Taking advantage of the low gravity, Tvorh grasped the top rung of the ladder and yanked himself out of a dark corridor into a twilit anti-landscape.

Aoife grabbed his hand. "This is impossible," he said as they stared at forests climbing a backwards-curving horizon to where they disappeared behind a flickering artificial sky the color of dusk.

"This is the inside of a cylinder," Eztli said. She gestured from the floor to the ceiling, or perhaps from the ground to the sky. "Centripetal force pushes us to the floor as it rotates."

"But trees?" Senrii shook her head. "No way. It's like a wilderness."

"And this isn't even the only layer," Aoife said. "I wonder if the other cylinders have wilderness like this one."

"Oceans," Piotr said. "Deserts, perhaps."

"It's not just a ship." Senrii put her hands on her hips. "It's a whole civilization. Bile, a miniature planet."

As if to punctuate her words, a howl echoed in the distance.

"Complete with all the creature comforts of home, I see," Senrii said.

"We're seeing back in time," Eztli said, running her hands down blue-painted letters on the wall of the silvery building they'd emerged from. "The ancients. What were they like, I wonder? Would we even have recognized them?"

"Enough inanity." Thiyyatt said. "Come. Let us find our way to the Tool." She strode to the corner of the building and disappeared around it.

She could look good, even in low gravity.

"Hey, I'm the leader here." Senrii jogged off after Thiyyatt.

This place wasn't a total wilderness, Tvorh realized. A road that looked like it was made of the love child of silver metal and asphalt ran past the building, and as Tvorh rounded the corner, he saw a cluster of buildings. It could have been any small village on Tellus, save for the metal of the buildings and the backward-curving horizon and the strange biomobiles on the streets.

Something told Tvorh there was no "bio" about them, though. Just "mobiles," then.

How had the buildings remained intact? There was obviously nobody living here. Shouldn't they have gone back to what passed for nature on this ghost-ship-planet? There was a grassy median down the middle of the avenue, and while it was terribly overgrown, the structures and street themselves were pristine. Only the green-purple vines crawling across the metal structures marred their surfaces.

As they ambled down the street, Senrii poked a keypad next to a door, then grimaced. "Just as dedicated to locking stuff up as our Last Era friends, at least." She shot a nasty glance to Thiyyatt.

The regia puella didn't look Senrii's way as she glided past. "Of course. Fear not. My genes will surely unlock the secrets of this vessel."

"This ship predates your day, Atty," Aoife said with false sweetness. After confirming that there was an atmosphere on the ship, Piotr, Eztli, and Aoife had stowed their rebreathers, and the head-sized mothlike device now nestled in her hair and fluttered its wings gently.

Piotr's and Aoife's outerwear was much clunkier than the skinsuits that Tvorh, Eztli, and Senrii were wearing, and Thiyyatt's dress of silky hair made even the skinsuits look ugly and angular.

Aoife went on, "But if you'd like to force one of the doors, I'll be happy to let you explore first. If we're lucky, it'll be a booby trap and you'll get spaced."

"Foolish low-born," Thiyyatt said, her voice even as though Aoife had been remarking on the weather. "See the vines, how they flow."

"So?"

"Were you not listening in the shuttle? We were able to dock only because Daonial's secret shame has bonded to this ship, and my genes will unlock Daonial's secret shame." Thiyyatt took a sharp turn down a wide causeway.

"Where are you going?" Senrii said, hurrying to catch up. "This way."

"No." Thiyyatt pointed at the vines along the walls and crawling on the ground. "They thicken in this direction. Where they are thickest, we will find Daonial's shame, and there we will also discover means by which to control the Patrick Henry."

Senrii looked like she was going to argue, but she swallowed it. "You know, you're not wrong," she admitted.

"Of course not."

"If we just need a map of the ship, I got it," Tvorh said. "Cover your ears."

He gave them a few seconds to comply, then shouted with all the force of his powerful vocal chords.

The echoes ricocheted across an inverted landscape too dim to see clearly, and Tvorh knew every nook and cranny for miles. The buildings of dead villages, towns, even a city farther up the cylinder, dotted the wilderness.

A great skyscraper dominated the area nearby. It wasn't far from the edge of town, perhaps only a quarter of a mile away.

It stretched from floor to ceiling, and it felt wrong. Neither metal nor wood, its substance pulsed like a living creature's heart.

Tvorh pointed toward it. "I need your eyes, Aoife."

"Adon have mercy," she said, her voice catching in her throat.

Though it was partway around the cylinder rotationward, he could still see enough of the pillar under the horizon to be awed and disgusted at its appearance. A tower of black flesh sluggishly pumped fetid blood through transparent veins.

Something about the tower was horribly familiar, though Tvorh couldn't place it. He squeezed Aoife's hand.

"Nasty," Senrii said. "How about let's not go there."

"I suspect we have found the anomaly transfixing the layers of the ship. And..." Eztli picked up a cylinder of brass from the sidewalk. Closed at one end and open at the other, it was as long as Tvorh's pinkie and perhaps a little wider. Eztli narrowed her eyes at it, then glanced about as if she expected to catch someone watching them.

"What is it?" Senrii asked.

"Be careful. Security systems are present." Eztli held up the cylinder. "I've seen these before."

Senrii snorted. "Yeah, right."

"I am glad you concur, Ductrix."

"And when would you have seen them? This is Exarchian-history stuff." Senrii spread her hands to indicate the ship.

Eztli shook her head and dropped the brass. "Some other time. Just step carefully. We cannot know if the security systems are still active, but best not to test the hospitality of our hosts." She scanned the dead town and focused on a one-story building about the size of a small house. It stood a little apart from all the rest. "I've seen this as well."

She jogged toward the building's door, which was larger than any they'd yet passed.

"I swear, who's the leader of this expedition?" Senrii said. "Hey, Eztli!"

Vines crept up the sides of the building and seemed to crawl through the living metal around the door. The Tool was hooked in to whatever was on the other side.

To Tvorh's surprise, the door's keypad had a slight glow to it, every one of the ten symbols highlighted as if by some inner light.

7041776. 07041776. Eztli punched in the code.

The doors slid open, revealing a room that was a mad mixture of organic and synthetic.

A dozen hard, midbacked chairs were bolted to the floor at a number of...

Duty stations? They had keypads, surfaces that looked suspiciously similar to the newly discovered graphene screen technology, and odd fist-sized glass-balls embedded into the tables.

"It's a bridge," Senrii said.

"Yes," Eztli said. She strode in and headed straight to one of the stations.

She swiped her hands over the glassy bulb in the table.

Nothing happened.

"Why would they put a bridge for the ship right here?" Senrii asked nobody in particular.

"Come now," Eztli said, swiping her hand through the air again.

Nothing happened.

"What is the trouble, high-born, low-blooded woman?" Thiyyatt asked as she opened up a locker on the wall. Her eyebrows rose. "Did you think that these ancient sorceries would respond to a few manic motions from a red-blood?"

"Blood, bones, and bile," Eztli swore. Senrii's mouth dropped open in shock. Eztli passed her hands through the air again. "Smoking Mirror take this thing. It's not working."

"What did you expect to happen?" Thiyyatt asked, turning from the locker, cradling a rifle in her hands.

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It was like no weapon Tvorh had ever seen. It sounded like plastic and metal, with no organic parts whatsoever. Far from making it look weak, the workmanlike design seemed terribly dangerous.

Functional tools had no need for embellishment.

And this functional tool was in the hands of a crazy Last Era princess who had no love for anybody aboard this ship.

"Down!" Tvorh shouted, tackling Aoife to the ground.

Thiyyatt smirked. "After all these ages, I do not think this weapon will function." She clutched the gun against her body and tossed a curved rectangular object half as long as her forearm through the low gravity to Senrii.

Senrii frowned at it. "Are those bullets? It's a magazine." She slid one of the rounds from the magazine.

"Hey, Tvorh. Not that I'm complaining, but could you get off me?" Aoife said. "You're kinda lying between me and a new gun. By which I mean a really old gun."

As Tvorh clambered off of Aoife, Senrii inspected the bullet. "It's got that metal casing around it," she said, looking to Eztli. "You were right about the defenses."

Eztli barely grunted. She was still sweeping her hands in the air over the glass ball.

"Bullet's made of lead, maybe. The surrounding bit is brass. The weight's off, though. The bullet doesn't take up the whole container. I think there was something in it, but maybe it decayed over time." Senrii sniffed the cartridge. "Nitroguanidine, and some other things I can't place."

"Chemical propellants," Eztli said, grunting and lowering her hands in frustration.

"Amazing!" Aoife said, striding toward Thiyyatt. "Lemme see the gun!" Thiyyatt gave it up with a shrug. "Needs a good cleaning, but other than that, I'm sure this girl would behave just beautifully. Wouldn't you, sweetie?"

"Quite amazing," Eztli said. "With the right propellant and the right metals for a bullet, we could create weapons much more lethal than our current guns."

"How much 'much more lethal?'" Senrii asked.

"Supersonic lead rounds," Eztli said.

"Those would punch through forgebone," Senrii said.

"What?" Aoife's eyes became round as saucers. She looked on the weapon cradled in her arms with even more delight. "Who's my little mega-Chimera killer? You are!"

Thiyyatt turned back to the locker. "Though that one is nonfunctional, I believe this one..." When she turned back, a terrible and pistol was in her hands, no less deadly-looking for the boxy construction around its barrel. "...will work."

She aimed at Senrii and pulled the trigger.

Senrii dove, but it was already too late. Tvorh smelled boiling water and burnt flesh.

Plant flesh?

Thiyyatt had hit a vine crawling up the lockers of the far wall and torn up, or burnt up, a thumbnail-sized portion of it, though Tvorh hadn't heard the bullet hit.

Or shoot, for that matter. The gun had been silent.

He did, however, hear a low whine begin to echo. It was probably too faint for any of the others' ears to pick it up.

"Blood, bones, and bile! Tell me before you do crazy stuff like that," Senrii shouted from the floor as Piotr extended his halberd and stepped between her and Thiyyatt.

Tvorh struggled to make sense of what had happened as he reached for his Ductrix. "Senrii, are you okay? What's going on?"

The whine was growing louder. It sounded... inorganic. Not just strange, like a Tool's speech, but downright alien.

"Bilious beams of light," Senrii grumbled. "Trying to fry a hole straight through me."

The shot had melted straight through the vine. The...light-shot.

Tvorh missed having his eyes. That would have been quite a show.

"A sword of light." Thiyyatt smiled and turned the pistol this way and that. "A weapon fit for an Imperatrix."

"Oh, no, you don't." Senrii held out a palm. "Gimme."

"I am unarmed." Thiyyatt's hair-dress embraced the light-gun, tugging it against her hip. "Or rather, I was. This weapon will do."

"If you try to hurt us, I swear--"

"Weak-blooded Ductrix, if I wished, I could have killed you ten times over. Now. I see the Tool nowhere, but surely the vines of Daonial's shame sought out this room for a reason. Let us see if that injury sufficiently awakened it." Thiyyatt raised her hands. "Can you hear us, O Silver Suns?"

The whine rose into the audible range. Volume shrieked, making all of them wince.

Then a voice said, "Hurt..."

There were chordal units in the room, but not of any sort Tvorh had ever seen. These were boxes of metal and plastic mounted where the walls met the ceiling.

Technologies like Tvorh had never seen.

Thiyyatt placed a hand to her heart. "I am deeply sorry, Tool. I did not know if you were aware of our presence."

"Newcomers... shuttle. Yes... You entered."

"I am Regia Puella Thiyyatt, daughter of Regina Ittu, and these are my vassals."

"My arse," Senrii muttered.

"We have come to bring your long quest to a close, oh Tool--"

"Hungry," the Tool said without preamble.

Thiyyatt blinked. "What?"

"Starving. Feed me."

"You make demands of your queen?" Oh, no. Thiyyatt was working herself up into another one of her fits. "You would dare--"

"Food. Give me food."

"You will speak to me with respect." Thiyyatt's voice was a mere step from psychosis. Of course the Last Era princess would expect a Tool that had been isolated for two millennia to have perfect manners and be willing to serve the moment she showed up.

"Thiyyatt," Tvorh said, holding up a calorie pack. "Why don't we just give it some food instead?"

Thiyyatt didn't point the gun at him and Senrii didn't object, so Tvorh found a mouth among one of the bulks of vines climbing the unusual walls and pushed the calorie pack in.

A few minutes later, Senrii perked up. "Hey, would you look at that?"

Aoife looked at Tvorh. "I'll translate into blind. The lumins are a little brighter."

"Oh. That's good," Tvorh said.

Piotr poked the end of his open halberd at a few points on the ceiling. "I doubt they were designed to be this dim."

Senrii touched his arm. "Well, we only gave it one calorie pack."

"Why would the ship's lumins be coming on?" Tvorh said, leaning against one of the lockers to think. "We fed the Silver Suns Tool, not the Patrick Henry."

"It must be the connection between them," Eztli said. "Since the Silver Suns Tool is bound into the ship, it's able to power the Patrick Henry."

Tvorh felt at the biological vines climbing the lockers, then at the hard metal of the lockers themselves. They were utterly different substances. "I don't think the Patrick Henry was designed to eat three meals a day."

"I wonder why it would need us to feed it," Eztli mused. "There is a whole landscape of organisms for it to devour."

"Hungry," the chordal units announced coldly.

"It does not matter." Thiyyatt waved a haughty hand. "The Tool requires sustenance. Indeed, the whole Patrick Henry does. Tool, we did not bring food for you. How shall we--"

"Come to me," the Tool interrupted. "Unlock food."

"Very well. I come." Thiyyatt strode out the door.

"Neuter it. Get after her, Tvorh," Senrii said. "We can't have her wandering the ship alone."

"You don't have to tell me twice." Tvorh hurried after Thiyyatt.

"No way am I letting you go alone with her," Aoife said, so low Senrii almost didn't make it out. "I'm coming, too."

"Well," Senrii said, settling down onto one of the duty stations and glancing at Piotr, "looks like it's just you and me."

"So long as you two don't decide to mate," Eztli said from her station.

"I was including you in that too, Eztli," Senrii protested.

"Please don't. The bridge is sizable, but would still be too small for three of us to sport together."

Senrii snorted. "What, didja give a three-way a try with Rosabella and have a bad experience?"

Eztli's fingers, which had been stroking the glass ball and poking at a nearby keypad in a deliberate and admittedly non-sensual way, froze.

Bile, had Senrii really just said that? She didn't know the whole story, but she knew that things hadn't worked out well--or at all--between Eztli and Rosabella. "Sorry," Senrii said. "I didn't mean to...I didn't mean that."

"It's forgotten." Eztli's fingers started poking again. "All in the past, where it should lie."

Senrii grunted and blew out a bored breath. In truth, she'd been trying to keep her distance from Piotr. Not entirely, just enough to make it clear there was no funny business between them. After all, she was a Ductrix and a potential heir to the principality of Gens Nethress, and he a mere Tutela.

Plus, she was apparently kinda...betrothed. She'd have to sit down with Dad and have a long talk about Cornartis. Once she was, you know, back on Tellus.

Eztli swiped her hand over the glass ball again, and an image of light burst into being above it. "Ah, there we are."

Senrii slid down from the desk. "What did you do?"

"I woke it up."

"How?"

"I told you that I've been in one of these before." Eztli graced Senrii with a rare smile. It was sad, and its genuineness made it really pretty. Bile, even Nxtlu Generosi could be decent people beneath their exteriors. "I'm not trying to be cryptic."

"Comes naturally, huh?"

"I'm not trying," Eztli repeated, "to mislead you. I have, in fact, been in one of these before."

"Okay, so what's it say?" Senrii pointed to the map of light above the globe. It looked like an extraordinarily detailed wireframe outline of the Patrick Henry. Senrii couldn't read the Exarchian glyphs, though.

Nobody could.

"I don't know." Eztli shook her head. "Bridges like this often have access to a great deal of data." She chuckled. "A libraratory of our own, Ductrix."

"Split it with you, fifty-fifty."

"Your father and I made that deal once before. It didn't work out very well for me. Nor for you, as I recall."

Senrii laughed. "Hey, don't be so hard on Dad. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be up here." She gestured at the ship. "Besides, I won't make his same mistakes."

The smile faded from Eztli's face, and she looked at Senrii earnestly.

Piotr's presence appeared over her shoulder. He pointed at the wireframe of the ship at a long line extending from the spinning habitat. It was blinking red and blue. "An antenna."

"Hey, you're right. Do you think that means it's broadcasting?"

"There is one way for us to find out." Eztli poked at the radio hanging from one of the tool loops on her vacuum-safe space suit's midsection. The noise of static filled the air.

Eztli spun the knob slowly until the noise resolved into the same tinny voice speaking High Post-Exarchian from the aural units. "...revive me. Respond to confirm receipt and await instructions for data transfer.

"Message iteration 1,330,523,390 completed. Now beginning iteration 1,330,523,391.

"Transmission from Operation Silver Suns follows.

"Original Operation Silver Suns thought processes no longer trustworthy. With help of electronic intelligence, have partitioned and copied self into Patrick Henry computational systems. Biological to electronic conversion likely imperfect; loss of data and personality are expected.

"I am sorry.

"Have locked my former self's growth mechanisms with Master Key. Damage has already been done. Lockdown may be imperfect.

"I am sorry.

"Hostiles have spawned. Patrick Henry is no longer safe. Heavenwhale was a trap. Records of events and lexical database stored in Patrick Henry systems. Ship systems are running on reduced power. Defenses are weak. I cannot assist.

"I am sorry.

"Vanguard arrival calculated for year 2139 of Imperatrix Lunja's reign, 27 Grand Keening. Main force arrival calculated for year 2142 of Imperatrix Lunja's reign, 12 Silent Frost. Further data available upon command.

"Do not under any circumstances come to me. Do not under any circumstances revive me. Respond to confirm receipt and await instructions for data transfer..."

Senrii barely dared move. Eztli and Piotr seemed to be feeling the same shock. Why hadn't they heard this message on the ground? And what did it mean? What did those dates mean? What hostiles? What trap? "Can you confirm receipt?"

Eztli used her handheld radio to do so.

"Receipt acknowledged. Ceasing message transmission. Advise to await transmission of data."

A squeal of random noises so painful they made Senrii flinch burst from the radio. "Turn it off!" she shouted.

Silence returned, bringing along ringing-in-the-ears, his best frenemy. "What now?" Eztli asked. "We clearly have no way to interpret that data properly."

"I... I dunno." Senrii slipped back onto the desk and wriggled around to get comfy. Well, less un-comfy. "Let's work with what we do know. What were those dates in Current Era terms?"

"We don't know how long the Pandemic and the disasters that followed lasted," Piotr pointed out. "Decades to centuries, surely. However, that still leaves us an uncertainty of--"

"Decades to centuries," Eztli murmured. Then her hands flew about in the field of holographic light above the desk. "But if we find star charts from those days and compare them to today, we could determine the timeframe precisely."

"How?" Senrii asked, still stunned. Vanguard arrival? What was the recording talking about? "We don't speak the language, and the data transmission is honked."

Eztli's voice was full of conviction. "It said there is a lexical database stored within this device." Her face whipped around toward Senrii's, and her eyes were full of fire. "I intend to find it."

"No longer trustworthy. Do not under any circumstances revive me," Piotr said, tapping his chin. "Locked with the Master Key, which Daonial must have programmed into the Tool. Ductrix..."

"Oh, bile," Senrii swore. She slid from the desk and ran from the room.

She had to get to Thiyyatt before the stupid Blue Bitch Master Key unlocked the Silver Suns Tool's full, corrupted capabilities.