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a lacy fold and wrap of sculptured metal. The bell sounds themselves were photonic, of course, though an old brass bell had been installed in the tower as an artistic gesture. Was there a way down from inside the tower? She could only hope so. One step at a time, trying to keep the rustling to a minimum, Vida made her way through the vegetation. With the holiday, there would be no workers up here to help her, not even a mech, much less a saccule gardener. Gardeners - tools. Vida crouched and searched for the sprinkler lines, then followed them, trotting bent double, to a valve. Her wrist-tel gave off bloody flashes that beat almost as quickly as her heart. The false Lifegiver was closing in. Vida found a valve, then let out a shaky sigh of relief. Just above hung a section panel, all powered up and set for automatic. She switched it to manual and ran the side of her hand down every button on the panel. Instantly, the roof park exploded with water jets from whirring sprinklers; light bars poured out a flood of high-cal amber light; sprays of insect repellent spewed out of fluted pipes. She heard a string of curses too foul for any real Lifegiver to know. With a laugh touched with terror, Vida ran for the bell tower. The Carillon stood inside a tangled growth of vines and decorative grillwork. Vida scrambled up this makeshift ladder to the opening at the top of the tower; she clung there for a moment, panting lor breath. She could just see the curve of brass of the Carillon’s false bell and what might be a stairwell panel. When she looked down, she saw a figure wearing black and white starred robes, all stained and wet, who was mercifully looking in the other direction at the moment. She froze, clinging with aching hands. Although he kept his cowl drawn around his face and his hands inside the wide sleeves, his broad build, wide-set hips and springy gait meant he had to be a Lep. When he drew something long, dark, and metallic out of his sleeve, Vida scrambled up the last metre of grillwork and hurled herself inside the bell tower. She lay gasping on the floor. Up above her the roof gleamed and glistened as the rare sunlight filtered in from outside; cubes of the strange blue glass-metal of the Colonizers lined the ceiling and continued down the walls a way. She rose to her knees, glanced round, and her heart turned cold. There was no way out.
    The shape she’d read as a stair panel was nothing of the sort, only an angled black slab, featureless, joined to the wall along its height - some land of old-fashioned Map access panel. Maybe, just maybe, it would have a help icon or a transmit. When she touched it, she felt a flare of warmth under her palm as the station came to life and brought hope with it, but no icons appeared. When in frustration she ran her hand over the surface, a faint glow caught the corner of her eye. She turned to see a revenant, its ghostly form shimmering through a series of body-shapes, human and alien. You didn’t see many revenants in Pleasure Sect, though some of the older stations did produce them. Since they weren’t fully functional, they appeared randomly, rarely spoke, and vanished without warning. This rev finally settled on a human shape, apparently solid though it glowed around the edges, a man with large black eyes and very long metallic silver hair, which undulated as if in a private breeze. He looked strange, his skin far darker than any she’d ever seen, even on Karlo Peronida and his family, and his face was ridged with knobs of smooth metal. He wore a glittering jewelled gown like the clothes in historical holonovels set in the early years of the Pinch. The revenant considered her, then raised one hand. A light flashed into her eyes. When she flinched back and yelped, he grinned.
    ‘Je’nevrelevpadumindoroolasveel -’ The revenant spoke very quickly, with a strange accent.
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘Je’ne padum las vyl -’
    ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’
    ‘Vas’i