"You realize the improbability of your story, I presume."

"I realize it, Kamarile Sedai. It's true all the same. The Venusian terraforming station was overrun by walking dead men. No, I don't know where they came from or what reanimated them."

Eval adjusted his position on the couch, trying to conceal his reaction to her. She'd done her best to dress unattractively, but there was only so much one could do while still looking professional.

"And you hold to the story as well, Letan?"

Letan seemed visibly nervous, tugging at her collar. "It's the truth. I can't promise they'll be there if we go back. I can't promise they won't, either. We need to send an automated device to get a better look at the place before we resume the mission. Or give it up, I suppose, if there are still monsters swarming the surface."

"I'm sure that suggestion has already occurred to the Rodholders." Kamarile consulted her notes. "Neither of you are showing any signs of abnormal stress trauma. Eval, we will have to keep an eye on you because of your past episodes of violence. You're not a suspect, but your problems could be exacerbated by this incident."

Eval spoke up. "We're sure Detosh is all right, aren't we?"

"To the best of my knowledge, he is. The bite was infected, but only in a fairly ordinary manner. You don't have to fear he'll vomit blood and rise from the dead." She checked her files quickly; yes, that was what the medical report said. Though it was odd that normal Earth bacteria would be found on Venus.

Letan uncrossed and recrossed her legs. Why was she fidgeting so much? Wait. Kamarile reached up and fiddled with a button on her suit. Eval, of course, pretended so transparently not to stare that he might as well have goosed her. Letan...blushed faintly and looked away. So that was how it was. Well, it might do Eval some good to have a friendship with a woman he couldn't seduce.

"I intend to keep a close watch on you both. I won't violate your privacy, but you should remember that I'm here to listen to any difficulties you may have in the future." Eval quirked a faint smile. "Try not to waste my time, please." Letan managed to look simultaneously dejected and relieved. No doubt she knew that Kamarile had no interest in a sexual relationship of any kind.

Kamarile flipped up her viewscreen by way of dismissal. She had several minutes before her next client, and she intended to make use of them. Eval and Letan glanced at each other, mutually shrugged, and told her good evening.

The new program "A. M." had sent her certainly had its points. As an accurate depiction of Compulsion, it failed rather dramatically, but flows were difficult to record on any medium, and in any case, the scenario worked better psychologically than an Aes Sedai staring at someone and forming a web on their brain. There was the question of where A. M. had gotten his actors, of course, but there was no evidence of anything untoward on the video. It was a harmless indulgence, one that would likely lose its appeal over the course of a few months. And if it didn't, well, Kamarile knew how to discipline herself.

"Whew," Letan muttered. "I have to admit, that just isn't fair. At least we didn't run into Mierin Eronaile coming in for trauma counseling on our way out."

"How is that an 'at least we didn't'?" Eval asked. "I wouldn't have minded."

"We don't stand any more chance with her than with Kamarile Sedai," Letan pointed out. "She's basically Lews-Therin-sexual."

"So we go out on the town and take out our fantasies on whoever we meet at the bar," Eval suggested. "Or failing that, we retire to our respective beds and spin the Mirror of Mists in the air above us."

"You have a twisted and disturbing perspective on dates, Eval." Letan shook her head in mock disapproval.

"Is that an agreement to be my wingman?"

"No," Letan said, "but I'll let you be mine."

"You're on."

"Kamarile," the receptionist program said. "Next client in two minutes."

Kamarile sighed regretfully and fastened her pants. She could have used a little longer. "Who's the next client again?"

"Elan Morin Tedronai."

"Really? Elan? I'd forgotten entirely...it's been years."

"Null input," said the receptionist unhelpfully.

A chime rang out just before Elan strolled casually into the office. He took a moment to lean over and inhale the scent of some fresh flowers she'd left on her desk before sitting down on the couch.

"That's a rather strong scent," Elan observed.

"They're engineered for it," Kamarile informed him. "It's one of Ishar's lesser triumphs, but I find them quite nice."

"Yes, I agree," Elan said mildly. Curious...Elan never commented on flowers and the like.

"Are you feeling all right, Elan?" There was always the danger of a relapse, even hundreds of years later, when you went through what Elan had. Every so often, something would set the man off and he'd revert to obsessing about death.

"I'm feeling well, actually, Kamarile. That's what I came here to discuss."

"Elan, I don't think it would be wise to simply break off treatment sessions. I know you need them quite infrequently these days, but you remember your sister's accident." The computer controls on her jo-car had failed, and for weeks she'd been on the verge of death before finally pulling through. Eventually, Restorers had even managed to get rid of the tremors nerve damage had caused in her arms. In the meanwhile, however, Elan had gone into another suicidal episode.

"You don't understand, Kamarile." Elan leaned forward on the couch. "I know I will probably always need occasional counseling. But I've found a mystery worth solving, I think. I expect it will keep my attention for the foreseeable future. I came to let you know that, for the moment, I have a very good reason to live...and to let you in on it."

Joar turned to face the music with a sigh.

"I know this has been a struggle for you all," he said. His bandmates watched him impassively. "Aside from the memorial concert-which I admit as an obvious fluke-we've been performing to smaller and smaller crowds for the last five years. I don't know what I've been doing differently. I don't know how I've lost my touch. But I take responsibility. If anyone wants to stay and work with me, feel free to do so. If not, I wish you the best of luck."

Irridel, his percussionist, nodded. "I wish you the same, Joar. I hate to say it, but I feel as if I've given up enough of my life to this band. I like all you people well enough, and I hope to stay in touch, but, well...look, I can't channel. Ten years is nothing to you, but it's a good bit of my life. I need to figure out what to do with what's left." Joar tried to offer him a friendly handshake, but Irridel clasped him in a warm hug instead, then offered the same to each of the rest in turn.

His balfonist and backup vocalist, Xaradu, gave a half-hearted shrug. "To be honest, I don't know what else to do right now. If you don't mind, I'll stay on as long as there's a band to be on." She gave Irridel another, briefer hug, and went to stand by Joar. "There may come a time when I concede that it's over. Not yet."

"I think it'd be different," said his bass vocalist and guitarist, Godan, "if we were more famous. I'd really prefer to stay. But my mother wants me married, and for that I have to return to Stedding Tsofu. If I can, and you hold the band together, maybe I'll be back." He reached down and patted Joar on the shoulder.

Nen, who played the corea and the flute, was the last to speak up. "If you'll take my advice, Joar...I wonder if the culture isn't leaving us behind. Look, for the last couple of hundred years there's been a trend toward abstract, intellectual music. There's nothing wrong with that, it's just a style, but before all these 'sound sculptures', people used to listen to music that excited their passions. Maybe we ought to get out in front and try doing that again."

Joar hesitated. "I...well, Nen, I've been part of that trend, you know. Are you sure I'm even capable of playing the kind of music you're thinking of?"

Nen nodded vigorously. "You bet you are, Joar! I've listened to everything you've done. You're a musical genius, whether the world acknowledges it any more or not. You fell in line with what was being offered at the time, and I don't blame you for doing it, but maybe that's your problem. Maybe you've been stuck into a style that just doesn't fit you. Besides," he added with a grin, "I've read that a lot of the time, musicians like that get by on looking good, like us."

"So we just look good, is that it?" Joar pretended offense.

Xaradu winked at him. "Not 'just', but you do. "

Joar looked around. "All right, then. Thanks to both of you for staying, and good luck to Godan and Irridel. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for elsewhere. With that taken care of, we need a couple more musicians. I'll try and write up something different, and we'll see where it takes us."

"To the music," Godan said amiably, and the rest chimed in after him. "To the music."

"Lews."

"Mierin." It was the first time he'd been in a room with her in years. It seemed that for once, Lews Therin had no idea what to say. "I'm sorry for not answering your calls. I didn't realize-"

"That it was actually important? Yes, Lews, a renowned physicist is your delusional stalker and fangirl. I actually thought about not bringing you in on this after all." She watched the sheepish look grow on his face.

"So why did you?"

"Because you really are one of my few intellectual peers. Because I can trust you to do the right thing where the world is concerned, even if you are an ass to your girlfriend. And because, in spite of everything, I really do love you."

Lews frowned thoughtfully. Well, he had better think on that. She wasn't going to let him go so easily this time. She hadn't gone to all this trouble to get his attention again just to have him tell her she was a power-crazed stalker for a second time. She picked up her mug of coffee and took a sip. Unfortunately, Elan seemed to think everyone liked their milk to have a little coffee in it; she set the mug down with a grunt of disgust.

Elan strode back into the room at that moment, chatting with Barid. "...and now I think it's time we got this little coffee hour going...what, Mierin?" Mierin glared at the mug, then back at him. "Oh. Well, there's another pot now if you want something different. The object of discussion today is this." He set the little gold-inscribed cylinder down on the table. "Mierin filled this well by draining a storm that she believed to have been created with the One Power. Yet it seems, on first examination, to still be empty. We now believe it may be full of the same force she and Beidomon tried to tap at the Sharom, and that the storm was caused by its uncontrolled radiation from the Bore."

Barid recoiled from the well. "Shouldn't we simply destroy that? Or at least lock it away? Whatever it was you tried to tap into, Mierin, it destroyed most of the Collam Daan."

"I'm aware of that," she said icily. "More aware than you will ever be. Unfortunately, we need to study it to prevent more disasters from taking place. Once we understand what it is, we can properly seal the Bore and have done with it."

Elan pointed out, "We have reason to think that multiple recent apparent violations of natural law are the result of uncontrolled Bore radiation. I have files on incidents ranging from a reversal of the normal effects of chora trees to a collapse of the grid lines in Tzora, leading to widespread outages, to the transformation of one unfortunate man into a puddle of inanimate water."

Mierin supposed that if he didn't want to bring up the holographic dragon attack, it wasn't her place to raise the issue. "I started all this. It's my job to finish it. Elan thinks there may still be a way to harness the energy, but if you ask me, it's not workable at this time. Maybe in a century we'll be advanced enough to try again."

"I can't imagine why the Creator would make such a force if not for us to use in some way," Elan argued.

Mierin looked to Barid and Lews, rather than answering. "You all know my opinion on the idea of a Creator. But even if there is one, and even if he did mean for us to use it, we're just not ready yet."

"I can't believe we're the only ones you thought of inviting to this little social," Barid questioned, sipping his coffee.

"We have a number of other candidates," Mierin said, "and we may still be contacting some of them. Ishar Morrad Chuain was our next pick, but he'd be working out of his field. Also, I'm a little concerned about his transhumanist leanings. He originally supported the Bore project, and he might be too myopic to help us close it now."

"I thought you were transhumanist yourself, Mierin." Barid's response was probably meant to be some kind of counter.

"I am. But responsibly. The Bore is not a viable source of power at this time. I'm not opposed to keeping some of the energy around to study, especially if it helps us seal the puncture back up, but that's all."

"I've spoken to Kamarile," Elan brought up, "but so far she knows only that I'm working on the mystery of the anomalies. If the rest of you approve, I'll fill her in the rest of the way, but I don't know that she'll want to get involved. It's even further out of her line of work than Ishar's."

Lews swirled his coffee, looking troubled. "Why not bring this up to the Collam Daan? Or better yet, to the Hall of the Servants?"

"The Hall is in a transitional state," Elan said. "They chose Rexam Wol as an interim First Servant to even out the power vacuum left by Duram's departure. I'm concerned that Rexam would be very out of his league in dealing with the kind of crisis this could turn into, and I'd rather not provoke a vote of no confidence unless a crisis actually has arisen."

"You do realize that people have died already." Lews took a swallow of coffee.

"People die," Elan said. "I hope that doesn't sound callous, but the numbers at present are barely above the background count. Consider what may happen if it suddenly worsens while the Hall of Servants is in a state of disarray. Yes, if we cannot solve it ourselves, we should get help. But why make matters worse if it isn't necessary?"

Lews made a face; Mierin wasn't sure whether it was for the uncomfortable moral situation or the coffee. He had some self-righteous tendencies, but overall he was a pragmatic man. She admired that in him.

Just as he seemed about to say something, the door chimed. "Are you expecting someone else, Elan?" Barid looked uneasy. "I thought it was to be the four of us for now."

"No one," Elan said quietly. "But if it's who I suspect it is, I trust him. Even with this."

Barid shot a blank look at Mierin, who offered one back. Lews looked just as baffled. Elan gave them a faint smile and opened the door. The man standing in the hall had faintly sallow skin, glossy black hair, and a bit of a tilt to his eyes. Yet in many ways his facial structure resembled Elan's. Certainly he had more cheer in his smile than she'd ever seen Elan have. He seemed about the same age as the rest of them, perhaps a decade or two younger; it was hard to say except that he wore a fashionable fancloth cloak, cut just so.

At the sight of him, Elan...brightened. It was astonishing to see her former teacher smile like that. "Mael," he said, and gathered the man into an embrace.

"Am I interrupting something?" the younger man queried, looking around the room. "No worries. Any friends of yours are friends of mine, father."