Abruptly he bumped against something, and Brashen was shouting, throw a line, throw a line and make it fast, you idiot!

He groped toward the obstacle.

Amber's comforting voice reached his ears. “It's the barge, Paragon. We're alongside the work barge and they're making you fast to it. You'll be safe here.”

Paragon wasn't so sure. He was still taking on water and settling lower. “How deep is it here?” he asked nervously.

Brashen's jubilant voice sounded as if he were standing alongside Amber. “Deep enough to float you. Not so deep that if you go down we'll lose you. Not that we'd let you go down. We may have to beach you again to work on your port side. For now, don't worry. It's all under control.” The speed with which he hastened away seemed to belie his words.

For a time, Paragon listened. There were voices and hurrying footsteps inside him, running feet across his deck. On the barge beside him, the work crew was congratulating one another on their work and speculating on how many repairs he was going to need. However, those were not the things he heard. Instead, he listened to the slap of the waves against his hull and the sound of his wood creaking and settling, even the sounds his hull made rubbing against the bumpers on the barge. Everything was suddenly eerily familiar and yet strange. The smells seemed sharper out here, the cries of the seabirds louder. He rose and fell with the waves. The gentle rocking was soothing, but it was also the stuff of his nightmares. “Well,” he said aloud, but quietly. “I'm afloat again. I guess that makes me a ship and not a hulk.”

“I guess,” Amber agreed easily. She had been so still and silent, he had almost forgotten her. Unlike all other people he had ever known, she sometimes became transparent to his senses. He knew, without even reaching, where Brashen and Althea were. A moment's reflection, and he could locate every nameless worker on his deck or in his holds. But Amber was different. She seemed, he thought to himself, more contained and isolated than any other human he had ever known. Sometimes he suspected it was deliberate; that she only shared herself when she chose to, and then only in a limited way. Not unlike myself, he reflected, and then frowned at the thought.

“Is something wrong?” she asked quickly.

“Not yet,” he replied in a sour voice.

She laughed lightly, as if he jested. “So. Are you glad to be a ship again?”

“Glad or sorry, it makes little difference. You will do with me as you want to, and my feelings about it will not matter to anyone.” He paused. “I admit, I did not believe you. I did not think I would float again. Not that I particularly wanted to float again.”

“Paragon, your feelings matter. Somehow, I do not believe that you truly wanted to remain on that beach forever. You once told me, quite angrily, that you are a ship and a ship is meant to sail. I suspect that even if you do not enjoy this at first, it will be good for you. All living things need to grow. You were not growing, abandoned there on the beach. You were close to giving up and believing yourself a failure.” Her voice was affectionate. Suddenly he could not stand that. Did they think they could force him to do something, and then pretend it was for his own good?

He laughed harshly. “On the contrary. I knew I had succeeded. I'd killed them all, every one of them who tried to oppose me. You are the ones who refuse to believe me a success. If you did, you'd have the good sense to fear me.”

An instant of horrified silence followed his words. He felt her let go of his railing and stand up straight. “Paragon. When you speak like that, I refuse to stand and listen to you.” Her voice held no hint of what she was thinking.

“Oh. I see. Then you are afraid?” he asked her wickedly.

But she had turned and resolutely walked away. She made no reply at all.

He didn't care. So he had hurt her feelings. So what? No one cared anything about his feelings. No one ever asked him what he wanted to do.

“Why're you like that?”

He had known Clef was there. The boy had come out to the barge with the beach crew. He didn't startle. For a time, he didn't even reply.

“Why're you like that?” the boy persisted.

“Like what?” Paragon finally asked in annoyance.

“Ya'know. Allus mad. Or crazy fightin'. Say'n stuff ta be mean.”

“How else do you expect me to be?” Paragon retorted. “Joyous that they've dragged me out here? All excited to go off on a hare-brained rescue mission with them?”

He felt the boy's shrug. “Ya could be.”