him, shook her head and muttered something, ducking back into her cabin. Horza had stopped.

He stood there, thinking he was glad she was alive, realizing he hadn’t been walking properly—not like Kraiklyn. His tread

had sounded like

his own instead. A hand appeared from Yalson’s door as she pulled on a light robe, then she came out and

stood in the corridor, looking at the

man she thought was Kraiklyn, her hands on her hips. Her lean, hard face looked slightly

concerned, but mostly wary. Horza hid his hand with

the missing finger behind his back.

“What the hell happened to you." she said.

“I got in a fight. What does it look like." He got the voice right. They stood looking at each other.

“If you want any help—" she began. Horza shook his head.

“I’ll manage."

Yalson nodded, half smiling, looking him up and down. “Yeah, all right. You manage, then." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder,

in the

direction of the mess. “Your new recruit just brought her gear aboard. She’s waiting in the mess, though if you look

in now she might not think

it’s such a wonderful idea to join up."

Horza nodded. Yalson shrugged, then turned and walked up the corridor, through the mess toward the bridge. Horza followed

her. “Our

glorious captain," she said to somebody in the room as she went through. Horza hesitated at Kraiklyn’s cabin door,

then went forward to stick

his head round the door of the mess.

A woman was sitting at the far end of the mess table, her legs crossed over a chair in front of her. The screen was switched

on above her

as though she had been watching it; it showed a view of a Megaship being lifted bodily out of the water by hundreds

of small lifter tugs clustered

under and around it. They were recognizably antique Culture machines. The woman had turned

from the sight, though, and was gazing toward

Horza when he looked round the side of the door.

She was slim and tall and pale. She looked fit, and her black-colored eyes were set in a face just starting to show worried

surprise at the

battered face looking at her from the doorway. She had on a light suit, the helmet of which lay on the table

in front of her. A red bandanna was

tied round her head, below the level of her close-cropped red hair. “Oh, Captain Kraiklyn,"

she said, swinging her feet off the seat and leaning

forward, her face showing shock and pity. “What happened."

Horza tried to speak, but his throat was dry. He couldn’t believe what he saw. His lips worked and he licked them with a dry

tongue. The

woman started to rise from the table, but he put out one hand and gestured her to stay where she was. She sat

slowly back down, and he

managed to say, “I’m all right. See you later. Just… just stay… there." Then he pushed himself away

from the door and stumbled down the

corridor to Kraiklyn’s cabin. The ring fitted into the door, and it swung open. He almost

fell inside.

In something like a trance he closed the door, stood there looking at the far bulkhead for a while, then slowly sat down,

on the floor.

He knew he was still stunned, he knew his vision was still blurred and he wasn’t hearing perfectly. He knew it was unlikely—or,

if it wasn’t,

then it was very bad news indeed, but he was sure; absolutely certain. As certain as he had been about Kraiklyn

when he first walked up that

ramp to the Damage table, into the arena.

As though he hadn’t had enough shocks for one evening, the sight of the woman sitting at the mess-room table had all but silenced

him and

stopped his mind from working. What was he going to do. He couldn’t think. The shock was still resounding through

his mind; the image

seemed stuck behind his eyes.

The woman in the mess room was Perosteck Balveda.