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mediated disputes, negotiated trades
and even arranged symposia for the sharing of weaving-related
skills and spell craft. He became the glue of the surface
world.
    The Old Ones we had awakened remained
awake for the most part, although a steady trickle of them was
gradually returning to the long sleep. They were a fixture in the
populations roamed freely among the mesas, the plains and the
massif, observing all that passed but generally keeping their
thoughts to themselves. They would commune in the most random or
places—atop dunes in the great outwash plain, in the meadows that
graced the slopes of the massif.
    Luther had arranged for free passage
to Victoria and other recruiters from Frelsi to go into the pits
into Root to free any willing new souls from their pods. Those who
liked a little more structure in their existence generally went to
Frelsi. The more independent and creative types joined Luther in
the Burg. This steady flow of Hemisouls sustained the growth and
population of surface dwellers to grow and allowed its burgeoning
cities to thrive.
    The Dusters had expanded from their
cramped mesa tops to recolonize an ancient sister city of Frelsi
that they called New Axum. I knew the place from my time there
alone when I had awakened Mr. O. The location at the head of the
big valley was stunning as Machu Picchu. It was nice to know that
those beautiful ruins were being spruced up.
    A giant mantid preened itself atop one
of the bluffs that flanked my hollow. As it had no rider, it was
probably out and about hunting for prey. It was comforting to know
that I was not on the menu.
    The Burg came into view well before I
had passed the bluffs. With its many spires and multi-hued pastels
kind of reminded of the Magic Kingdom. Luther’s aesthetic
sensibilities would have made Walt Disney proud.
    An amazing amount sprawl had sprouted
around its outskirts, radiating outward like the points of a star
along cobbled avenues. Word of the surface world had spread fast to
all of the rebel communities down below, prompting a mass exodus.
Even many who had been committed to the pods had been convinced
that an existence beyond the tunnels was worth lingering in misery
in the ‘real’ world.
    Bern and Lille’s little complex of
cabins and sheds had been overtaken by one of these rays of sprawl,
and they had been joined by a number of like-minded couples and
singles to create a sort of satellite village for those who wanted
a slower place and less craziness. Things could get a little
ridiculous in the Burg with Luther in charge.
    I found them out on their porch, Bern
seated on a rocker with Lille standing behind him, adjusting his
hair. She used no scissors. She did it all with twirls and swipes
of her fingers through the air, never touching. Filling in thin
patches, lengthening bits here and there, making entire swaths fall
away with a swoop of her palm.
    Bern started to rise when he spotted
me and instantly ruined the symmetry of his hairdo.
    “ Well, well. Look who’s
here,” said Bern. “My fellow convicted criminal.”
    “ Sit back down!” said
Lille. “You don’t move until I say so. I’m tired of you looking
like a tramp.”
    “ Sorry James,” said Bern.
“She’s been hounding me for weeks to get this done.”
    “ Look like you could use a
bit of a trim yourself, James.”
    “ Thanks. But I’ll
pass.”
    “ So how’s the old
incarceration going?”
    “ Fine,” I said, leaning
against a post.
    “ Fine? Is that all you can
say?”
    “ I mean … it’s boring. But
other than that….”
    “ Boring is good,” said
Bern. “Boring is what you want, because the
alternative—“
    “ It’s not that kind of
prison,” I said.
    “ A prison is a prison, is
it not?”
    “ Well, no. This one’s
mostly non-violent offenders. It’s clean. The guards are nice. Lots
of outside time. Big fields. And the food’s not quite as horrible
as I was expecting.”
    “ What? Sounds more like a
resort,” said Bern.
    “