aThe Planetoid prison system was created in response to the Killing Timesa"the Serials. Ten million people killeda"thatas a problem. How many people did you see killed, Steve?a He kept his eyes, cold and belligerent, on hers. A band of pressure formed at the base of her neck and she twitched it away.

aI know. You werenat even born yet,a she said. She shouldnat be doing this. It was very unteacherly of her to lose herself in anger. But the force of it was bigger than she was, tightening with the bands at the base of her neck, the pressure at the back of her eyes, hands reaching for her that she didnat want reaching for her. Dammit, shead make it go away. Stop this s.h.i.t.

She saw that the rest of the students were gaping at her. She was shocking them. They were used to her being easygoing. Tolerant. She included them in her speech.

aItas so much easier to find convenient targets for your fears than to face them, isnat it? Just get rid of the empaths, and all those dark and horrible years, the memories your parents carry that they insist on telling you about, the fears you carrya"thatall all just go away. Except it wonat.a She strode to the middle of the room and wrote on the board in large letters the word witches.

aLots of these were killed in the Middle Ages, along with the cats people said were their consorts. Only thing is, with the cats almost extinct, the rat population grew. And thena"guess what? The plague overran Europe, with not a healer in sight to do a thing about it.a She wrote in even larger letters the word jews. aGetting rid of them sure helped the Germans fix their economic problems, didnat it?a she said.

She wrote on the board again, gays. Indians.

BLACKS. WOMEN.

And finally, all in capitals, the one word she was afraid to write most. empaths.

aSomebody tell me what the h.e.l.l the difference is?a Steveas mouth clamped shut, and Katia put a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

Then she turned back to the cla.s.s, quiet again, already ashamed of her outburst. Her anger settled in the room around them. She lowered her head and rubbed hard at the back of her neck. The pressure dissolved as quickly as it had risen.

Murmurs rose and died away. She dropped her hand and looked up.

aLook,a Glen said, anot everyone here thinks those things. That att.i.tudea"itas just in the air.a aI know,a she said more quietly. aBut why do you have to stand downwind and breathe it? Youare here to learn the difference between the smell of truth and the smell ofa"of s.h.i.t.a She sighed. Facing the truth. Getting the dearly beloved illusions out of the way. Teaching. This wasnat rest leave. It was more of the same job, with the danger included.

Gone now, that pressure at the back of her head, in her eyes, but she didnat know when it would occur again. Didnat know its source or intent. Didnat know anything. Just knew danger when she smelled it. Like truth, it had its own scent.

aThat donat mean we have to take your truth,a Jesse pointed out.

aYouare right,a she agreed. aBut how will you find your own?a aIt might be easier,a Selica said, aif we knew what we were talking about.a aHowas that?a Jaguar asked.

aI donat even know what the h.e.l.l the empathic arts are, except like itas some gypsy s.h.i.t about people who tell you your future and read your mind.a aWe shouldnat be talking about this,a Steve growled. aItas not right.a She turned to him. He stared at her, silently. No, she thought. I wonat fight with him again. She turned back to the board and began writing.

aEmpathic arts is a general term that includes a number of psi talentsa"scientifically identifiable states of consciousness,a she said as she put terms down on the board. aThey include empathic touch or the ability to directly experience or share someoneas emotions, memories, and thoughts. Also telepathy, which is a subvocal reading or projection. Clear dreaming and clairvoyancea" receiving knowledge through dreams or waking visions. The capacity to see events and objects that are distant. Thereas espera"long distance touch, and the art of the Adept, which is visions of future possibilities. Unfortunately itas rarely specific enough to give you the right horse.a The students laughed at this, and the tension lessened some.

aThereas others, but whatas known about them is anecdotal. Shape-shifting, Protean change, the Greenkeeper, and the chant-shaper all have stories, but no hard evidence. Questions?a she asked.

aWhat about telekinesis?a Katia asked.

Unexpected question, Jaguar thought. aThe ability to move an object without touching it,a she filled in. aThatas a little different than the others. Everyone is born with some capacity for telepathy or empathy, and skill beyond that is a matter of practice. Telekinesis is inborn.a Glen chewed on his lip. aThat sounds kind of cool. How far away can they work? And how precise can they be?a aDepends on the Telekine. How much they practice. They can make great surgeons, though.a She didnat tell them that she knew a Telekine, a woman who could probe the inside of neural matter as if her fingers were lasers. She was one of the few people who knew why she was so good at her job. Jaquar had also had a prisoner who was a Telekine, with a slight gift for empathy as well. Head chosen to give up his gift because he didnat trust himself. Jaguar was the only Teacher who knew how to help him do that.

She put her chalk down, brushed her hands off.

Steve leaned forward and raised a hand. aDr. Addams? You leaving something out.a aWhat?a she said, looking to him.

aMind f.u.c.king,a he replied, dropping the words into the cla.s.sroom like a gauntlet on the floor.

She picked it up. aActually, that comes under a different heading.a aYeah? What?a aAdvertising,a she said.

The cla.s.s hooted, and Steveas face flushed over with red.

aOr,a she added, aeducation. Or even religion. Weave all got something weare trying to sell. And itas up to you to figure out what you want to buy.a They nodded appreciatively.

Enough, she thought. That was enough, and she hoped it wouldnat get her in more trouble than she was already. So far she wasnat doing very well at keeping the h.e.l.l out of it.

aHad enough lecture for one night?a she asked. aSteve?a He glowered at her and shook his head. aYou have a right to your opinion.a aAnd you have a right to yours,a she agreed. aLetas talk about something less frightening.a aLike what?a Jesse asked. . aGhosts. Vampires. The undead.a aWhat?a Selica inquired.

aHalloweenas coming up,a she noted. aWho knows where the ritual started, and more importantly, whatare you all gonna be?a Talk turned to familiar ground, and everyone relaxed except Steve, who stayed sullen; and Katia, who stayed watchful; and Jaguar, who found that Halloween carried its own set of unexpected memories and tensions for her.

Tonight was the harvest moon. She couldnat help but wonder what Alex was doing without her.

Planetoid Three, Toronto Replica Alex didnat have to go far to speak to his ancestors.

Lakesh.o.r.e was good enough, as long as he was willing to be chilly, feel the wind and damp around him, and watch the harvest moon rise and set. Tonight was set aside for honoring the ancestors.

Head done this ritual with Jaguar since the year after she arrived and they realized that they could share their knowledge of the arts with each other. In fact, theyad done all the seasonal rituals together. Solstice and equinox, harvest and plantinga"even though they rode a sky island that was only partly composed of earth, the ceremonies still needed to be performed.

As he lit a small fire and began the song of welcome and thanks, he felt anger rising in him.

She should be here. And dammit, she would be here if she wasnat always getting herself in trouble, wasnat so wild and insistently raw.

He groaned to himself. This was not the right mood to start with. He needed grat.i.tude and an open heart if he was to listen to the ancestors, hear what they needed from him. He moved closer to his small fire, and focused. Breathed. Felt the play of s.p.a.ce opening around him.

His ancestorsa"people who trekked cold northern countries in search of sun. People who crossed the land ma.s.ses that formed an ancient bridge, seeking sun. Going south.

Seeking war. Seeking stories. Seeking sun. Always, seeking light and sun and heat and fire.

They were here tonight, the many lives it took to make his.

He could hear them nearby. And they were all laughing at him.

Laughing at him.

He turned his face from the fire head made, to the sky, where the stars burned hot and the moon, that grandmother, did her job of pulling at water and earth without visible force.

aWhat did I do?a he asked plaintively.

But he already knew the answer to that.

If he didnat get at the truth in himself, he wouldnat find any visions, because all his energy would be focused on maintaining an illusion. That was just the way it worked, or didnat work, as the case might be. Even when he was a teenager, and first started having visions, he knew that.

He was thirteen the first time head seen a vision. He was playing a game with a Ouija board when the room disappeared and he was walking in a place head never been, talking to creatures he didnat even know how to name at the time. He remembered how it frightened his friends when he kicked the board across the room and wouldnat tell them what happened. They looked at him a little differently after that. He looked at himself differently, too.

For a while he thought he was going mad. Unlike Jaguar, he had very little cultural context to understand and explore what was happening when he fell into Adept s.p.a.ce, or found himself in the mind of a friend, or felt knowledge pa.s.s directly from an object into his hands. He stumbled through on his own, learning what he could from reading books and watching shows on TV. And he learned to hide. In fact, one of the earliest capacities he realized he had was the ability to block knowledge of his presence from other peopleas minds.

He could, for brief periods of time, be invisible. Handy tool, that.

In college, he studied psychology, the nervous system, physics, and non-Western religions, practicing on his own with a polyglot of traditions as his guide. By the time he was in the army, he knew how to utilize most of his gifts, including the Adept s.p.a.ce, though he didnat know the names for them yet. Then, in Manhattan, head met Sophie, a woman left on the streets in the upheaval. Head found her shelter, and shead recognized the empath in him, took him on as a student. He learned a lot in very little time. Continued study and meditation taught him more.

Then there was Jaguar. She was nineteen the first time he saw her, and already profoundly capable in the empathic arts. He could still feel the shock of her presence the first time they met, as if his oldest vision had suddenly appeared in the flesh and sat calmly across the desk from him, asking how to get work on the Planetoids.

She had to go back to school, get a degree first, and another nine years pa.s.sed before she came to work in his zone. But the feeling was the same. The shock of recognition. The shock of the known, always known.

He didnat know her so much as he remembered her.

She was part of the first vision head ever seen, at the age of thirteen, while playing with a Ouija board.

He stood in a rain forest. Steamy, rain forest all around with the call of insects and night birds. Click and buzz of wings close to his ear. Heat swathing him like a second skin, and he walked toward a river that uncoiled itself through the land like a serpent eating earth and moving on. The texture of it was part of him in the same way his blood wasa"there, beating in his arteries and providing knowledge, unremarked by words or conscious volition. It was a blood texture, thick and wet and warm.

At the bank of the river he stopped and considered how to cross. A log floated by and he hopped onto it. It carried him downstream and across the wide water to the middle, where he saw a golden-spotted jaguar swimming the serpentine currents.

When his log drew parallel to her, her eyes called him like moonlight and he fell into them.

I choose you. I choose you.

Eyes pulling at him. Choosing him. Asking for his eyes.

He said yes.

At thirteen, he said yes easily, with no effort, because he didnat know any better. He didnat understand the danger. He only knew the pleasure of that complete union.

How could he choose the same now, or say yes to that wild union, consent to the force that was drawing him into her, allow himself to fall into her eyes?

How could he choose something so wild and avoid either domesticating it, or being eaten by it?

How could he?

The fiery eyes tugged at him, and he felt the warmth, the pleasure in going there. Felt his terror at letting himself fall into that.

He kicked sand at the fire and listened to it hiss. aI canat,a he insisted. aI canat. I canat.a A sigh of disappointment. Small laughter. Knowing laughter. He stood by a dying fire, staring into a moon that was falling away from him, into the darkness of s.p.a.ce, over the horizon and gone.

He stood and rubbed at his legs, which were cramped from squatting fora"for however long head been there.

This was all head get from his ancestors tonight.

As he walked home, he wondered if Jaguar was faring any better than he was on this day of the dead.

IT WOKE HER FROM A SOUND SLEEP, AND tossed her into terror.

She was asleep.

She was awake.

Something was happening to her body. Something like what happened in her office, only worse much worse. Convulsing it with pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure, waves sweeping her from dreams into waking.

Sleep. Was she sleeping? Bands of pressure wrapped her head, then stopped. Something like fire spread through her legs and into her groin.

aNo,a she gasped, watching her body as if it might be on fire as if she might be dying or making love and she couldnat tell which it was.

She tried to lift her hands to press at her belly, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, her v.a.g.i.n.a to feel the source and intent of the fire, but her hands were glued at her side. Tried to call out for help, as if anyone else in the house would hear or respond except if she yelled fire. Fire. Fire.

Fire. Woman of Fire.

Fire, choking her, moving through her swift as lightning, like lightning searing her to pleasure and pain and she couldnat breathe, felt strangling at her throat.

Hecate, I was sleeping. Just sleeping. Not open not doing anything.

Shead chosen not to engage in ritual tonight. It was too dangerous, with something ready to slip into her whenever she dropped her guard. Let Alex take care of the ancestors. Shead come home from cla.s.s, crawled out of her clothes and into bed, to sleep.

Sleeping is open enough. Open to dreaming. Open to be who you are in the place where you canat hide who you are.

Canat hide, Jaguar. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to go. n.o.body to help.

She lay glued to the floor. How did she get on the floor? She was on the floor, naked, body on fire with pain that became pleasure just as excruciating because she didnat ask for it had no control over it as it moved from breast to c.l.i.toris, nipple to lips, thighs to b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Close down, she told herself. Cut off contact.

But she couldnat because she didnat know the source or intent who or why or how and it had gotten into her gotten into her.

Need help, Jaguar? Call him. Call him you want him call him.

No. No contact, she told herself. That would make it worse. No contact. No Alex.

Call Alex.

Help. She needed help. Couldnat close. Couldnat close. Hands like lightning grabbed her, sliced at her brain. Hands like lightning held her and the charge coursed up and down her veins, stunning her with an ecstasy of pain. She struggled, the charge coursing through her.

No. Struggling was no good. Panic was no good. Stop fighting. Canat close, then open. Canat make it better, then make it worse.

She gasped for breath, feeling the absence of air in her lungs, and let go of struggling. Let go of fighting pleasure pain anything let it wash over her as her thoughts turned to one place left only sacred s.p.a.ce left to her sacred and safe safe safe in the most dangerous of ways.

She opened, and called to what she knew best.

Aiweeo. Aiweeo. Gaiwato. Gaiwato.

The words had no translation. They were the sounds of her heart and would work for n.o.body else.

Aiweeo. Aiweeo. Gaiwato. Gaiwato.

Then she felt it. Unmistakable.

Old friend. Shadow creature. Stalking the curled edges of time and s.p.a.ce. Growing out of the preverbal beginnings of her people, of herself. Self and not self. Spirit and not spirit. Dream and not dream. Matter and immaterial. It had been with her from the start. From the moment her grandfather chose her name.

She was being called into her power. Into a chant-shape.

She knew how to do this.

She let her body roll onto itself, curved herself over and over into the shape required, sleek and inaccessible, falling into the earth, the darkness, the silence.

I myself, spirit in flesh, speak.