The gold was from what you call the good Earth.  I know you miss it there, even if you never want to go back.  The shopkeeper said it was hand-crafted, not replicated."

I said, "They just say that, Samuel.  That's a typical ploy to get a little extra money out of a tourist."

Samuel's mouth gaped open.  "He'd lie?"

"Plenty of shopkeepers in plenty of habitats will do the same thing."

Bishop Troyer said, "It's one reason we chose a different path in this place."

New Lancaster Habitat was a typical kilometer-long cylinder, its homes mostly single-family dwellings scattered across a broad landscape of furrowed fields.  Most Human colonists brought workbots, nanotech, and grav pallets, along with virtualities and newsnets.  They desired the conveniences of Earthly existence even while they sought more living space or the opportunity to form a unique societal structure.

Not here.  Workers harvested timothy and clover in the countless fields that curved upward and met two-tenths of a kilometer overhead.  I didn't understand the pull of such an existence.  The repetitive toil, the eternal cycle of artificially-generated seasons with the rituals of planting and harvesting, and all for what? 

I supposed that was why we have dozens of habitats circling the homeworld.  Live as you want, without anyone abridging your freedoms.

But that was just what Samuel Troyer had tried to do to Mr. Endo in Shosha.

I said, "If Samuel had struck someone here in New Lancaster, it would've been a purely internal matter.  But it's gone inter-habitat.  It's the equivalent of a diplomatic incident on Earth."

Samuel sat with his hands in his lap, as if waiting for his mother and me to settle this between ourselves.  I had to wonder if the anger he'd shown just moments ago had been only momentarily suppressed. 

Bishop Troyer asked, "Can't you give Samuel some leniency?  He's never been in trouble before."

"Could I suggest you render unto Caesar that which is -- "

"That is an inappropriate context for that reference, Triage Officer.  And you will not use my religious beliefs as a pretext for taking my son from me."

I took a deep breath.  "I apologize."

Samuel rolled his eyes at that, which I pointed out to Bishop Troyer.  "You see his attitude?  Haven't you glimpsed that before?"

Bishop Troyer cast a hard look at her son.  "Only...aimed at me."

"With all respect," I said, "Perhaps Samuel found it all too easy in Shosha, a place where no one knew him, that he could intimidate anyone who challenged him as he committed his mischief.  Add to that, not realizing his actions were being recorded in holographic vid and immersion sound."

Samuel said, "Perhaps you should take me away.  I might finally find respect down there on Earth."

Bishop Troyer said, "Don't even pretend to feel that way.  I'm still your mother, I'll always care for you the way no one else can."

I said, "You can still care about your son, Bishop Troyer.  He just can't continue to live here."

Bishop Troyer turned a stern visage toward the vid input.  "We're talking about a 20 year old boy who committed an inadvertent theft, and who struck a shopkeeper.  Meanwhile, we don't seem concerned that we're about to send Samuel down to a planet where some countries still mandate the death penalty for non-violent crimes.  The PacFed doesn't believe you have a soul, Triage Officer, or even that Samuel or I do, and it wouldn't be illegal to kill us for no reason.  The Eastern Sword chops the hands off of thieves.  Do you need more examples?"

I said, "A condition of establishing Human habitats in Earth orbit was that we could only ship back malcontents or criminals if a government agreed to take responsibility for them.  That makes it difficult for us, but if Samuel doesn't go to Earth, that would mean someone who committed violence wouldn't be dealt with.  Our entire system will fall apart, in every habitat.  Samuel will leave.  But he goes somewhere he's wanted." 

"What kind of place will have me?  What kind of people can I live near?"

I said, "Most of the world falls into two major categories, culturally."

Samuel frowned.  "Yes, Euro-American and Afro-Asian.  I've been to college, thank you."

"Your culture here most closely resembles Euro-American.  I've gotten you a good job on the English Strait.  Reclamation duty.  They're desperate for manpower there."

Samuel asked, "Manpower?  What's that?"

"People who perform physical labor, or sometimes skilled tasks."

"Why would anyone perform physical labor back on Earth?"

"Some societies there also reject nanotech, just as your own does."

"What if I refused to work?  What could they do to me?"

"You wouldn't get paid.  You wouldn't be able to buy food or clothes or shelter."

"Oh, I see, these are places like Shosha."

"Much worse than Shosha.  Hard work, very little pay.  Hard to get ahead.  Harder still to save for old age."

"They don't even take care of old people?"

"You have to save enough so you can get by when you're too old to work."

We'd arrived at the habitat's southern cap.  I flashed my Triage Services shield at the nearest lift, asking the civilians gathered there to take the next one.  I didn't think Samuel would become violent again, but I wanted to keep things simple.

Aboard the lift, we all grabbed handrails as the habitat's floor, and the pseudo-gravity of its rotation, fell away.  Looking across the 1-kilometer distance to the northern cap, I saw people who had donned wings and were flying along the cylinder's center.  "That surprises me," I muttered, and when Samuel tilted his head in a questioning look I pointed out the fliers.

"It's simple tech," Samuel said.  "As natural as the flight of birds."

Then it was off the lift, in zero-G conditions now, and into the passenger waiting area.  Both Bishop Troyer and Samuel glided awkwardly through the broad tube that led from the revolving cylinder of New Lancaster to its stationary hub.  I'd made sure we arrived only minutes before departure; I didn't want to draw this out.  I'd only allowed Bishop Troyer to come along because I thought her presence would help me deal with Samuel until I got him aboard the shuttle.

We reached the broad waiting area.  About three dozen other passengers were also waiting to board the shuttle down to Earth.  I'm sure my sigh of relief was audible.  Gone were the organic smells and too-warm, too-moist air that had assaulted me when I first entered New Lancaster proper.  I marveled at the small comforts I found in filtered air, smooth white surfaces, and decorative cube images of planets and galaxies that were the same in any such chamber. 

Another flash of the shield, this time toward a customs officer.  He said, "Don't worry, Triage Officer, we'll get you seated first, in just a moment.

As we all moved to one side and grabbed handrails, I sneaked a glance at Bishop Troyer.  Her mouth had tightened into a narrow line that emphasized the wrinkles in her face.  I'd seen similar expressions before, on dozens of frustrated parents' faces -- she was coming to grips with the reality that she was about to lose Samuel.  She couldn't prevent me physically from taking him, and they'd had no legal options or I wouldn't have arrived at their doorstep.  "I know this is difficult," I said, "But look at the broader view -- "

Bishop Troyer said, "I don't have a broader view.  I only know I'm losing my son."

Samuel was grinning.  "Let him spin his fairy tales, Mom."

Bishop Troyer's lips pursed and she looked at me.  "Have your say."

"Human history, from the 19th Century onward.  Conflicts between empires give way to the superpowers, whose disputes dominate the 20th Century.  Some of those disputes involve intermediaries, often on the Asian continent.  But after two global conflicts, wars became localized or internal.  The world's countries were learning to live in peace.  But in the very first year of this century, Humanity sees war waged by individuals."

Bishop Troyer lowered her gaze.  "We're a sinful race." 

"This is where it starts.  With a simple assault, and the most basic disrespect for another person."

Bishop Troyer said, "You spout your theories of history and how Human society evolves as if they're as certain as the laws of physics you worship."

I said, "That's a good analogy.  The laws of physics have been called the 'cold equations.'  My job is to make sure legal consequences approach that same certainty."

"Then you, Mr. Bakri, are even colder than the laws of physics.  Perhaps you embody the human equations.  And if I refuse to let Samuel go?"

"I can take you into custody, too."

Samuel said to me, "I'll go to Earth."

Bishop Troyer said, "Samuel, no!"

"Mom, what kind of choice do I have?  I'm young, I can adapt."

Like you adapted on Shosha? I thought, but wasn't about to say aloud. 

Bishop Troyer asked her son, "Do you know the danger's you'll face there?"

Samuel said, "Radiation.  Marauders.  Leftover nanoweapons."

"We have to find you something somewhere else."

I said, "Most countries aren't interested in taking a Volatile.  They don't want our -- "

"Castoffs?  Rejects?"

"I believe you're both good people.  It's just that Samuel did something that can't be tolerated in this community."

Bishop Troyer offered me a sad smile.  "I have my own beliefs about what can be tolerated and what cannot.  As does everyone who has received our undeserved gift -- God's love.  We reciprocate that gift by building a community filled with Christ's attributes.  Forgiveness is one of those attributes."

I didn't have anything to say to that.

"Don't worry," Bishop Troyer said.  "I'm not a proselytizer.  I'm willing to speak in the limited terms of everyday life.  Did it ever occur to you that maybe Samuel thought he was in the right?"

"You've seen the vid?"

"I have.  I don't approve of what he did, but I don't believe it's worth banishment."

Both of Samuel's eyebrows raised and his jaw dropped open.  "How did you see it?"

"The farm's comp.  It has HabNet access."

"But you never allowed me to -- "

"To fritter away your time on foolishness -- games and useless knowledge disguised as revealed truths or wisdom?  No, I never did.  But this is different.  I had to see for myself what happened."

I kept quiet.  I thought letting this little drama play out might be the best thing for me.

Samuel said, "You had no right -- "

"I have every right to know about my son's actions.  It was foolish to let you go there.  I can only ask the Lord's forgiveness.  If only your father had lived -- "

Samuel wagged his finger before his mother's face.  "It always comes back to that, doesn't it?  The sacred Amos Troyer, who could do no wrong -- "

Bishop Troyer knocked Samuel's hand aside, and by his reaction, you would've thought she'd slapped him full in the face.  "You will respect your father."

Samuel recovered quickly, and his features hardened into an expression that belied his youth.  "I've always respected my father.  It's your attitude toward him that wears me down."

Bishop Troyer extended her hand toward Samuel's face.  He flinched, then seemed to realize his mother's touch would be gentle this time.  Anna Troyer caressed her son's face.  "I'll always love you despite how you treat me."

Samuel said, "I know, Mom.  It's just...I have to make my own decisions now."

The customs officer caught my eye and waved me toward the embarcation sleeve.  I told Bishop Troyer, "I have to accompany Samuel down to the surface."

Bishop Troyer told me, "My son didn't understand."

"We don't care whether he understood.  We care only that he not repeat his actions, whether in Shosha or here in New Lancaster."

"He wouldn't have.  I'd have made sure of it."

"He's a Volatile.  We couldn't be sure.  Now we will be."

Mother and son embraced, held on tight, cried.  I started to touch Bishop Troyer on her shoulder but couldn't bring myself to.  I coughed softly.  The Troyers took the hint and said their final goodbyes.  Bishop Troyer told me, "I'll pray for him.  And for you, and those who create our laws."

I thought it only appropriate to say, "Thank you."  Then Samuel and I left.  I didn't dare look back at the grieving mother. 

Samuel sat next to me quietly during the entire half-hour trip.  I wondered how many of the other passengers might also be Volatiles, though I didn't recognize any Triage Officers from other habitats. 

We'd be landing in the desert linking the sloping plain that was once England's Shakespeare Cliff to the ruins of the French village of Sangatte.  It was only during the shuttle's final approach that Samuel said, "Tell my mother everything will be all right.  Even if it won't."

This Volatile's concern for his mother stole at my heart in a way I hadn't anticipated.  I could almost forgive Samuel for attacking me back in the New Lancaster Habitat. 

Almost.  I didn't respond to his request, and Samuel didn't make it again.

The shuttle settled to the barren ground and Samuel and I followed the other passengers, about six or seven, who were getting off. 

Bright light and blowing dust made me squeeze my eyes to slits as I followed Samuel out of the shuttle and stepped onto dusty ground.  Close to the horizon, I saw the reclamation facility that fought the losing battle to reclaim this strait as fertile ground.  Nanotech conflicts had left the land full of unwanted surprises, from transformation mines to death-tech.  The suggestion had already been made in some quarters to let it return to its "natural" state, to become the English Channel again.  As if natural meant static, unchanging, safe.

A tall man in a crisp uniform and wearing a breathing mask walked up to us and introduced himself as StraitForce Lieutenant Phillipe Cassell.  "I'll take the boy now," Cassell said, his voice stern and metallic through the mask.

"Where's my mask?" Samuel demanded.

"You'll get one when you earn one," Cassell said.  He pulled Samuel toward a waiting personnel carrier.  Samuel looked back at me and said, "Goodbye."

My mouth was dry and I choked back words.  By the time I raised my hand to wave, it was to Samuel's retreating back.

That's when a sharp crack came from overhead and I was knocked to the ground.  I lifted my head from the dust just in time to see the rear of the personnel carrier blasted away.  Armed men and women were popping up from beneath the ground.  They were  aiming weapons and squeezing triggers, but I didn't hear discharges and didn't see flashes of light.

I got up and ran toward Samuel Troyer and Lieutenant Cassell, who were lying next to the carrier's wreckage.  I pulled my stunner and got off a few shots, without hitting anyone. 

Samuel pulled me down next to him, clearly glad to see a familiar face, even mine.  He seemed unhurt; Cassell's chest and face were ruins.  Before we could say anything to each other, Samuel slumped to the ground.  Whether unconscious or dead, I didn't know.

A scuffling sound to my right, and I raised my weapon at a gunner advancing toward me.

Some New Human I was.  The gunner was quicker and even though I still didn't hear a discharge or see a flash I slumped to the ground next to Samuel.

I found out what happened when I woke up in the reclamation facility's hospital.  A Channel Separatist raid on the reclamation facility had ended with nine raiders dead, but 52 workers killed and 142 others, including Samuel, suffering nano-infestation.

The Separatists had sprayed destructive nanotech over much of the facility.  I was lucky; being a New Human gave me some resistance to such intruders, and my status as a Triage Officer meant I was one of the first attended to.  Yes, I'm aware of the irony.  The doctors flushed out my system successfully, and I was out of the hospital within hours.

Samuel, though, wasn't so lucky.  The tiny disassemblers roamed through his bloodstream and throughout his nervous system, altering his body with an excruciating slowness.

I went to see him every few hours over a period of three days after the attack.  Samuel's body was literally turning to dust.  His feet crumbled away within hours of the infestation, and his legs were gone in a day.  The nanotech made sure Samuel's skin closed around the parts of his body that remained, but did nothing to relieve his pain.  "I'm bearing it," he told me through gritted teeth, "because I want to live."  Once when I found him sobbing uncontrollably, he said, "I'm not crying for myself.  It's my mother.  I have to get better.  I don't want her to know I'm suffering."

Doctors pumped him full of reconstruction nanotech and implanted temporary artificial organs as his intestines, liver, kidneys, heart, lungs, and other organs failed, then became dust.

69 hours into his agony, doctors had given up on saving Samuel and were issuing frantic petitions to London and Paris for permission to euthenize him.  The reply never came.  He was, after all, only a Volatile.

The separatist attack told me no one was safe, and that it didn't matter who you were.  Lieutenant Cassell had only been doing his duty.  Samuel Troyer was a mixed-up young man who hadn't done anything that deserved a death sentence  -- something I'd realized in the final moments of Samuel's life. 

All that remained of him was a head and an upper torso.  He was breathing through artificial lungs and could still manage halting speech.  Moments before he died, Samuel said he felt a comforting presence nearby, someone other than myself or the doctors.  I knew he was a spiritual man, and I was glad that he'd received this vision in his final moments.  But then Samuel's demeanor changed.  His face contorted, and not from pain; his nerves couldn't transmit pain anymore.  He forced one word out before he died:  "Abandoned."

I couldn't speculate on what it was Samuel saw or heard, or who had abandoned him, though I had my own ideas.

Within a day of Samuel's death I was standing on Bishop Troyer's porch on another sweltering morning, knocking on her door again.  I considered it a mercy that she hadn't been allowed down to the Strait to see her son, because of the continuing separatist danger.  I peered through the door's wire mesh, and saw a long wooden table set up in the living room, with plates and casserole dishes full of food spread across it. 

The door opened halfway, and Bishop Troyer stood there, dressed in a white dress with a white cape.  I'd expected her to look withered and worn, but she stood upright and sturdy.  I wondered how long her newfound energy would last once the other mourners were gone.  I wondered how long she might live. 

The soft background conversations filtering through the doorway stopped one by one as guests noticed my presence.

"I know I'm probably not welcome here," I said.

Bishop Troyer's eyes seemed to perceive every wrong I'd ever perpetuated in my life, every broken promise, every petty insult.  Every time I thought of myself as morally superior to a Volatile, because I was a New Human.

Never mind taking her only child to his undeserved death.

"Of course you're welcome here, Triage Officer."

"I'm not a Triage Officer any longer."  At Bishop Troyer's questioning look, I said, "I've resigned.  I won't be banishing any more Vol...any more citizens."

Bishop Troyer opened the door further.  "Enter in the spirit of forgiveness."

I stepped inside, aware of all the eyes upon me.  Mourners, most of whom would have known Samuel Troyer at his best as well as his worst.  Bishop Troyer and I moved into one corner of the room and spoke quietly as other conversations rose again.

I told her, "I realized being a Triage Officer had only been my way of dealing with my own fears.  I told myself others were responsible for them.  Eliminate those others from my life, and I'd be secure.  The fact that I operated with the habitats' laws on my side was only an excuse."

"And your new job?"

"Within a month, I'll be joining the Earth Alliance light cruiser Solar Eagle as chief security officer."

"Are you so eager to head out to the stars?  Or are you leaving your past behind?"

"I don't think I'll know for awhile."

Bishop Troyer looked thoughtful, not as haunted.  "Then my son's death served some small purpose.  Tell me how he died."

I hesitated, and Bishop Troyer said, "I'm sure he asked you to spare me the details.  He always wanted to protect me."

I felt the corners of my mouth turn up just a little.  "It was all he said to me on the way down to Earth.  Tell you everything was all right, even if it wasn't."

"And as he was dying?"

"He didn't want you to know he was suffering."

"His suffering has ended, and he's with the Lord.  You know you failed him."

I lowered my head.  "Yes, I do."

I started at the touch of Bishop Troyer's fingers beneath my chin.  "Then you mustn't fail me.  I want to believe that the more he suffered, the more heroic he became."

"He did."

"Then don't give me the peaceful, sanitized version of his death."

So I told her, and she listened and didn't say anything, but her eyes closed tightly halfway through my description of Samuel's suffering and death.  By the time I'd finished my tale she had one hand over her eyes and her chin was quivering.  When she started to sob, her hand moved to cover her mouth, and she turned her back toward the friends and relatives who'd come to grieve with her.

Eventually Bishop Troyer composed herself.  "I can't provide your forgiveness, Leo Bakri, and you won't find it out among the stars.  It'll only be within your own heart.  A lesson I've learned."  Her mouth quivered, and she raised her hand to it again.  I could hear her muffled voice.  "Oh, Samuel, why was I so foolish?"  Anna Troyer looked at me.  "He promised he'd be a better, more respectful son.  Just let him do this one thing, he said.  It's all I'd ever wanted.  That's why I let him go.  Because of what I wanted."

She turned away from me then, and joined the other mourners.  As I was leaving I paused in the doorway, aware that Bishop Troyer and I were embarking on a shared journey.