There was only partial light in the space they found themselves in because their headlamps were all damaged save for Cacliocos'' and Voke''s. But all of them were there together, and alive, for now.


    Command line''s efforts had consigned them to a space perhaps two hundred meters wide. The ceiling had been just high enough for Betelgeuse to stand fully upright, but some hours into their vivisepulture the uneven face of rock above them rumbled and shifted several inches downward, and for one terrifying moment it looked as if it would all be over.


    But though they cringed and gritted their teeth in mortal fear, death did not come.


    They had no more rounds, and no more explosives on hand save for Cacliocos'' hypergolic claymores which, as it occurred, were missing their detonation trip-wires. When Thete asked how this had happened, Cacliocos explained that he had stuffed the wires in his magazine pouches, and that they must have fallen out in all the confusion of battle.


    And as they argued at the far end over the possible means of detonating the claymore, the twin shafts of dust-swirled light crossing and recrossing each other, Betelgeuse sat in the darkness beside Frederica''s supine form, the two of them shifting every few minutes to share brief looks the exact meanings of which were lost to the darkness.


    Betelgeuse was dimly aware that Cacliocos had divulged his Increment, and that as a Primary grade he had the means of producing nitroglycerin in small quantities; but in the circumstances there was much uncertainty as to whether the makeshift use of nitroglycerin to detonate the claymores would enable their escape or collapse the entire ceiling upon them.


    Cacliocos ultimately decided to do it anyway, for by the elapse of hours they were running low on oxygen canisters and every second closer to certain death. He would produce a portion of nitroglycerin that they would pack into an expended canister which they would then throw toward the row of claymores compacted into the earth at the far end of the space; the kinetic shock of the impact would be enough to set off the nitroglycerin canister, which would, in turn, detonate the thin layer of secondary C4 which served as the barrier separating the reactive components of the claymore''s hypergolic mixture.


    Frederica seemed to be breathing harder now and her grip on Betelgeuse'' hand was getting stronger, and though he couldn''t see her face properly he felt that something was changing.


    She called his name through the comms and the arguments stopped. Section Five gathered around her and under the intense glare of the headlamps her pupils started to dilate, and despite that she did not shift her gaze from Betelgeuse'' face. Under the silver light the penal brand looked dark and ragged upon her sweat-sheened forehead.


    I wonder… what all this would''ve been without having been chosen by the Ash Incunabula, Frederica croaked, and her eyes looked as if they were welling with liquid.


    We wouldn''t have met each other, Douglas sighed, and many other things wouldn''t have happened, yeah?


    It is not something to be denigrated. You have served better than most, madam, Cacliocos said softly.


    Why call her that, Douglas asked, as if the honorific sounded absurd to him.


    Respect. It''s respect, Voke said solemnly, and then fell silent.


    Shoulda respected us in other ways, Douglas muttered, his tone bordering on glib, but Thete raised her good arm and placed it softly on his shoulder, and her eyelid draped over her prosthesis so that its red pupil was shone dimly through the layer of skin.


    The Democracy has its practices. The Protectorate has its practices. None of that impinges upon your bearing. That is what I think, Cacliocos declared. He was so sure of himself that what he said seemed almost a truism.


    And I know that sir''s opinion is true, Thete managed, her voice already trembling.


    An echo like that of distant thunder reverberated through the ceiling. When their heads turned upward Betelgeuse saw the shadow consume Frederica''s face. The light came back and he saw her cheeks and found himself thinking that they had become far gaunter than when he had first seen her, those few months ago, when he had first become aware of her existence as Norma''s adversary. How things had changed. How much things could change.


    Why call it Ash anyway, she asked, and it felt like she was directing the question to Betelgeuse.


    He felt he knew this answer. Elder Bennett might have mentioned it, or perhaps he had read it in a book.


    He dredged up old memories of Edom-Zeta, but kept his silence.


    … What is it… with the name? Frederica was panting as if she was out of breath.


    It''s a myth, Cacliocos began to explain, it comes from the Old Empire. It is the order of the universe that there should be lesser and greater, and once things are returned to ashes they are considered lesser. But this assessment of worth says nothing of the honor of the men and women made to bear its burden.


    Might it not be God''s creation? When Voke said this Betelgeuse supposed he was just as much asking as asserting.


    Or it''s academic drivel, Douglas muttered. What''s the point of asking about it though, he wanted to say, but he held his tongue.


    I think you should save your breath, Thete said sullenly.


    … Betelgeuse, what do you think? She squeezed his hand and pulled him closer.


    … It may come from stories which lived before the Old Empire. And maybe it''s older than that, because everything that ever happens is a recursion, Betelgeuse said.


    But… where do you think it comes from? She stared at him, her eyes unblinking, parsing him for prevarication.


    Some say it''s a myth. But I read that it''s a trope from a game, Betelgeuse said. A trope that says the greatest are amongst the underdogs. I don''t know the truth either way.


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    A what, Douglas asked.


    A game, like a video game. From the time before the Intraweb and the ROs, Voke suggested, his voice unsure.


    Is that the truth? I want to know, Betelgeuse, Frederica gasped. For sure.


    So do we all, Betelgeuse thought to himself, but Thete glanced toward him as if she were trying to tell him something, and he said, barely loud enough that Frederica could hear, that it was.


    It sounded like she was hyperventilating. Betelgeuse thought he could feel her blood shimmy thickly through her veins, even though flesh, skin and exosuit separated their nerves.


    Her nostrils and mouth was crusted with dried blood, and her eyeballs glazed momentarily as she called another name out, an Alan or Alain or Allen or Aleun.


    The fit passed and her eyes cleared. And he was reflected in those brown pupils again, and he saw her sadness pass away into something approaching peace.


    Quickly, we gotta go, we gotta try to get the thing open, Douglas rambled. We go, now, we try it. We try it.


    But when the rest of Section Five left to make their preparations, Frederica would not let Betelgeuse go; seeing this, Thete nodded at him and they left Betelgeuse in the darkness to keep Frederica company.


    She released his hand slowly and raised her finger to her own helmet. Alarmed, his arm shot out and grabbed hers.


    But her fingers wriggled below the release and he got the gist of what she intended to do. Her eyes were pearly beads in the deep shadows, and his imagination made of them staring and accusatory things.


    Comms jabber was everywhere in his ears, a thick film of tactics, methods and means of escaping their predicament. Her breaths came hard and fast, coming in time then syncopated then slowly drifting out of time.


    They had somehow got the canister filled with nitroglycerin inside Cacliocos'' suit. They were ready to throw, even as Frederica came to her most confused moment. In Betelgeuse'' memories he found his father and certain wisdoms regarding life and death. He didn''t know if they were superstitions, but he did know they ran counter to the Elders'' sermons.


    The explosives detonated with an immense sound and the shockwave washed over them, amplified by that enclosed space. The ceiling juddered but did not fall.


    Then silence. The darkness was unchanged. Silence.


    He loosened his grip and heard the hiss of the emergency release and saw her lift her helmet over her head. Her features were difficult to make out but he felt that if he concentrated hard enough he could trace the contours of her cheeks by the photons which strayed from the headlamps now shaking haphazardly at the other hand of the cave.


    She must have said something because he saw her mouth move, but Betelguese couldn''t hear it through his helmet.


    Douglas was jabbering when Betelgeuse lifted the visor over his head. The air tasted stale and dusty and smelled faintly of rotten eggs.


    She shifted. What are you doing?


    Keeping you company. He held on to her hand again, by his own volition.


    Unintelligible noise spiked from their helmets, placed side by side upon the earth.


    Why? She felt the need to ask.


    So I can hear what you''re saying.


    … I didn''t say anything important.


    Betelgeuse brought himself closer so that the sound of her shallow breaths scratched at his eardrums. Her eyes were wet jewels and he wondered if she could see the stars through their cage of feldspar and sandstone.


    Where do you think Lawrence has gone? To heaven, at the end of the galaxy? They say there''s bliss, no matter what grade we are, so long as we''re loyal to God—her breath caught and she coughed and the cough interrupted her feverish, whispered rambling.


    … Can a woman be disloyal one time, and be loyal the next? She wheezed and her words were mixed with phlegmy whistles issuing from her larynx.


    Enough, Frederica. Save your breath. You have nothing to answer for.


    That''s advice that should come from a place of knowledge… Her sighs came ragged and forced and tickled Betelgeuse on his chin.


    I know few so dedicated to resisting oppression. There''s a tendency in all of us to make a master of ourselves, even in our petty rebellions, and maybe only one of us has mastered that tendency, he said.


    … Betelgeuse… Betelgeuse, where will I go? Where is freedom from here?


    I don''t know. But I will take your Incunabulum. I will keep it safe.


    Frederica''s breath caught in her throat again, and she choked and then spit a dark globule into the ground beside her.


    You… can read it. I want you to read it. But keep it from the others, promise me you''ll keep it from the others. It''s only for you to read, she said.


    Is it so important?


    It''s embarrassing, is all. And it tells of a previous me. The me now, together with you… I don''t think my heart is partial anymore, she said. And take the chocolate bar, please. It''s in my inner suit.


    Your inner suit?


    Yes. I didn''t want it to fall out.


    She was calmer now, no longer hyperventilating, and his face had long ago come close enough to feel the warmth of her breaths.


    I will take it, Betelgeuse said.


    And there was the blackbox. Destroy it. Destroy it, Frederica said.


    Put it out of your mind—It''s not important. And about your Incunabulum, I don''t think there''s anything to be embarrassed about. We shouldn''t be ashamed of things out of our control. Mine says Will-to-Power and that''s all it says.


    What does it mean?


    Change, I think.


    Is it why you''re able to withstand the compulsion?


    I suppose so. But that''s really not important right now.


    Betelgeuse, you need to put your helmet—


    I said it''s not what''s important. I''m glad to share this moment with you. Life doesn''t wait for important moments, and we should cherish it when we have the chance.


    … It''s getting dark… why is it so dark?


    It''s a dark cave, Frederica. It''s why I am holding your hand. Darkness first. My father says, go towards the light, when you see it.


    What… what… what do you… mean?


    I mean that this may… I mean, this is just the beginning of a different journey.


    Can''t hear… … journey?


    The beginning. Of a journey.


    I think… I wish… I had met you earlier… Then you could have… been a part of my story, she mumbled.


    Frederica. Frederica Jaine. We live life as stories begotten in stories, he said, whispering into her ear, taking her unwashed scent into his lungs, and you will be a part of my story forever.


    His statement, however, never found its reply.