Since there were no private rooms nearby, Juli ended up walking back to her car to return the call. "I'm sorry for the delay. What's going on?"

"It's all right," said Helmer. "Say, I heard your little girl is all grown up now. You must be proud."

Juli pressed her lips together and gave a stiff nod, remembering how she'd left the two of them inside. "Thank you. She's made us all very proud of her. Is that what you called for?"

"Regrettably, no. I'm afraid I have some news concerning the one of the organizations we've been keeping tabs on."

"You mean the post-Ormus fanatics."

Helmer sighed. "Yes, one of those groups. I had my agent in the Federation military do a little surveillance work and asked her to contact me if she noticed anything out of the ordinary, and ... well, perhaps I should just let her speak for herself. Captain Roman?"

A second communications link opened on the screen, pushing Helmer's window to the side. "Yes, sir. Dr. Mizrahi?"

Juli nodded. She vaguely recognized the speaker, a youngish woman with a stern expression and a slash of dark bangs across her forehead. Lapis Roman was one of Helmer's associates, and she had come in useful--as most of the connections he cultivated eventually did--when MOMO and the others had run into some difficulty with the Federation a few years ago.

"I'm sure you have other work to do," said Roman, "so I'll try to explain this as quickly as possible. Two days ago, the Federation peacekeeping forces stationed in the outer planetary system of Third Alexandria were ambushed by a small group of anti-government insurgents. My team was supposed to be monitoring them, but weren't able to obtain any information concerning their whereabouts, or their communications prior to the attack. They appear to be part of a trend towards greater organization and sophistication that we've observed in many of these terrorist groups over the last eighteen months. We suspect they may be receiving support from one or more sources within the Federation."

"So you think there may still be individuals in the Federation government or the military with former ties to U-TIC?" said Juli. "People who would have some incentive to provide aid to these groups?"

"That's correct, ma'am."

Juli sighed. "Well, I guess we couldn't get rid of all of them." And the government had nearly destroyed itself in the attempt. During the previous year, after the truth concerning Ormus, the U-TIC Organization, and the Immigrant Fleet became widely known, the Federation Parliament--reconvening for the first time since the destruction of the UMN, with a fraction of its former membership--had embarked on an ideological witch hunt, expelling known Ormus sympathizers from its ranks and conducting investigatory hearings against countless others. The political climate at the time had approached mass hysteria, and Juli still cringed to recall how recklessly they had danced on the line between anarchy and despotism. Juli herself had come under scrutiny for her late husband's role in founding U-TIC, and for her own involvement in the research he had left behind, but that was around the time the backlash kicked in and the protests started, and her hearing was dismissed.

Even now, in spite of the government's efforts to eradicate them, there must be a few Ormus supporters left in the government. Juli couldn't imagine why they'd cling to what was left of their religion now, but her own background was in the sciences; she had never been extremely religious herself and didn't understand the fervor, the need to believe in something even after it had been proven wrong. From her perspective, having one's worldview disproved meant it was time to find a new hypothesis, but for Ormus it had been an existential crisis.

Ironically or perhaps appropriately enough, the closest similarities she could find were in politics; some of her colleagues were as adamantly dogmatic in their opinions as the followers of Ormus were in their faith. "Have you found any concrete evidence that might point to whoever's supporting them?" she said.

"Not yet," said Roman. "We searched the AMN logs, but there's no sign of recent communication between the anti-Federation groups and anyone in the government. There is another possibility; it's unlikely, but it would explain a few other incidents that have occurred under similar circumstances."

"Please explain."

"I'll try." Roman hesitated. "I wonder if you would mind clarifying something for me, though. It has to do with the foundations of the AMN. I understand you were on the development committee, so I'm assuming you know more about its construction than I do?"

"Only to a degree," said Juli. "Even those of us who designed the network don't fully understand what it is or how it functions. Our goal was to create a system that would unify the real and imaginary-number domains, instead of just operating in imaginary space the way the UMN did. When the UMN collapsed, we thought we'd have to start all over again from nothing, but during our initial exploration into the imaginary domain, we made a few discoveries that expedited the process considerably."

"Such as?"

She glanced back at the nearest entrance to the elevator station, wondering how long she'd kept them waiting already. "Well, to put it simply, none of the information stored in the original UMN was lost when that network was destroyed. Can you imagine what would've happened if that had been the case? The record of an entire civilization--our history, science, commerce, literature, everything--wiped out, as if it never existed? We'd be living in the medieval ages all over again. But all of that information was preserved, permanently embedded in the fabric of imaginary space; the only thing we lost was the means of accessing it, the programming required to store and retrieve data. So when we assembled the core structure of the AMN, we weren't building in a vacuum. The foundations for a network already existed in the imaginary-number domain. The UMN that existed before, and the imaginary-domain half of AMN, were like a scaffolding imposed on a structure that was already present, and that may have been present in some form since the dawn of human consciousness. Does that answer your question?"

Roman nodded. "So if the network functions as a system for retrieving information, then it's possible that there could be other networks built on the same structure?"

"I suppose it's theoretically possible," said Juli, "but not very likely, not on the scale you're talking about."

She had heard rumors to the effect during the Ormus inquiries last year. The SOCE had proposed the existence of some kind of "shadow network" that the suspects in the government were using to communicate without being detected, but Juli had thought it was just a hypothesis. Once the AMN infrastructure had been established, a few large corporations had established their own private networks operating exclusively within the imaginary-number domain, for internal communications and the short-range transfer of materials, but they were extremely limited in scope and were subject to regulation by the government; a project as expansive as the hypothetical shadow network seemed out of their league entirely. It had taken the combined efforts of Vector, Scientia, and the Federation government just to fund the AMN project and assemble a committee with the necessary skills.

"We never encountered anything of the sort when we were laying the groundwork for the AMN," Juli went on. "It requires a tremendous amount of financing and technical expertise to develop a network on that scale. I don't think any other organization could afford it. Are you saying you believe a group of low-tech insurgents could have built their own network parallel to the AMN, and managed to evade detection all this time?"

"No, ma'am, I'm as skeptical of that as you are. But if someone's manipulating these low-tech insurgents from behind the scenes, someone powerful ...."

"You suspect some kind of conspiracy?"

"Listen," said Roman, "suppose the minor skirmishes we've been having lately are just a cover for something bigger? Those groups can't all be acting on their own. There are too many coincidences. They must be getting information and resources from somewhere, for some purpose. I understand this must sound ... well, frankly, a bit paranoid, but I've been keeping track of undercover U-TIC agents for years. I know what it looks like when they're up to something, and that's what it looks like now."

Juli sighed and rubbed her forehead, hoping the dull ache she felt there would subside when the conversation ended. She had planned on spending the rest of the evening celebrating MOMO's birthday, not getting headaches over conspiracy theories involving an organization that wasn't even supposed to exist anymore. "Right, okay, I'll grant that it's conceivable, but--"

"There is one other thing I'd like to tell you," said Roman. "Before the peacekeeping fleet was destroyed, the insurgents seized control of their broadcast equipment. We intercepted a strange transmission from an individual we believe was acting as their leader. He was apparently in some mental distress at the time of the broadcast, spouting what sounded like nonsense. But when we analyzed the message, it turned out to be a verse from an ancient religious text dating back to the Lost Jerusalem era."

Juli's breath caught. A cold, heavy feeling had settled over her, and she didn't know why. "What do you suppose that means?"

"I wish I had the slightest idea, ma'am. I was hoping you'd know, or that you'd know someone who could find out."

"I'll see what I can do," she said, fighting a sudden urge to sink back against the car seat. "Would you mind sending me a recording of the message you received, along with your coordinates at the time of the attack and any other relevant information you can think of?"

Roman nodded again. "Already done."

Helmer, who had listened to Roman's report in silence, cut in after her. "Thank you, Captain Roman. That will be all."

"Yes, sir." Roman gave a sharp salute and closed the connection.

"Well," said Helmer. "What do you think of all this?"

"Are you asking for my professional opinion, or my intuition?" Juli winced; the headache showed no sign of departing. "I think it's possible. I hope it's nonsense. But I suppose we'll need more information to be sure. I'll take a look at that message. In the meantime, will you keep me informed as well?"

Helmer nodded. "I have every intention of doing so. ... Oh, and Juli?"

"Yes?"

"Try not to worry about it today, if you can help it. I'm guessing you could probably use some rest. And do tell your daughter I hope she has a very happy birthday."

Juli sighed, trying to relax in spite of herself. "Thank you. I will."

∞

They returned to the apartment complex and stopped in the hallway on their floor. "MOMO, why don't you go ahead inside," said Juli, with a nervous, expectant glance at Ziggy.

"All right." MOMO approached the door and keyed in the access code, and the door whisked open at her touch, the reinforced panels gliding back into the wall with hardly any sound. She stepped into the entryway. "Wow, this place seems so different now that I'm taller! I don't remember everything being so easy to reach."

Juli and Ziggy waited in the hall for a moment, then followed MOMO into the living room. They found her standing in front of the piano as if she couldn't quite believe it existed. Dark and heavy under the dust cloth, it looked like a stray apparition from a surrealist painting that had wandered into the room by mistake.

"I understand this might require some explanation," said Juli, coming to stand behind her. "You see, this piano belonged to your father."

MOMO broke from her trance and turned around. "This was Daddy's? But how--"

"He bought it so we could teach Sakura. He was researching new advances in musical therapy for her condition, and he hoped she would respond to it." Juli walked over to the piano and turned aside the cover, running her fingers over the black synthetic wood and the lab-cultured imitation ivory.

"Musical therapy?" said MOMO. "Did it help?"

"For a little while." Juli wondered if it would really have made any difference in the long term; they had never had a chance to find out. After she and Joachim separated, the piano had gone with her to Zavarov, and she had used it to monitor Sakura's progress during her treatment at the Yuriev Institute, tracking her response time and the rate at which she memorized new pieces after her exposure to the URTVs' wave forms. But Joachim already had another plan in mind, another way to save Sakura, or so he had believed. After Sakura died, the piano had suddenly become a symbol of everything that had gone wrong in Juli's life: the failure of her marriage to Joachim, their failure to treat Sakura's condition or even to agree on what was best for her. Because she couldn't stand to keep it around anymore, she had the piano moved to a UMN-transfer storage facility, and when the Miltia conflict broke out shortly afterward, she had forgot about it until recently.

New construction on the AMN uncovered things like this all the time--old storage facilities, abandoned colonies, things people had lost and abandoned, sometimes by accident, sometimes deliberately. The network was a galaxy-wide seine that stretched across real and imaginary space, dredging up lost things from the cosmic ocean floor and bringing them to light. Most of it was garbage, space junk, but occasionally they found treasure.

And sometimes the things they found were meant to remain lost. Juli pulled away as if the keys had grown hot beneath her fingers. It was almost too painful to touch--all the memories of her lessons with Sakura rose to the surface as if they'd been waiting inside the instrument all this time. She wondered if retrieving it had been a mistake after all. Maybe it would have been better to leave it in storage, to go on pretending to forget--but it was too late for that now.

"MOMO," she went on, trying to remember what she had been planning to say although the words tasted stale in her mouth, "I'd like you to consider this a very belated birthday present. A gift from your father and me."

"Mommy ...." Her voice came out in an awed whisper. "It's wonderful. May I try it?"

Juli nodded, tight-lipped. "Yes, of course. It's yours." She removed the cloth and stepped aside, and MOMO sat down at the bench, tucking her skirt around her knees, and switched on the piano's holographic display.

"There are some songs transcribed on here already," said MOMO. "I think I might be able to play them if I use my translation program to read the sheet music."

"Well ... go ahead." Juli swallowed the ache in her throat and turned away.

Ziggy hadn't moved from the entryway since they came in. When he saw her looking back, he gave a slight nod that might have indicated approval or simple affirmation, or nothing at all; whatever he intended, she found it reassuring.

Later that night Juli stood outside in the courtyard, half-listening to the sound of the piano from inside. MOMO had been practicing all evening, running through the few dozen pieces stored in the piano's database; Juli had practiced them countless times with Sakura, so that even now she found herself playing along without thinking, drumming her fingers absently on the edge of the courtyard wall, her body and her reflexes betraying her by remembering what she consciously tried to forget.

MOMO had never played before, and while she made fewer mistakes than an ordinary human would, her playing sounded stilted and mechanical, more a sequence of isolated notes struck one at a time than anything recognizable as music. But if Juli closed her eyes and let the chords blur together, she could pretend it was Sakura playing, that this was the old house where they had lived before they left for Zavarov, and that the man standing beside her, his arm across her shoulders, was--

But she realized that wasn't what she wanted anymore. She wanted to be here, now, above the noise of the city and the glare of artificial light, with the burden of living in a world that had survived its own end.

"Jan." She sighed and leaned against him. There was enough of a chill in the air to make her shiver when the wind picked up. "Do you think we're supposed to be here? I mean, do you ever wonder if any of this was meant to happen at all?"

He didn't answer, but sometimes that was his way of letting her know he was listening. His silence invited her, encouraged her.

"I've been thinking about it ever since you and Shion and the others came back from Michtam," she said. "I guess I always took it for granted that the world worked a certain way. I always thought we were on our own, but now we really are. And knowing that, knowing what we now know to be true ... it means we've been left with a terrible responsibility. Where are we supposed to go from here?"

"I'm not sure," he said, and he had been so quiet that it surprised her to hear him speak. "This seems to be the path we've chosen for ourselves. Maybe all we can do is make the best of it."

She stared out across the neon gulf of the city to the lights suspended on the horizon. "Is that really all we can do? Even we end up destroying ourselves? If we just keep making the same mistakes as always, but without a chance to go back? How will we know what's right until it's too late?"

"I guess that's what we're here to find out."

Juli shivered again, but not because of the breeze. Suddenly she felt the need to talk about anything else. She listened to the piano. "Does MOMO seem happy to you?"

"She certainly seemed that way tonight." At MOMO's request they had gone out to a quiet dinner together before heading home; she hadn't wanted anything more elaborate for her birthday. Before she returned from Vector's research labs on the Dämmerung, where she had undergone the transfer operation, her friends working aboard the colony had ambushed her with a surprise party, an extravagant affair masterminded by Miyuki Itsumi. MOMO had called home afterward declaring she was all partied out.

"No, I mean ...." Juli shook her head. "Do you think she's happy with me? I've tried to be a good mother, but sometimes I still feel as though I'm just pretending, like I'm just putting on an act. Because I know she'll respond favorably if I treat her with kindness, and ...."

He was silent again, and she wondered if she had said something wrong, upset him by admitting her doubts.

"It's strange," she went on, as if talking to herself now. "I used to resent MOMO because she wasn't Sakura, because no one could ever replace Sakura. And now I ... I think I must've held on to the pain for so long because it was all I had left of her. I was so afraid I'd lose her for good if I didn't hold on to something, but ...."

She closed her eyes again, and her words tapered into the breeze.

He drew his arm closer around her shoulders. Juli moved closer in turn and took a deep breath to match his breathing, trying to slow herself to his pace. She wanted to know how it felt to be as calm as he was. Maybe it was a discipline that took a hundred years to learn, and maybe that was why she knew of so few people who could put her at ease the way he did.

The last notes of Sakura's song drifted across the yard and took flight over the city, where they faded into the distant hum of traffic and the rush of wind.