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their own sphere of influence. We used to be terrified of the Legion, Beta Three. We were on the Legion death-list, once—maybe we still are, but it doesn't matter any more. Cinta fooled us for a long time, it was good, but we're not stupid. We were pawns, the whole time—and Cinta was the only one who knew. It doesn't matter. We love that woman. We'll follow it right into Hell, if it wants. We'll never leave our Cinta."
    "It sounds as if this Cinta person is the one with all the answers. Is that why we're in this room?"
    "Yes to both. Just a frac." Her slender fingers flashed over the controls. She adjusted the screen so I was just out of the picture. She flashed me a quick smile, and nervously brushed back her short wispy blonde hair with one hand. The screen filled with light. "It will take a few fracs to make the connection," she said. I watched her, my mind in neutral. It was going to take awhile for me to sort it all out, I knew. I was a dishwasher—what did I know about the Legion? It was ridiculous, I thought. They must have the wrong person! Surely I would remember something, if it were really true. The screen crackled suddenly, and flashed blue-white.
    "Is it true?" A female voice, from the d-screen. I couldn't see her features—Whit had turned the screen away from me.
    "Absolutely!" Whit was beaming, triumphant. "We have Beta Three, Commander. And it's right here. Just for it, Cinta. Happy birthday—with love, from sub."
    "Let us see." There was no emotion in the voice. Whit reached out a finger and swivelled the d-screen around to face me.
    A stunning image of beauty gazed at me out of the screen. She was exquisite—pale brown skin, lustrous shoulder-length auburn hair, exotic Assidic eyes and a wide, sensual mouth. The smouldering eyes, the high cheekbones and the very fine facial features suggested the blood of the Conqueror, a chill ghost of the bloody past. Yet she was so fragile and perfect she looked like an angel, fallen to earth through some heavenly tragedy. I knew this was no ordinary girl. As her gaze fell on me she sucked in her breath and one hand went up to her lips, an involuntary gesture. She had paled, ever so slightly, and now she was frozen, taking me in. Then the hand came down, and her lovely face was a stony mask.
    "We thank it, Whit," she said quietly.
    "Pandaros helped us," Whit said. She was still beaming proudly. But I hardly heard it. My mind was swirling madly, my gaze rivetted on the vision in the screen. Her voice! 'Will you please stop doing that?' The words were echoing in my skull. This girl, Cinta—she wasn't just on the screen, she was in my mind as well. I knew her! She had come to me one night in my dreams, back in my filthy cold little cube in Agra Workers Hostel Number 14. I had been sharpening my knife, lost to the world, and she had come out of my mind, out of my past, cutting past all those barriers like magic, hissing right in my ears—'Will you please stop doing that?' She had been upset. And there had been a child—and something else—a beast, a giant…yes, there was no doubt—this was her, my past!
    "I remember you!" I exclaimed. Then I stopped, shocked. I had said "I", and "you". That was CrimCon vocabulary, sub talk. Strange—it had just popped out.
    "I remember you, too, Wester," the vision said calmly, "and I'm very pleased you're getting your memory back." The color was coming back to her face now. And she was talking CrimCon too! "I'd like to welcome you back. What exactly do you remember?" Somehow her speech sounded perfectly natural. The you's and I's didn't bother me at all.
    I squirmed, uneasily. "Uh…nothing. Really. We just…I just…seem to remember it. You. Your face. Your voice. That's all. Nothing else."
    She was silent for awhile, looking out of that flickering d-screen, glowing out of the dark. And my whole world seemed to focus in on her, right there, in that shimmering field of light. Had I really known this angel?
    "Then it's true,"