CHAPTER ONE

THE JOURNEY

"Tell me again," Affie said. "Who is the blue bead - ?"
"My great-grandmother," Odinstoy said.
"That's your mother's mother's mother, right? And her name - ?"
"Don't know."
"Not at all?"
"I know she tied that bead on the string for me."
"What if she had other children?" Affie said. "And what if she
made ancestor strings for them? She wouldn't have the same things to
tie on, would she?" Bonders had to make use of what they could
get. "You could have met your - " She wasn't sure what relation your
great-grandmother's children would be to yourself. "One of your
family. And you wouldn't know."
Odinstoy shrugged.
"I know all my ancestors' names," Affie said. "Well, if I
can't remember them, they're all in the tree." Her silver ancestor-
tree, with its dangling photographs, and the small computer in its
base, was tucked into one of the drawers under her bed. "And what they
did and who they married and everything. Who is the locket?" Affie
was fingering Odinstoy's ancestor string, counting off the things tied
on it.
"My grandmother."
"And her name?"
"Don't know. But that's her picture inside."
Affie prised open the cheap, scratched locket and looked at the
hologram inside. "She was pretty. And the Freyja medal, that's for
your mother, right?"
"Right."
"And this bit of stone - "
"It's an arrow."
"Whatever," Affie said peaceably, while thinking: Who would
make an arrow out of stone? It would be too heavy. Besides, it had
no - well, stick, or stalk, or whatever you called that part of an
arrow. But Odinstoy, for all her talents, was really only a bonder.
Whatever she'd been told, she'd believe, knowing no better. "But
that's you, right? You tied it on for Apollo?"
"That's right."
Apollo, the little brat - but she had to remember to call
him 'Odinsgift' now. He was the reason for them being on their way to
Mars. The reason for everything, really. Odinstoy had only befriended
Affie because of her precious Apollo, no, Odinsgift. She had only
helped Affie escape because Affie had been able to steal the boy away
from his adoptive parents and bring him with her.
Sometimes, when what she was doing came to her fully, Affie
went cold right through to the centre of her bones. She was a bonder,
and a bonder running away was bad enough. She was stealing herself
from her owners. But she had kidnapped their child too. She didn't
want to think about what the punishment would be if she was caught, but
the possibilities paraded through her mind anyway: re-education; years
of imprisonment, maybe even hanging. She felt her heart squeeze small
within her.
Then she would think of what her life would be if she hadn't
run away. Day after day of miserable drudgery, while not ever being
allowed to be herself. Displays of pleasure, or anger, or unhappiness -
or any emotion, really - were 'not suitable' in a bonder. And she
would grow old, and life would have passed her by, and she would never
have had any life except the cramped one of a bonder.
Sometimes that made her feel better because, no matter what
happened, she'd had no choice but to take the only chance open to her.
Sometimes she went on feeling scared and sick for hours. Now, because
she was with Odinstoy, and because the ship's lights were on brightly,
for day, she shook off the spasm of fear, and went on counting off the
ancestor-string.
"Great-granny, Granny, Mummy, Odinstoy. I know all your
ancestors now, as well as my own." Of course, there were far fewer of
Odinstoy's. "I think I might throw mine away."
At least that made Odinstoy turn her intense, dark, Japanese
eyes Affie's way. "Throw away your ancestors?"
"Why not? What use will they be to me on Mars?" Everything
would be new, and better, and free, on Mars. On Mars they would be
rich. And free. On Mars they would be able to stamp and rage, or
laugh or cry and be their own true, free selves. So why not throw away
her ancestors, together with all the rest of her old life, and start
afresh?
It wasn't as if her ancestors had ever been any use to her.
Her father had killed himself, just because he'd run into difficulties
with a few debts. Had he given a thought to her? No, and she'd been
sold, along with the rest of his estate. It hadn't bothered him,
because he'd been safely dead. Laughing and enjoying himself in the
afterlife, or just unknowing, in oblivion, depending on what you
believed. Either way, it made no difference to her. She hadn't been
laughing and enjoying herself, she hadn't been in oblivion. She'd been
thrown, unprepared, from a life of spoilt comfort into the life of a
bonder, and she'd been miserable.
And her mother, Freewoman bloody Lloyd - she'd taken herself
off to America and a new husband and hadn't even bothered to send her
good wishes when Affie had desperately texted her for help.
There were grandparents on her mother's side, but they were as
useless as her mother - she hadn't seen or heard from them since she'd
been four, five, something like that.
The rest of her ancestors, the whole crowd, the whole roll-call
of them, were all dead, and all useless. They were supposed to watch
over her from the afterlife, and help her out - but either that wasn't
true, or they were all like her mother and father, and the most
useless, idle, ineffectual bunch of ancestors anyone had ever been
cursed with. Odinstoy's ancestors may all have been bonders, but they
seemed a much more capable bunch. Favourites of the great God, Odin,
too. Odin had got her and Toy away from Earth, hadn't he?
Her own ancestors were just silver-framed photos and names and
facts logged in a computer's memory: something to brag about, nothing
more.
It was Odinstoy who'd saved her from bondery; Odinstoy who was
taking her to Mars. "Why don't I share your ancestors? You said we'd
go to Mars as sisters."
Odinstoy laughed. "And we're going as husband and wife!" It
had seemed to make sense. The authorities would be looking for two
women and a kidnapped child, so if they travelled as man and wife, with
their son, that should make them more difficult to spot. Odinstoy had
often dressed as a man before, when she'd spoken for Odin in the
temple; and she made a convincing, if short and slight, young man.
Affie had to be the wife, because she could never have passed
for a man. Her parents had paid for her to be genetically designed
before birth and she was, she knew, a very beautiful young woman. She
was slim, but still curvy, with long legs, and her hormones and
metabolism had been delicately balanced, so that she'd have to eat like
three horses before she would put on any weight. Her skin had always
been clear, and was a lovely, warm caramel shade. Her face was oval,
with big dark-brown eyes, a full-lipped mouth, and a little pointed
chin. Her long, slightly wavy, glossy hair was a couple of shades
darker than her skin, and was full of shifting cloud shapes and colours
that changed according to her mood - the genetic engineers had
added 'jelly-fish genes' to her mix to get the effect. When she was
happy or angry, the cloud-shapes were warm and quick, ranging from
orange through pinks and reds to bright scarlet. When she was unhappy,
they slowed and cooled, sinking through greens, violets and blues to
indigo. Even in the disguise she'd worn for their escape - dark, dowdy
clothes, and a wig to cover her sparkling hair, she was still beautiful.
"Don't throw your ancestors away," Odinstoy said. "They're
silver. Worth money. And more than money."
"How?"
"People will think a lot more of you because of that fancy
ancestor tree than they'll think of me and my bits on a string. That's
for bonders. Only the free have fancy ancestor trees."
"And jumped-up ex-bonders," Affie said, quite oblivious to the
fact that she was herself an ex-bonder. In her own mind she had never
really been a bonder, but only a princess, cast down temporarily, from
her true place. "Will you get yourself a fancy ancestor tree, when
we're on Mars, when we're rich?" Affie was quite sure they were going
to be rich on Mars. And famous. And admired. They'd be free. They
could do anything if they wanted it enough. "You could invent a few
more ancestors, to fill it out. You could have some of mine."
Odinstoy gave her a long straight look. "I'm not free, never
will be. I'm owned by Odin. On Earth, on Mars, I'm Odin's Toy."

It took three Earth months to make the passage to Mars. Ninety
Earth days. That didn't sound so long. Affie thought it would soon
pass. They had Mars and freedom to look forward to.
The first couple of weeks had gone quickly enough. They had
been learning the lay-out and routine of the ship, and had still been
gleeful over their escape from Earth, and full of anticipation about
Mars. There had been the amusement of finding themselves much lighter
than they were on Earth - the ship had artificial gravity, but it was
weak. They could bound along corridors and lounges, leaping up to
touch the ceiling or pirouetting in mid-air.
Affie was disappointed with the ship. She'd thought a great
ship, sailing to Mars, would be something special. Of course, she'd
reminded herself that she wouldn't be in Executive, or VIP. She wasn't
rich anymore, but she wasn't a bonder either! She was supposed to be a
Free God-Speaker's wife - surely the Martian Temple of Odin could have
paid for something half decent.
They had their little cabin - a double, though it was a double
cubby-hole. There were bunk-beds, with a cot for Gift; and a tiny
table and chair. That was it. There wasn't even anywhere to wash.
They had to share communal lavatories and sonic-showers, which Affie
thought was disgusting. She couldn't help thinking that, when she used
the showers, she was standing in all the skin and hair that had been
shaken off the hundreds of people who'd used them before her.
There was a dining-room where everyone ate together at big
tables; and they had to go to a serving hatch to collect their food.
At least they didn't have to cook it - someone in the kitchens reheated
it. The stuff wasn't much good.
"That's why they give us so much laughing-juice with it," said
an elderly, jovial man, who was returning with his wife from a trip to
Earth. Like all martians, they were tall, and they didn't seem to mind
looking old. They'd taken their trip, he said, 'to see the Mother of
us all.'
There were big lounges, with easy chairs, computers, screens,
and snack-drink machines. And there was a gym, which all passengers
were urged to use regularly, because the ship's weak gravity reduced
stress on their bones, and weakened them. Therefore, they should
stress their bones as much possible, to maintain them.
"Three months won't make much difference," their friend,
Thorsgift said. "But the company like to protect themselves.
Wait 'til you get to Mars!"
"Oh, I felt so heavy on Earth!" said the elderly man's
wife. "I could hardly move! It was fun to see Earth, but I can't wait
to be home, to be honest."
By the end of two weeks Affie knew every inch of the ship. She
knew every one of her fellow passengers, all but a few of them lanky
martians. She'd watched films and programmes, played games - games and
films which seemed more and more dreary and stupid when she found
herself watching the same plots or playing the same games yet again.
The games induced a strange state of mind: intense interest in the
outcome and, at the same time, intense boredom. Even while compelled
to play on, the repetition scraped on the soul. And there were still
ten weeks to go.
But she was on her way to Mars and freedom!

Eight weeks into the journey and they were still wearing the same
clothes, shabby from being constantly cleaned in the sonic showers.
Every time they walked round the ship, they saw the same drink and
snack machines, the same safety warnings, heard the same information
messages warbling from the speakers - 'Stress isn't always bad! Your
bones need stress to maintain their strength! So take our advice and
stress your bones every day!' - saw the same stain on the same wall
(which you knew you were going to have to notice before you came near
it), the same bit of threadbare carpet in the same doorway, the same
unlit light in a row of lights. Affie had often been bored before, as
a rich girl and as a bonder, but this was a new frontier of boredom.
When she'd been rich, she could always go shopping or have her nails or
hair done. When she'd been a bonder she could concentrate on the hour
of relief when the drudgery would end and she could go to bed for a few
hours. But this boredom went on and on and on. And on and on. There
was no way out until they reached Mars. In another two weeks.
Fourteen days. Three hundred and thirty six draggy hours. She longed
for Mars.
Hours - days - weeks - were passed merely in talking. It was
odd that the only person on the ship they already knew - Thorsgift -
was almost the last person to speak to them. Affie supposed that you
couldn't blame him. He'd been sent to Earth to find a God-Speaker, had
chosen Odinstoy, and had then found himself embroiled in a plot to
kidnap a child from his legal parents, and steal a bonder - Affie
herself - from her owners. Who happened to be the same bereaved
parents.
As Odinstoy had forcefully said, she, Odinstoy, was the child's
real mother, had carried him inside her, had birthed him, had done all
the dirty work of caring for him in his first years of life. But
because she had been, at the time, a bonder, her owners had legally
been able to take him from her and call him their son. She was only,
Odinstoy said, reclaiming what was rightfully hers, and she wouldn't go
to Mars without him. And Affie had to come, because Affie was the
current bonder who looked after Odinsgift.
Thorsgift hadn't been able to say no, because he'd fallen under
the fascination that Odinstoy could cast. She'd cast it around Affie.
It must be something to do with being a God Speaker, Affie thought,
because it wasn't about looks. Affie was far more beautiful than
Odinstoy, and she couldn't lead people along as Odinstoy could.
Thorsgift had helped them, but he hadn't been happy about it.
He'd seen them when they'd boarded the Space-El - when they'd been
allowed to board, after Security had questioned them and let them go -
but he'd pretended not to know them.
As they'd drawn further away from Earth, he'd relaxed, and had
started chatting, as if striking up a shipboard friendship. "Have you
worked out the time difference yet?"
They looked at him curiously.
"I'm fourteen," he said, and grinned, a tall, bearded man.
An old man said, "And I'm thirty-two."
Affie was half-smiling, not sure why they were saying these
ridiculous things.
"A Martian year is nearly twice as long as an Earth year,"
Thorsgift said.
"Don't worry, though," the old man's wife said. "The sol's
about the same as a day."
"'Sol' is the Mars word for 'day'," Thorsgift said.
Odinstoy said nothing, but Affie snapped, "We know!"
"And what's your name?" the old lady said to Odinstoy's son.
He stopped running up and down the lounge for a moment, stared
at her, and said, "Odinsgift."
Apollo had learned very quickly to answer to 'Odinsgift'
or 'Gift'. It was Affie who had slipped up a few times and called
him 'Pollo'.
"New blood's always welcome on Mars," said the woman, as she
stared at Odinstoy, looked away, then stared again. She looked at
Affie, and smiled. "Settle in, and then come and see us."
Affie was amused. She was used to people admiring her and
smiling - they'd done it since she was a child. Now they were well on
their way to Mars, she left off the dowdy dark wig. Her own hair,
which had been reguarly shaved as a bonder, was growing back, in
attractive curls and waves, and colours shimmered through it in cloud
patterns. Of course people wanted to know her better.
But Odinstoy fascinated people even more. Affie had seen it before,
and could see it now, in the way their fellow passengers stared and
peeped at her; in the way people's attention would be drawn to her
whenever she entered a public room. Most of it, of course, was because
they weren't sure whether she was a man or a woman, because she was
nothing to look at, as either sex. Her face wasn't pretty, though
Affie supposed it could be called 'striking'. It was so broad across
the cheekbones that it seemed round; with very dark brows and lashes, a
pale skin, and almond-shaped eyes. You'd take them for dark, those
eyes; but then, in a different light, you'd realise that they were
greenish, or hazel; and then, leaning close, you would see, with
surprise, that they were a dark grey, or slate-blue.
Odinstoy's figure was quite stocky and blocky - though she was small
and thin, she was also short-limbed, flat-chested and almost
waistless. That was why she made a quite convincing man, at first.
But when they'd lived at close quarters with her for a long time,
people began to notice the smallness of her hands and feet, and her
lack of an adam's apple, and they wondered. Of course, no one would
ask or say anything, but Affie saw them glancing at each other.
Odinstoy must have been aware of their curiosity too, because she
removed it by calling Gift to her, saying, "Come to Mummy." And Affie
overheard her saying casually, to one of the Martian women, "I've lived
as a man for ten years now." A lie, but Odinstoy lied whenever it
suited her.
Within a couple of hours of being on the ship everyone knew that
Odinstoy was a woman who lived as a man, and Affie found it very
annoying to see how interested the other men suddenly were. It made
Affie jealous. (She wanted to be the most special person in Odinstoy's
life, not any man - which was another reason to dislike the brat
Apollo, or Odinsgift, or whatever she was supposed to call him).
Men always seemed to find Odinstoy beguiling, for some reason.
Back on Earth, Bob Sing and Markus had both helped them escape because
they were fascinated by Odinstoy. And Thorsgift had chosen Odinstoy
for Mars' new god-speaker, and had helped them leave Earth, because he
was fascinated by Odinstoy - and still was. He mooned about her,
quickly joining her whenever she appeared, fetching her coffee, trying
to sit next to her, trying to win her attention away from whoever or
whatever else had gained it. He became more and more obviously smitten
the further they went from Earth, and his fear of the Earth authorities
weakened. He and Affie would smile at each other from either side of
Odinstoy with hatred in their eyes.

"I'm Church of Mars myself," said a man. "Got to be, for my
job, y'know. But we'll be sure to come and hear you preach."
"Your little boy is lovely," said a woman, smiling at both
Affie and Odinstoy. "So pretty and lively." Her smile brightened; her
eyes flickered hopefully from one to the other. She longed to ask, but
didn't quite dare, which one was the mother - Affie, the wife, or
Odinstoy, the husband? Or was Gift the bio-engineered child of them
both?
"We're very proud of him," Affie said, thinking it the sort of
thing she should say. Gift was playing on the floor nearby, with some
model animals - dogs, pigs, sheep and cows. She could see why the
woman would wonder. 'Gift was a solidly built, stocky child, which
perhaps gave him something of a likeness to 'Toy, but apart from that,
he was not like either of them. His hair was thick and so fair it was
almost white; and his large eyes were blue. His face was wide, ruddy
and handsome.
"How old is he?" the woman asked.
"Er - " Affie looked at 'Toy.
"Four," 'Toy said.
"Goodness! He's big for his age!" The woman glanced at her
companion, and unsaid words hung in the air.
Affie could have supplied them. Big for his age, and yet so
backward in his speech. But not stupid, much as Affie would have liked
to think so. He understood what was said to him quite readily, though
he often wouldn't do as he was told, but he expressed himself as
clumsily as a child half his age.

As a change from films, and games, and talk, they sometimes
went to the observation lounge and looked out at the eternity of space
and stars. It was the only place on the ship where you could clearly
see that you were on a spaceship. Affie had thought she would spend a
lot of time there, being spiritual, and marveling - but was soon
appalled by the immensity, the coldness, the terrifying bleak beauty.
A very few minutes of it sent her scurrying back to the cosiness of the
lounge, with its tables, snack-machines, chairs and cups of coffee.
Seeing that most other passengers did the same made her feel better,
and she would sit at a computer, designing clothes for herself, and
forgetting about the vast, dark emptiness on the other side of the
ship's thin hull. When they got to Mars, she thought, she might become
a clothes designer, the most famous on the planet.

Odinstoy sat alone in Observation, in a padded seat, leaning
forward, elbows on knees, staring at the stars.
Thorsgift had explained to her that the light reaching her eyes
from these stars had been shining through emptiness for longer than her
world had existed. The world it had left was already dead.
It was the mind of Odin spread out before her. Odin, who saw that the
unchangeable future held nothing but death; yet still fought on,
because it was better to die fighting than humbled.
It hurt to look at the darkness and the stars, because it made
it so clear how unimportant and irrelevant she was - it made everyone
feel that, which was why the observation lounge was empty apart from
her. But the crushing feeling of insignificance turned, for Odinstoy,
into a strange exhilaration and power. If nothing mattered, if nothing
was important, then why be afraid? Of anything?
Still, she wondered why she was there. Why she'd wasted three
months of her life to leave Earth and travel to Mars. She could have
stolen Gift and gone to another town on Earth, or another country.
There were places on Earth where she could stare at the stars and feel
unafraid.
She asked Odin: Why did You want me to come to Mars?
The answer welled up in her mind, like a head rising from the
depths of the pool at the World Tree's roots. Because I wished you to
come.
But why? Odinstoy persisted. Why did You want me to come?
In time, you will know, came the answer. Or, if you never know,
it won't matter. For now, speak for Me. That's all I ask.
Outside, endlessly, the stars glittered. Her eyes on them,
Odinstoy nodded. "I am Your toy."
The door to Observation, which often stuck, rattled as it was
hauled open. "In here again," Affie said, looking in. "You're wanted."
"Who wants me?"
"The Captain. And I wish you wouldn't go off and leave your
brat with me."
Odinstoy stood. "Why does the Captain want me?"
Seeing her face, Affie said, "Oh, don't worry. It's something
about Radio Mars."
Gift was running up and down the short corridor outside
Observation. He had altogether too much energy, in Affie's view.
Seeing his mother, he ran at her, almost knocking her down.
"Don't run at 'Toy like that!" Affie scolded. "You're getting
a big boy."
"Leave him," 'Toy said, and took his hand.
What could you do? Affie followed.
The 'control room' of the ship was a cupboard, with a couple of
chairs squeezed in. The 'Captain' was already seated in one chair -
his title was 'Captain', but he often joked that he was no more than a
glorified steward. Computers steered and controlled the ship. "Ah,
Odinstoy! Come in, come in. Take a seat."
'Toy took the empty seat, heaving 'Gift on to her lap. Affie
leaned against the wall beside her, pulling the door shut after them.
There was just enough room for them all.
"I've got Radio Mars on the line," the Captain said. "They'd
like to talk to you, if that's all right."
"Why?" 'Toy said.
He looked surprised. "You're going to be a god-speaker there,
aren't you? For - Hermes, is it?"
"Odin," Affie snapped. You'd think the man would know. They'd
been on the ship for nearly three months.
"Yeah, yeah, Odin? Is it okay if they speak with you? They're
just - well, they're like, somebody new coming to Mars - a god-speaker -
It's a big deal down there. They know all their listeners will be
interested. So - is it okay?"
'Toy said nothing. Affie bent forward to see her face. "Yes!
Go on. You'll be, like, famous."
'Toy stared blankly ahead of her, while 'Gift slipped from her
lap and started to examine the console. Affie, seeing the Captain
become nervous, grasped 'Gift by the neck of his shirt, opened the door
again, and hauled him out. It wasn't easy: he was a heavy, strong
child. But she succeeded in bundling him out and shutting the door on
him. He shrieked, and kicked the door but then, evidently, something
or someone, distracted him, because he was quiet.
In her head Odinstoy was thinking: I don't want to do this. Do
I have to do it?
Odin's answer was: Do it.
"All right," Odinstoy said.
"Excellent!" said the Captain. "Mikes open." He flicked a
switch. "Hello there, Merc. I've got Odinstoy here. He says he'll do
it."
A voice, unexpectedly loud, burst from speakers, making both
Odinstoy and Affie jump. "Oh, super! Good sol, Odinstoy!"
Odinstoy crossed one ankle over the other knee, stared at the
console, and said nothing.
"Odinstoy?" the speakers boomed.
Affie leaned forward. "Good sol, Mars! We're so happy to be
almost there!"
"Hello?" boomed the speakers, sounding puzzled. "Is that
Odinstoy?"
Odinstoy smiled, but didn't answer.
The Captain started to speak, but Affie cut through him. "No -
I'm Affie - that's Affroditey - er - Atkinson. Hello! Good sol!
Odinstoy's here, she's just not speaking. Odinstoy - say something!"
Odinstoy leaned back and grinned.
The speakers said, "She? We were told - Who is that speaking,
please?"
The Captain and Affie answered almost together.
"Odinstoy's companion."
"Oh, I'm Affie - Odinstoy's - ah - wife."
The speakers said, "Who? Wife?" There was a moment of
confused silence, then: "I've got 'Freyja' as the name of Odinstoy's
wife - ?"
"That's right - I am Freyja Atkinson - but my middle name's
Affroditey, and I was always called Affie - you see."
Another silence. "Is Odinstoy there? Can I speak to - er - ?"
"I am Odin's toy. I speak for Odin to all. I speak for all to
Odin."
"Oh. Er. Good," said the speakers.
"Because I speak for all, I live as a man, though I'm a woman.
I am the mother of a son, and the husband of a girl."
"Oh," said the speakers. "Jolly good! Can I ask you a few
questions for our listeners?"
"Ask," Odinstoy said. "Maybe Odin will answer."
"Oh. Super! I'll fire away then, shall I?"