

THE VANISHED RACE

LEE MOAN
Copyright © 2011 by Lee Moan

Cover art copyright © 2011 by Steve Upham

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Lee Moan.

Smashwords Edition: July 2011

For Barbara Brackenbury

## Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Also Available: THE HOTEL GALILEO

## Chapter One

Flight 15 from Gateway Station

"No seats?" Heath said. "How can there be no seats? Check it again."

The ticket assistant tapped a series of keys, eliciting a flurry of whirrs and clicks from the brass-plated computer. The resulting readout announced itself with a dissonant ping.

"There you are, sir. Just as I said. All the seats on flight fifteen are taken." The clerk gave an apologetic shrug. "You should have made a reservation, sir. It's always best."

The heat of irritation burned in Heath's chest. He set his suitcase down carefully on the white tiles and leaned over the ticket desk. The elderly clerk recoiled slightly, placing a protective hand over the computer console as if to shield it from Heath's wrath.

"My good man," Heath said. "Early this morning I called this station and asked if there were seats available on the Tobriosus excursion and I was told, quite categorically, that there were. In fact, I was told there was no need to reserve a seat. So I didn't. Are you trying to tell me that in the space of three hours every seat on that flight has been taken?"

"Well ... yes, sir."

Heath narrowed his gaze. "What is the frequency of this excursion?"

"One flight per day, sir."

"And how many seats are available on each flight?"

"Forty-two."

"So all forty-two seats on today's flight have been booked?"

"I ... I don't know, sir."

"You don't know? How can you not know?"

"Sir, I have been trying to tell you. The booking system just tells me that the flight is closed. I can only assume that all the seats are booked."

Heath stiffened. _Assume_. He did not like people making assumptions. In his experience, they were almost always wrong. He understood the clerk was just doing his job, and he had some sympathy for him up to a point. The old boy was one of many human-born staff on this Sliferian installation, and from what he knew of the Sliferians, working for them was little better than enduring a slave-like existence. Still, as the old proverb said, sympathy never killed the beast.

"I want to see the flight manifest."

The clerk's eyes bulged. "Sir?"

"You heard me, my man. I want to see the manifest. Right now."

The clerk swallowed hard. Slowly, reluctantly, he picked up the brass telephone on his desk and held it to his ear.

"One moment, sir," he said in a thin voice. "Let me get my superior."

As he made the call, Heath's eyes drifted up to the large poster on the wall above the booking desk. It featured a stylised depiction of a pyramid-like temple under a brooding purple sky.

VISIT THE GREAT TEMPLE OF TOBRIOSUS  
SOLVE THE MYSTERY OF THE VANISHED TOBRII RACE  
FLIGHTS LEAVING EVERY DAY FROM GATEWAY

If you can get a seat, he thought to himself.

Until this moment, Heath had always enjoyed coming to Gateway. Although its exterior appearance was little more than a domed platform in space, its stunning interior design appealed to him—a pleasing marriage of Earth's Art Nouveau style and the cavernous temples of Sliferia. The ceiling of the main booking hall seemed to stretch up and up into the heavens, capped by a giant glass dome through which one could see the stars glittering beyond.

The Sliferian Empire, which currently spanned the two nearest star systems of Andromeda and Betelgeuse, had built Gateway Station at the beginning of the twentieth century and had employed many human architects in the early design stages, back when humanity was just making its first faltering steps into a brave new universe and were glad of the opportunities offered to them. Sliferians, it seemed, adored the Art Nouveau look which had been in vogue on Earth at the turn of the twentieth century, whilst their attitude to Earth's inhabitants was in direct contrast to that.

Heath turned and looked at the queue of passengers stretching across the booking hall behind him. Several people leaned out of the queue to gain a better view of what was happening at the desk, their faces creased with irritation and curiosity. Heath rolled his eyes demonstratively and shrugged.

A young woman stood at the head of the queue, and when their eyes met she offered a supportive smile. She wore stylish spectacles, her elfin face framed by rich brown curls which fell to her shoulders. Heath noticed she was clutching a slim book of poetry in one hand and a pair of tickets in the other. She did not appear to be with anyone else, which Heath thought was odd. Women never travelled alone in space. Well, Earth women anyway. She was about to speak when the ticket clerk's gentle cough drew his attention back to the desk.

A tall, stern-faced Sliferian in full military uniform stood beside the clerk, glaring at Heath with an expectant look on his squat, reptilian features. The officer's purple sash denoted some form of military policeman.

"Is there a problem, sir?" the officer said.

Heath summoned his emotions, drawing in a deep breath. "My good man, I hope your assistant has explained the situation to you. I really don't have the time or the patience to go over it all again."

The guard looked down at the clerk who managed a trembling smile in return.

"Apparently," the Sliferian said, his words dripping with scorn, "you wish to purchase a ticket on an excursion that is fully booked."

Heath bit back his irritation. "No, that's not what I'm trying to do at all. The problem here, officer, is that when I called the ticket office a few hours ago I was told not to worry about booking a seat on the Tobriosus trip, that there would be plenty available when I arrived, but now I'm told there are no seats left. I believe that a mistake has been made somewhere, that's all."

The guard stared at Heath, his eyes narrowing to a squint. Then he made a prolonged hissing noise before focussing his attention on the computer terminal. He nudged the old clerk out of his path and began punching a succession of keys.

"Full," he said with a shrug. "Nothing unusual about that. It happens from time to time."

"But, sir," the clerk said, his hands clearly trembling as he spoke. "I have been on this desk since this morning and I have not seen any great surge in ticket-buying for this particular trip. In fact, sir, I've sold only two that I recall and that was at the start of my shift."

The Sliferian stared down at the old man until he dropped his gaze. Heath met the guard's eyes with an arched brow.

"Bear with me, sir," the Sliferian said. "Let me override it with my security key and see if we can get to the bottom of this."

From his belt he produced a small brass plate in the shape of a fork which he inserted into the side of the terminal. The computer made a harsh beeping sound and ejected a printout with an angry cough.

"Here we are," the Sliferian said. "Oh. Now that is unusual."

"What is?" Heath said.

"It appears that someone has bought up all the remaining seats by wire service in a single transaction."

"All of them?" Heath said.

"Yes, sir."

"Who?"

The officer shook his head. "I'm afraid I cannot divulge that information."

"But who would do such a thing?"

The officer leaned forward. "I cannot divulge that information ... sir."

Heath straightened up, staring at the guard and tapping his fingers on the booking desk. The Sliferian was being deliberately obtuse. He had seen this many times in the past when dealing with Sliferians. Their superiority complex was famous throughout the galaxy. They felt they could do anything, say anything, treat people any way they liked and then hide behind that ominous black uniform. And that irked Heath, irked him a great deal.

In the heat of anger, Heath reached into his jacket pocket and produced a leather wallet, flipping it open to reveal a silver badge emblazoned with the King's mark.

"Barclay Heath of the King's Secret Service."

The guard stared at the insignia, his pale green eyes showing just a flicker of surprise. He pushed out his chin.

"Is that supposed to impress me or in some way intimidate me? Because I assure you it does not. The Sliferian Empire does not recognise the authority of Earth's Secret Service." His left eye quivered. "You should know that."

Heath stared at him for a moment, some of the heat fading from his face. He closed his wallet and slipped it back into his jacket pocket.

"All right, my man. If we're going to play it that way."

"Yes," the guard replied with a stern expression. "We are." The Sliferian's scaly hand came up and rested on a black holster at the side of his belt. Only then did Heath realise he was carrying a firearm. The officer tapped it rhythmically with his forefinger.

Heath held the Sliferian's gaze.

Show no fear, Barclay. Show no fear.

He realised the game was up but he refused to give in to the Sliferian's bully tactics.

After a long and heavy silence, the officer broke eye contact and looked at the clerk. "If that is all," he said, before walking away with an arrogant swing in his step.

Heath watched him go and, when his anger had subsided, couldn't help but smile to himself. He glanced up at the old clerk who was staring back at him with wide eyes and a small smile of admiration.

Heath managed a smile in return. "Please accept my apologies for that entire episode, my good man, but all I wanted was a seat on that flight. I set aside a day especially for this trip. I rather had my heart set on it."

"I'm terribly sorry, sir. Are there any other excursions we can interest you in?"

Heath stared at the poster for a moment, his eyes lingering on the temple, the violet sky, and the empty landscape beyond.

"No," he said quietly. "No, I'm afraid not."

"I say, excuse me?"

Heath turned to face the speaker and found the young woman from the head of the queue at his side. Up close she was even prettier than he had first thought. Her complexion was pale but with a healthy glow which made her cheeks appear to shine. Her lips were thin but when they pulled into a smile her mouth was kind.

"I couldn't help overhearing," she said, "and it's really not like me to be so forward, but ... did you say all the seats for the Tobriosus flight were taken?"

"Yes, madam," the ticket assistant said.

She held up two octagonal, buff-coloured tickets and smiled at Heath.

"I have a spare ticket ... if you'd like it?"

"My dear young woman," he said. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. My ... my companion let me down at the last minute. I was just about to return his ticket for refund. It seems a shame for the seat to go to waste when you so desperately want to go."

Heath bowed graciously. "Your friend's loss is my gain," he said. He pulled out his wallet and began to search out the correct amount of notes.

"No," she said. "Please."

"But I must pay you for the ticket."

She shook her head. "Sir, I am only glad to see the extra ticket put to good use."

"But, I insist," he said.

"You can insist all you like, but I won't allow it."

Heath stood frozen, hand still in his wallet, looking between the young woman and the clerk in astonishment. In the end, he nodded and put his wallet away.

"I am indebted to you, my dear." He offered his hand. "Barclay Heath," he said.

"Cassie Klaven."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Cassie Klaven."

In the space of that momentary handshake, Heath's eyes fixed on the ring-finger of her left hand. No ring in evidence, but the clear indentation of where a ring had been ... until, he believed, very recently.

## Chapter Two

Passengers

After finding a seat in the departure lounge with Miss Klaven, Heath took a moment to study the other passengers. On the far side of the lounge was a striking figure: a tall male with white skin and long flowing white hair. He was dressed in an exquisite frock coat studded with jewels and intricately carved bones. He stood by the rectangular viewing window, sipping from a silver cup. His feline yellow eyes fixed on Heath momentarily before flicking back to the stars outside.

My first Valusian, Heath thought to himself. He had heard stories of the Valusian race but had never actually met one. Highly intelligent beings, by all accounts; elegant and intimidating in equal measure.

This one seems to live up to that, Heath mused.

Just then the lounge door opened and a squat figure in a grey suit strode across the carpeted floor with an air of confidence which could easily be mistaken for arrogance. He was completely bald except for a border of hair at the back of his neck. His bushy moustache more than compensated for the lack of growth on his scalp. He approached the row of seats facing Heath and his companion, paused and sat down. He seemed oblivious to their presence and Heath waited for the man to make eye contact before introducing himself.

He never got the chance.

As soon as the man looked up from his newspaper his nostrils flared. His beady eyes glanced furtively between the two of them before he stood up again and walked over to the seats on the far side of the lounge. Heath watched him take his new seat, before turning to Cassie and shaking his head in disbelief.

"How rude," he said.

"Quite."

Heath was casting his eyes around to study the other passengers when a rough hand grabbed his own.

"Hello, there," the owner of the hand said. "Chorley Stanton, pleased to meet you."

Chorley Stanton was a dark-haired, middle-aged man, very ordinary in appearance, but to Heath's keen eye, the man was a tableau of contradictions. He had a millionaire's smile but poor teeth. His suit was expensive, but his skin was like rough leather. These clues and the man's broad Cockney accent convinced Heath that Chorley Stanton was a working-class man who had somehow come into money; and if Chorley Stanton spent his time travelling around the cosmos and visiting places like Tobriosus, it had to be a considerable amount.

"Nice to meet you," Heath said. "Barclay Heath. This is Cassie Klaven."

"Nice to meet you, sir and madam."

Cassie reached up for a handshake, but Stanton grabbed her fingers and kissed the back of her hand. She gave Heath an amused look.

"I can't tell you how lovely it is to bump into people from the old terra firma." Stanton hesitated, looking suddenly anxious. "You are human, aren't you?"

"Well, I like to think so," Heath said.

Stanton exhaled sharply and drew a hand across his brow in mock relief.

"Thought I'd put my foot in it again," Stanton said. "See that chap over there in the grey flannel suit?"

Heath and Cassie glanced over at the bristling figure who had so openly snubbed them moments earlier. He was holding up a mirror and delicately combing his moustache.

"Judge James Juma. Looks like a human, talks like a human, even smells like a human. Heck, even his name sounds human."

"James Juma," Heath said. "Yes, I suppose James is a name quite specific to Earth."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Well, I'm chatting away to him in the ticket hall and telling him all these jokes from back home and I notice he's not really laughing and these are some good jokes, my best ones. After about ten minutes he leans over and says, 'My dear chap, I think you've made the most arrogant assumption that I am human. I can assure you I am not'. Well, I nearly fell off my chair."

"So what is he?" Cassie said. "I mean, what race is he?"

Stanton looked between Heath and Cassie with a twinkle in his eye, drawing out the suspense. "You'll never guess."

"Xarian," Heath said.

Stanton's smug smile evaporated. "How in Heaven's name did you know that?"

"It's obvious, really. The people of Xaria are absolutely identical to humans in every respect ... except one."

"Which is?"

"They have no heart."

"No heart?" Cassie said, louder than she had intended. "But how do they ...?"

"It's a fascinating biological system." Heath leaned over, lowering his voice to a whisper. "They have veins and arteries just like us, but they move the blood around their bodies by sheer force of will. Can you imagine the level of conscious thought that must take? On the plus side they're able to heal minor wounds in much the same way, by consciously controlling the blood cells at an atomic level to repair damaged tissue."

Cassie looked at the old judge and her jaw fell open. "My God," she said. "How do they sleep?"

"They don't," Heath said. "Well, not like you and I do. They go into what you might call a low-function mode, a trance-like state, but their consciousness is always awake and working, working to keep the body alive."

"No heart," Stanton said. "No heart and no sleep. No wonder they have no sense of humour."

Heath smiled. "They are, by nature, very selfish. Understandable, really, when so much of their daily energy goes into keeping themselves alive. But we mustn't pre-judge. I'm sure our Xarian friend is a wonderful person."

The remaining two passengers stood chatting quietly near the lounge entrance.

"Now," Stanton said, "I also introduced myself to those two. Obviously, there's the Stone Man from Galreon. I think he said his name is Centennial. An archaeologist, no less. Not the greatest conversationalist in the galaxy, though. And the big fella in the cloak is a religious leader from Quirk, and he's an odd one, too. He's called Umlau-Night. Or was it Night-Umlau? I'm really not sure. He introduced himself to me in a very clear, male voice. Told me his name was Umlau. And then, in the flicker of an eyelid, he introduced himself again in a different voice—a female voice. And _she_ said she was called Night. After that the conversation became very odd because he'd be saying one thing and then he'd say something else in this other voice which completely contradicted what he just said."

Heath nodded. "Quirkian males are born with two distinct personalities, most often one male and one female. It's not a disorder exactly. They just have two different individual entities sharing equal space in their head. If you watch their eyes closely the pupils change colour when they switch between the two."

Stanton looked at Heath, shaking his head in open astonishment. "You're very knowledgeable about all this, I must say. How come?"

"Before I retired, part of my work involved understanding the psychology of different races."

"Really?" Stanton said. "What job did you do?"

Heath hesitated. He found that when people discovered his previous occupation as a member of Earth's Secret Service their attitude towards him changed. They either distrusted him because they felt he was judging them, or they expected him to take charge of situations, which made his life very awkward at times. After all, as he had shown in the booking office, once an agent, always an agent. It was a well-known maxim amongst the Secret Service that agents never really retired. Still, on the whole, he found it better to keep such information quiet.

So he said, "It was government work. Very boring, I assure you."

He glanced at Cassie and saw her looking at him with her eyes narrowed and a small smile at the edge of her mouth. After a moment, she looked away.

A female Sliferian voice came over the speaker system.

"Attention all passengers for flight fifteen. Please make your way to the boarding gate. Enjoy your excursion and thank you for flying with Gateway Tours."

"That's us then, folks," Stanton said, grabbing his holdall. "Last one onboard is an absolute rotter."

* * *

As they marched down the long corridor to the boarding gate, the melody of 'When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob-bob-bobbin' Along' echoed through the halls of Gateway Station, reminding Heath that Christmas was not far away. It was surprising how easily one forgot the traditions of Earth whilst travelling through the cosmos. Heath walked in step with his young travelling companion, humming along and feeling incredibly positive about life, the universe and everything.

They passed a marble plinth featuring life-size statues of the Roman goddess Athena standing shoulder to shoulder with the Sliferian deity, Azmohan, their spears raised to the stars above. At its base, a brass plaque read:

GATEWAY STATION  
OPENED BY OZAC YERYK, PREMIER OF SLIFERIA  
LATTERDAY, TRIMESTER ONE, 1909

Behind the statue was a vast window in the stained glass style very common in New York and London. The glass, of course, was not ordinary glass but hyper-glass, a mixture of lordlum and Tri-Spex.

Heath glanced up, distracted by the view of the stars visible through the hyper-glass ceiling above. Despite his years of travelling around the cosmos, the sight of space—the glint of stars, the empty blackness—still took his breath away.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Cassie whispered.

"Yes," he replied. "I shall never tire of it."

"Who would have thought even thirty years ago that we would be out here, soaring between planets, exploring star systems, discovering entire new galaxies?"

"Indeed."

"It makes one feel incredibly small," she said, a melancholy note creeping into her voice.

Heath looked at her. He was about to say something to distract her when she brought herself out of her reverie with a shake of her head. With a broad smile, she offered him her elbow and they continued on their way.

When the queue ahead of them shuffled forward, Heath saw a handsome Earth-African checking tickets at the shuttle entrance. He wore a crisp white pilot's uniform with gold trim, the material straining here and there against the man's muscular physique. Heath studied the pilot for a moment as he checked Stanton's boarding pass and gestured for the Londoner to enter the shuttle.

"I wonder," Heath said.

"Wonder what?"

"Why the pilot is checking people's boarding passes?"

Cassie nodded. "Good question."

When the tall white-haired Valusian passenger in front of them disappeared through the hatch, Heath and Cassie stepped forward.

"Welcome to flight fifteen, I'm Captain Luke Muriuki."

Cassie handed over the passes and the pilot took them with a gentlemanly nod, scanning them quickly with his dark eyes.

"Yes, all good," he said. "Mr and Mrs ... Klaven?"

Heath laughed at this, but when he glanced across at Miss Klaven he found her features pulled into a reluctant smile.

"No, no, we're not together," she said.

The pilot looked at her with his mouth open for a long time. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologise." She studied the gold name plate on his chest. "Muriuki. What does that mean?"

"It's Kikuyu. It means 'one who is reborn'."

Cassie's mouth dropped open. "Really? You've been here before, as it were?"

Captain Muriuki shook his head. "Unfortunately, I am not a believer in reincarnation, but my parents were." He smiled at some personal memory. "They said I was the image of my grandfather. Things I did and said as an infant also convinced them I was my grandfather reborn." He shrugged. "They said also that I had my grandfather's eyes."

"Well," Cassie said, "he must have been a very handsome man, your grandfather."

The pilot dropped his head, a laugh escaping through his teeth.

"Sorry," Cassie said. "I've embarrassed you, haven't I?"

"Not at all," Captain Miriuki said. An awkward silence followed. Miriuki gestured to the doorway. "Please make your way along the shuttle to your seats, seven and eight. Enjoy your trip."

Cassie slipped through the opening, but Heath paused deliberately.

"No steward on this flight?" he asked.

"Delayed," the pilot said. "I'm told he should be here any minute." He leaned forward and said in a hushed tone, "This wouldn't happen on Earth, would it? Between you and me, the Sliferians don't see it as a problem for us Earth pilots to lower ourselves to stewarding once in a while. After all, we're only human, aren't we?"

Heath offered a nod of agreement.

"Enjoy your trip," Muriuki said.

* * *

The shuttle's main passenger area was comprised of twenty-one sets of double seats with a wide thoroughfare down the centre. Heath found his seat halfway down the aisle. When Heath arrived, Cassie was already trying to put her hand luggage in the overhead locker, openly struggling with the weight of it.

"Please, allow me," he said.

"It's all right," she said, grunting with the effort.

"Miss, I insist."

"Will you stop insisting?" she snapped. "I'm not completely helpless!"

Heath stepped back, shocked into silence at her outburst. He watched impotently as she finally managed to thrust the brown carrier into the overhead compartment with a small scream of effort. She smoothed down her dress, gathering herself again, before turning to him with an apologetic frown.

"Mr Heath, please forgive me. That was completely uncalled for. It's just that ... I used to be with someone who was ... very controlling, to say the least. You, however, are a perfect gentleman. I'm so sorry."

Heath bowed. "No need to apologise, Miss Klaven. I completely understand."

She smiled a warm smile that made Heath feel comfortable again.

"One thing, though," she said as she sat down. "If we're going to be together for at least the next twenty-four hours you simply must call me Cassie."

He nodded. "Of course, on the condition that you stop calling me Mr Heath. It's Barclay."

"Deal," she said.

Heath stored his bag in the overhead compartment, draping his overcoat across the side of his chair.

"All passengers, please may I have your attention."

Everyone turned to look at Captain Miriuki who now stood at the front of the compartment.

"Welcome to flight fifteen, everyone. In just a few minutes we will be leaving Gateway Station and cruising out of gravitational range for approximately ten minutes. After that, we will make the calculations for the Zahir Jump to Tobriosus. The journey should take no longer than an hour. I hope you all have a pleasant ride, and if any of you are nervous about making such a trip, I can assure you, as long as you are in my hands you are completely safe."

The hatch door opened and closed behind him and a dark figure entered the cabin.

"Ah," Captain Muriuki said. "This must be our steward for the flight. Just in time."

The figure approached with a stoic march and stopped at the captain's side. Heath recognised the authoritarian figure immediately and his heart sank. He exchanged a glance with Cassie.

"Good afternoon," the Sliferian said. "I am General Portis, and I will be your steward for this flight."

## Chapter Three

The Everlasting Universe of Things

Heath had lost count of how many times he had travelled at faster-than-light speed, and it had never bothered him in the slightest. He couldn't understand why, during this particular Zahir Jump, he vomited three times into a paper bag.

"Are you all right?" Cassie said after the third time.

"I'm so sorry," Heath said. He rolled the paper bag closed and held it out in front of him. "I don't know what's come over me. But I think that's it now. Thank goodness."

"You poor man," Cassie said.

Heath looked around for somewhere to deposit his bag but could find no suitable receptacle.

"Hold on," Cassie said, pressing the green button in the central chair panel. A few moments later, the Sliferian officer came walking up the aisle with impressive reptilian stealth.

"Yes?" he said.

Heath held out the sick bag. "So sorry," he said with a tight smile.

The Sliferian pinched the top of the bag between his thick fingers and carried it away at arms length, as if it were an unexploded bomb.

Cassie touched Heath's arm. "Don't try and tell me you didn't enjoy that."

Heath grinned. He glanced at the streaks of colour visible through the shuttle windows on his left and had to look away again as nausea swelled in him once more.

"I must be ill," he said. "I've never been affected by faster-than-light travel. Never."

"It's usually me who's sick. But I feel fine." She held up the book she had in her lap. "I find reading really helps."

"Yes, that sounds like a good idea. I usually bring a book with me, but I forgot this time. What are you reading?"

"Poetry," she said with an apologetic note.

"Poetry? I love poetry."

"'The everlasting universe of things,'" she read, "'Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves,/ Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom—/ Now lending splendour, where from secret springs/ The source of human thought its tribute brings'."

She paused, looking up, and Heath saw just a hint of moisture in her eyes.

"That's quite beautiful," he said. "Keats, isn't it?"

"Yes, from Mont Blanc. It's one of my favourite poems. I'm really no expert, but I believe Keats was trying to capture the awesome magnitude of Nature and how much of an effect it has on inspiration. What I wouldn't give to compose something as beautiful as that and to be remembered for it."

"You write poetry?" Heath asked.

She snorted. "I try. Not very good, though. I find if I force myself to write, the results are very embarrassing. I believe the best poetry comes from being inspired. That's why I'm here. I know it sounds rather silly, but I'm hoping, like Keats, to gaze upon the temples of Tobriosus and be inspired by their grandeur."

"That's wonderful," Heath said. "A noble aspiration."

"Is that why you're here? To see the sights?"

"No, Cassie, I'm here for the great mystery. What became of the Tobrii race? I do enjoy a good riddle to solve, and there is none greater than the mystery of the vanished Tobrii."

Cassie laughed. "Do you really think you'll be able to solve the mystery in one visit? A mystery which has foxed the universe's greatest archaeologists for centuries?"

Heath looked at her, his eyebrows pulled together in a scowl. Under any other circumstances he would have taken offence at such an attack on his intellect, but there was something about this young woman which affected him. He saw no malice in her face, just a genuine air of inquisitiveness mixed with open amusement at his own boldness.

Heath's expression softened and he shook his head.

"No, of course not. I'm sure the Tobriosus mystery is one that will run and run for centuries to come. But it will be fun to ... have a stab, as they say."

"Well, good luck. If anyone can solve it, I bet you can." She reached over and patted his arm. The contact gave him a pleasant tingle deep inside, but then he saw the small indentation on her ring finger just before she retracted her hand and the questions assailed his mind once more.

Let it go, Heath. It's really none of your concern.

"So, Barclay, do you always travel alone?" she said.

"I'm sorry?"

"You said you've been travelling a lot since you retired. It must be awfully lonely doing it all by yourself."

He smiled. "One is never truly alone when travelling." He gestured to the passengers dotted around the cabin. "There are always fellow travellers. I find meeting new people absolutely fascinating."

She nodded, but cocked her head to one side, her brown eyes studying him. "So there's no one special in your life?"

His smile faltered. He sat up a little straighter. It had been a long time since anyone had asked him such a direct and personal question. He did not have a prepared answer.

"Uh ... no, not now," he said. "There was someone once, but it was a long time ago."

"What happened?"

"I ... I lost her."

Cassie's forehead wrinkled. "Oh, Barclay, I'm so sorry."

"Oh no, she's not dead," he said, realising how it sounded. "I literally lost her." He looked out through the round portal at the blur of stars. "Somewhere out there."

"Maybe ... Maybe you'll find her again one day."

"To be perfectly honest, my dear, I'm not entirely sure I want to."

"Why ever not?"

He tore his gaze away from the window and looked his young companion in the eye. "Because she broke my heart."

"Oh, Barclay," Cassie whispered. She touched his arm again and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat to erase the emotion from his voice. "What about you? You said someone let you down."

"Yes ..." She seemed to struggle with the words, wrestling with some inner demons. "I seem to attract unreliable men lately. Must be the gods punishing me for past sins."

"How do you mean?"

Before she could answer, the speakers above their heads crackled into life, and the voice of their pilot filled the cabin.

"This is Captain Muriuki. We are just dropping out of the Zahir Jump Sequence. If you would like to look through the viewing portal at the front of the cabin, you will see what I am seeing right now."

All eyes focused on the small oval screen which showed the map of space and a fast approaching orb which quickly filled the screen.

"Tobriosus. Isn't she beautiful? The planet is roughly one third the size of Earth, one eighth the size of Galreon; just to give you a couple of measures. It has an oxygen rich air density, so if you're from Earth or Valusia be careful down there, don't breath too deeply or you'll find yourself fainting all over the place. We will be setting down at the shelter station situated right in the middle of the Great Valley, in the shadow of the Great Temple. The first tour of the temple will begin shortly after departure. We hope you enjoy your stay."

Heath whistled as the planet's surface filled the screen above, mesmerised by the planet's stark beauty and the tantalising promise of the mystery below, so much so that he completely forgot his conversation with Cassie and the question that remained unanswered.

* * *

Stepping out onto the dry desert floor, Heath gave the surrounding landscape only a cursory glance; it was the vast twisting silhouette of the Great Temple which commanded his attention. The main bulk of the temple was like an immense jet-black fist pressed knuckles-down against the desert floor and severed at the wrist. It had to be more than forty feet high up to that point alone. Then, protruding from the top were two curved daggers of the same black substance, reaching high into the Tobriosus sky in a graceful natural arch separated at its apex by what must have been several feet. Static clouds of yellow and grey partially obscured the arch. The entire structure looked to Heath as if some great god had sculpted it out of the very desert itself. Framed against the rich purple sky—a deeper shade of purple than the posters had depicted—it was, without a doubt, the most awesome sight he had ever seen.

"Oh my God," he heard Cassie say beside him. She let her holdall fall to the dusty ground and clasped her hands over her nose and mouth. "They never said it was this beautiful."

When he looked over at her, he found she had tears in her eyes. Glancing around at the other passengers, he found them all similarly enthralled by the sight.

He took a deep breath to steady his emotions, and felt suddenly light-headed. He recalled the captain's earlier warning and reduced his breathing to shorter, smaller intakes.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" the Sliferian said, hurrying down the gangplank. "Anyway, there'll be plenty of time to see it up close later. Please follow me to the shelter. I'll show you where you will be staying tonight."

The Sliferian began herding the travellers towards the squat ring-shaped building behind the shuttle, but Heath and Cassie hung back, looking at each other with a mutual shake of the head.

"Now there's someone who's lost his sense of wonder," Cassie said.

They turned together and looked back up at the vast silhouette dominating the sky above them. They stood there for an unknown time, only the whistle of the gentle desert wind filling the silence.

"Feel inspired yet?" Heath asked.

"And then some," she said. Then: "Barclay? I'm scared."

He looked at her, saw the anxiety in her face. "Scared? What are you scared of?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. It's this place. I feel like something bad is going to happen."

At that moment they were both distracted by a noise from the shuttle cockpit and glanced up to see Captain Muriuki rubbing his head vigorously and looking angrily at a storage box which had just fallen from the shelf behind him.

"Don't worry," Heath told her. "We have our illustrious Captain to look after us."

Cassie looked at Heath and broke into a smile, the purple sky bathing her features in an ethereal glow. Her eyes twinkled as she smiled, and, just for a moment, her simple beauty took his breath away.

"Everything will be fine," he said. "I promise."

* * *

The interior of the Station was as plush as any hotel Heath had ever seen. In fact, the maroon and tan colour scheme reminded him of the Dorchester, possibly his favourite hotel not just in London but in the entire universe. Heath suspected that human hands had been involved in the construction of this facility, too.

The passengers rode the large elevator to the first floor in silence, with the gentle strains of 'Come Josephine' drifting out of the overhead speakers. The dour Sliferian stood in front of the doors, rocking back and forth on his booted heels, hands clasped together behind his back and Heath couldn't help thinking of him as a gaoler escorting his prisoners to their cells.

When the elevator doors slid open, General Portis stepped out and immediately wheeled round to face the assembled group.

"Your attention, please. You will find your accommodation on this floor and this floor only. Your keys denote which room number you have been allocated. Please assemble in the lobby downstairs in precisely thirty minutes."

Cassie leaned close to Heath and whispered, "And anyone more than a minute late will be shot."

Heath laughed through his nose.

"Is there something wrong back there?" the Sliferian said, fixing them both with an acidic stare.

Heath cleared his throat. "Not at all, my good man, we're just excited about the trip to the temple, that's all."

Cassie hid her smirk behind her hand.

Portis glared at them before saying, "See you all downstairs in thirty minutes."

As the Sliferian stalked off down the corridor, Heath accompanied Cassie in the opposite direction.

"Something tells me our 'steward' doesn't really want to be here," Cassie said.

"Really?" Heath said in mock surprise. "What makes you think that?"

"Just a feeling. Maybe what's really irking him is the idea of being stuck here for twenty-four hours with us lowly humans."

"I think you may be right," Heath said. He watched the retreating figure for a moment. "It is odd, though, why he replaced the steward at the last minute. Remind me to ask him about that later."

They approached a door with a number four surrounded by various symbols denoting the same figure in different languages.

"This is me," Cassie said, holding up her brass-plated key fob with an identical number four on it.

Heath glanced over his shoulder at the door opposite with the number seven glinting in the lamplight.

"And look at that, I'm right across the hall."

An awkward silence followed. Heath felt a sudden jolt of déjà vu. It was a long time since he'd enjoyed the company of any woman, let alone one as vibrant as Cassie Klaven. He knew it was foolish to think of her in a romantic way but the connection was undeniable, and he hoped that she felt it too.

"Well, I'll see you in half an hour," Cassie said, placing the key in the lock.

"Indeed," he said, turning to his own door. "And don't be late." He mimed the cocking of a pistol.

She laughed and disappeared into her room.

Heath's apartment was tidy and spacious: a double bed with a cabinet and drawers with plenty of space to walk around. The single window above the bed offered a view of the bleak landscape of Tobriosus, the rolling dunes painted in rich tones of orange and yellow as the sun hovered on the horizon. A door led to an en-suite bathroom with a toilet, bidet and a bath with chrome taps.

He carefully unpacked his overnight bag, placing his spare jacket and trousers in the closet and his toiletries in the bathroom cabinet. As he was standing there in front of the sink he heard muffled voices from the room next door. He held himself still and listened, his natural curiosity kicking in.

The first speaker was clearly a male voice. "I don't know what it is you want from me."

A second, lighter voice replied, "Please, I know you don't owe me anything, but just out of common decency, don't say anything."

"You know full well we shouldn't even be sharing the same space. You have no right to ask anything of me."

Heath laughed silently to himself. Night-Umlau. It had to be. Arguing with himself.

"Of course," the female voice replied with a bitter edge. "I should have known better than to ask you to show a little common decency."

The deeper voice said something else that Heath failed to make out and a period of silence followed. Realising that he was in fact eavesdropping on a very private conversation, Heath closed the cabinet door, and continued with his ablutions. However, for the remainder of his time alone in the room one nagging question plagued him: what on earth did the female half of Night-Umlau's personality not want the other to reveal?

## Chapter Four

The Vanished Race

The party set out on foot for the excavation site, a leisurely stroll though a narrow valley with tall banks of dark sand on either side. Sometimes, as they walked, the desert winds dislodged the topmost spines of the dunes and sent little flurries of sand down the slope.

At one point, Centennial, the Stone Man, stumbled across one of the softer areas of sand and began to sink. The rest of the group were quick to help, gathering round him and dragging him onto more secure ground. Heath imagined the bulky Galrean felt embarrassed by the incident but it was hard to tell in a face that was nothing more than shifting granite. After that, the group stayed in a tight formation to be prepared for any other eventualities, all except the tall, pale Valusian who remained some distance behind.

The uptight Sliferian was quiet during the walk, and Chorley Stanton took it upon himself to keep the group entertained.

"My dad always said I was a lost cause. 'You'll never amount to anything, boy', he always used to say. 'You're too soft, you won't get anywhere being nice to people, you should worry about yourself in this world!' Well, I tell you, he's back on Earth slaving away in a London combustion factory and here I am, walking across the sands of Tobriosus with you fine people." He paused, pulling out a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabbing his forehead. "It was probably him that helped build the engine on the shuttle which brought me here. Now wouldn't that be a fine piece of poetic justice?"

"So what changed for you?" Heath asked. "You had a change of fortune?"

"Change of fortune? I'll say. Two years ago, I was working as a street cleaner. I really wasn't cut out for factory work, see. Another failing. Anyway, one morning I'm sweeping down Marylebone and I come across this poor chap sleeping in a doorway. He was in a terrible state, hair all bedraggled, eyes bloodshot, and he stank to high heaven. I reckoned he hadn't had a bath in weeks, maybe even months. Well, people don't look too kindly on the likes of such people so ... I took him home. That's right, I put down my tools for the day and took the chappie home. Gave him a bath, fixed him some food and a glass of water which was about all I had in the place. He stayed for the rest of that day, had a good kip on my bed and then ... then he just disappeared. No 'thank you', no handshake, nothing.

"Next day it's in all the newspapers. Lord Marcus of Bathurst, found alive and well after going missing for six months. I'd only gone an' found a bloody Lord lying in the gutter!"

"My God, I remember that story!" Cassie said.

"Me, too," Heath said.

Stanton paused before continuing. "Well, it was all fine and dandy for Lord Marcus, but unfortunately I lost me job, didn't I? Abandoning my work at the start of my shift and all that. My boss sacked me without pay. Two days later, just as the landlord's threatenin' to kick me out me lodgings, one of these Royal gents turns up on my doorstep. Hands me a big fat sack of coins, and a cheque for an amount that knocked me sideways.

"When I asked what it was all for, the Royal chappie just looked at me and said, 'for being kind'. After he left, my legs gave out on me. I fell in a heap on the floor. I don't mind telling you, I cried for an hour straight." Stanton coughed, clearing his throat noisily. "Just goes to show," he said in a quieter voice. "My father was wrong."

There was a commotion from somewhere behind them and the group stopped and looked back. The Valusian was kneeling in the sand, his long white hair hanging down over his face.

Portis reached him first, helping him back onto unsteady feet.

"What is it?" Stanton asked.

"Are you all right?" Cassie said.

"I'm fine," the Valusian said, fingers pressed against his temples. "It's the oxygen. Too rich for me." He struggled for breath for several moments, cursing quietly in his native language.

"Can you carry on?" the steward asked.

The Valusian shook his head. "I don't think that would be wise. I shall head back to the station, get some rest."

Portis stiffened. "No, I'm afraid you can't. You have to stay with the group. As your tour guide I am responsible—"

"I'm going back," the Valusian said, nostrils flaring. "Hopefully I will be fit for sightseeing tomorrow morning."

The Valusian shrugged off the Sliferian's grip and started marching back the way they had come.

"Shouldn't one of us go back with him?" Stanton said, looking round.

"Forget it," Juma said. "He's a Valusian. They're loners by nature. I'm surprised he's managed to stomach our company thus far. Let's leave him, shall we? Crack on?"

"Gee, Juma, you're all heart," Stanton said.

The old judge glared at him, before he turned and headed off across the sand.

Heath exchanged a glance with Cassie, raising an eyebrow to elicit a small smile from her. He offered her his elbow and she slipped her arm through it. As they took up the rear of the group, Heath glanced back at the retreating figure of the Valusian.

Surely he must have known about the oxygen, he wondered.

* * *

"Here we are," the Sliferian announced.

The valley ended about thirty yards ahead, and in the 'V' the temple rose up above them like a colossus. Everyone came to a standstill, craning their necks up at the magnificent sight.

Chorley Stanton's voice rose out of the silence. "My God, it looks ... it looks brand new."

"You're right," Centennial said. "I was expecting it to look ancient, but look at the way it gleams. It looks as if it was made yesterday."

Cassie looked at Portis. "When was it built?"

"Archaeologists from Ghote and Ex-Parmisi have been studying the temple for the past twenty years and they have found it very difficult to find an exact origin to its construction—"

"Yes," Centennial interrupted, "I've read their findings. Their best estimate is that the temple appeared around nine-hundred years ago. How long it has stood empty is even harder to determine."

"I'm sorry," Heath said. "Appeared? Why did you say appeared and not built?"

"That's the term the archaeologists have chosen," Centennial explained. "They don't refer to the temple as being built for one very simple reason: there are no signs of it having been constructed at all. No bricks or sandstone, no mortar or its equivalent. The structure appears to be one solid, cohesive mass."

Heath looked back up at the towering edifice, examining its shiny black surface more closely. From the outside it did indeed appear to be solid. No cracks, no division of individual parts, nothing.

"Astonishing," Heath said. He felt that old fire, the tantalising heat of a great mystery, flare into life in his gut.

"Did the Tobrii live inside the temple then?" Cassie asked.

At the same time, Portis and Centennial answered, "No."

They glared at each other.

"No, Miss Klaven," Portis said. "Archaeologists have uncovered a settlement nearby. Not far. Follow me, if you will." Then, under his breath, he added, "After all, I am the tour guide."

* * *

A short distance from the base of the temple the group came upon a large excavated site. Heath estimated the pit was around fifty feet square with the partially-unearthed remnants of a settlement some fifteen feet below. Wooden ladders, left behind by the archaeological teams, rested against the inner walls at specific points, with large barriers lining the circumference all the way around.

The group stepped up to the barriers and peered down into the dusty site.

"If you look closely," Portis said, "you can clearly see the walls of simple houses, very rudimentary in design. There's a pottery, a stonemason's shack, the remnants of a food market, perhaps, but it is unlikely this race had developed anything like a monetary system like the rest of the universe. The Tobrii seemed to live in simple, small groups, and as far as anyone can tell there are no cities anywhere on the planet."

"What's that down there?" Centennial asked.

Portis followed his line of sight. "What?"

"That large stone tablet set into the floor?"

"What stone tablet?"

Centennial shook his head and marched away from the group along the line of barriers, the ground trembling slightly beneath his heavy footfalls. He reached the nearest ladder and lowered himself down onto it.

"What are you doing?" Portis cried, rushing after him.

"I'm going to take a closer look."

"But you can't. The excavation is off-limits to tourists."

Centennial paused on the ladder and glared up at the Sliferian. "I am no tourist, Portis," he said. "I am an archaeologist, and if you think I've come all this way without taking a good look at this site then you are very much mistaken."

"But ... But ..." The Sliferian trailed off into silence, staring helplessly as the Stone Man descended to the site floor, the ladder creaking under his immense weight. Portis looked back at the rest of the group and pursed his thick green lips. "I will be reporting him to the Gateway commissioners, so don't any of you think of joining him."

Silence fell over the group.

"Portis," Cassie said, "now you've said that I _really_ want to go down there."

She looked up at Heath and they exchanged an understanding nod.

"Me, too," Stanton said, leading the march towards the ladder. Heath and Cassie followed.

Portis stared at them with his mouth wide open. He looked at Night-Umlau and Juma.

"I'll stay here if you don't mind," the Quirkian priest said in a light, feminine voice. "Not because I'm scared of you. I just don't have much faith in that ladder being able to bear our weight, especially after our Galrean friend has used it." Night-Umlau's eyes changed colour and he answered his female half in a deep male voice. "What are you talking about? Don't be such a coward. Use another ladder!" The head twitched, and the female voice answered. "None of the ladders look particularly safe. And don't go calling me a coward. Just remember when you go off on your reckless little escapades that you're putting my life at risk, too." The male voice answered, "Don't I know it!" Nose in the air, Night-Umlau marched past Portis to the ladder on the far side of the site.

"What about you, Juma?" Stanton said "Afraid of breaking the rules?"

Juma stared at him for a moment and Heath expected an acerbic response, but the old judge simply gave a derisive sniff and followed after the Quirkian priest.

The human trio ducked under the barrier surrounding the site. Stanton went first, testing the ladder before descending at speed. Heath helped Cassie onto the ladder and, as they descended, Portis shouted at them like an angry school teacher.

"This ... this is outrageous! You are forbidden from entering that site!"

"We've already entered it," Stanton called back as he stepped off the bottom of the ladder. "Sorry."

"I forbid you to touch anything down there!"

Stanton grinned up at the Sliferian and deliberately put his fingers on the lip of a large clay pot.

"He's touching things!" Cassie called up, barely containing her laughter.

"All right, children," Heath said. "Let's not enrage our tour guide any further."

Portis stormed away from the edge out of sight and they could hear the sound of muttered curses and the kicking of dirt.

They looked around, a gentle wind rolling down into the space from above, disturbing the dust and sand. All humour seemed to drain away in the face of this virtual graveyard. Heath approached a broken wall showing a simple living space beyond with a stone tablet in the centre which may have served as a table or even a bed. The trio moved carefully through the rubble, stepping over recognisable artefacts such as pots and urns and smaller crockery.

Stanton stepped over a half-submerged pipe. "What's this?"

"Sewage pipes?" Cassie suggested.

"Possibly," Heath said. "They must have had some sort of irrigation system. Did you see those large craters we passed over when we arrived in the shuttle? I suspect they were once great lakes of water. All dried up now. Turned to dust like everything else."

A high wind whistled through the settlement and Cassie clutched her shoulders.

"It's eerie," she said. "To think this was once a thriving community and then ..."

Stanton nodded.

"What was it that caught our friend's eye?" Heath said, walking over to where the Stone Man was crouched near the base of the far wall.

It was a large stone set into the floor of the deserted village with bizarre shapes carved into its surface. Centennial ran his thick, stony fingers over the tablet, brushing away the sand and dirt. At its centre was an elaborate depiction of a large winged creature.

"What do you think it is?" Heath asked.

Centennial produced a small brush and swept away more sand to reveal more of the detail. The creature's tail ended in a ribbed point.

"Is that a sting?" Cassie wondered aloud.

"Possibly," the Stone Man said. "From what I understand, there were no indigenous life-forms on Tobriosus other than the Tobrii themselves. As far as we know, anyway. Like the Tobrii, no animal skeletons or remains have ever been discovered."

"My God," Cassie said. "What did they eat then?"

"Simple grains mostly. Maybe some fruit and vegetables." Centennial grinned, his stony features creaking with the effort. "They were vegetarians."

Stanton leaned over the tablet, hands on his knees. "All right, so maybe this was a mythical creature created by the Tobrii. Something to keep their children in line."

"Nice idea," Heath said.

"One thing's for certain," said Centennial. "Whether this creature existed or not, it must have had a profound effect on the lives of the Tobrii for them to make stone carvings of it like this."

Cassie suddenly shivered. She wrapped her arms around herself. "The idea of it gives me the creeps."

"Look at this."

Everyone followed the voice to see Night-Umlau standing in the opening of one of the huts. They crossed the uneven floor and crowded around the scene. Inside the hut was a simple stone bed. A clay bowl rested in the centre, filled with assorted items of simple jewellery. Bangles and beads, a number of rings and necklaces and a circular pendant, all tarnished by dust and the decay of ages. It was the pendant which Night-Umlau seemed interested in.

"See?" he said. "The pendant has the same image as the stone tablet. The winged creature."

They all peered closer, though not too close, as if entering this once-personal space would be a form of violation. Juma, however, leaned in ahead of them, reaching out a tentative hand towards the bowl of trinkets.

"Don't touch it!" Night-Umlau's female voice suddenly shrieked.

Juma instantly recoiled. He looked up at the Quirkian like a chastised schoolboy.

"We do not touch the articles of the dead," Night-Umlau explained. "Have you no respect?"

Juma looked ready to argue, but he nodded instead. "Forgive me."

Then, Portis's voice echoed from above like an irritated god. "If you have all quite finished? Night is beginning to fall. We really must move on to the temple."

In silence, the group moved away, heading for the ladders and the surface above. Heath was aware of Juma hanging back for just a few moments, and when he finally joined them he wore a strange expression on his face.

"Everything all right, Juma?" Heath asked.

"Peachy," he said. "Just peachy."

## Chapter Five

The Great Temple

When the group entered through the temple's wide archway, the first thing Heath noticed was the silence. It was devastating. The sound of their footfalls seemed to vanish quickly into the dreadful vacuum. The group drifted around the vast open space for a time, struck dumb by the sheer beauty and immensity of it all. Ornate glyphs of the most startling colours adorned the walls around them. The temple ceiling was some fifty feet high and lost in deep shadow. Only a solitary shaft of golden sunlight stabbed down out of the gloom, illuminating a circular area of the temple floor. Within that circle was a large raised dais with three concentric tiers spreading out around it.

"So this must have been where they came to worship," Cassie said, her voice dimmed by awe. It was more of a question than a statement.

"What did they worship?" Stanton asked.

Portis stared at him with his wide unblinking eyes. "That," he said, "is one of the big questions, isn't it? There are numerous wall paintings here which tell us a great deal about the Tobrii culture before everything ended ... before they vanished from the surface of the planet." He paused, looking at everyone. The Sliferian appeared pleased to have some control again, even if it was merely their attention he now held. "Despite years of study, archaeologists have found it very difficult to fully understand the religious structure of the Tobrii race. As you can see from these glyphs, there are various depictions of sacrificial ceremonies and numerous allusions to some form of deity figure, but no actual depictions of said being."

"Maybe they had no god," Night-Umlau said.

Everyone looked at the Quirkian priest. He smoothed down the feathers on his shoulder and shrugged.

"Down the ages," Umlau explained, "there have been many cultures that have not embraced the idea of a superior being or Creator—my own people, for example. Quirkian civilisation is founded on the belief that we are all part of the very fabric of the cosmos, a small but necessary ingredient in the workings of the universe, in much the same way that antibodies are a necessary part of a single living being. Perhaps the Tobrii held to similar ideals."

"Interesting point," Portis said. "But it seems unusual for there to be so many images of the Tobrii praising, making offerings, and undertaking religious ceremonies for there not to be some sort of god."

"Maybe they were gods themselves?" Cassie said.

She looked at Heath for backup and he winked at her.

"Ah," Portis said. "Another good point, but one which has been disproved." He marched across the cavernous temple floor, boot heels clicking on the stone slabs, to a long horizontal glyph. It depicted a large rainbow-like arch with representations of humanoid figures at intervals along its length. "This appears to demonstrate the life cycle of a Tobrii male. Down here at the bottom left we have what is clearly an infant Tobrii. Moving up the arc we have a young adult beginning to seek female mates. Then over here we have a Tobrii in old age. And finally, here at the bottom right, a Tobrii inside this structure which looks very much like a sarcophagus." Portis looked at the group with a satisfied grin. "They were born, they lived, they died. Just like any of us. So they were clearly not gods of any description."

"Could I make a suggestion?" Heath said, raising his hand.

The Sliferian sighed. "Yes, if you must."

"Who's to say the glyphs read from left to right?"

Portis blinked rapidly for a few seconds, before turning and reappraising the glyph behind him.

"Ha, good show!" Chorley Stanton said. "Maybe the Tobrii started out old, got younger and then disappeared up their own exhaust pipe!" He clapped his hands together, making a loud echo in the chamber. "There you go, the mystery is solved. Congratulations, Mr Heath."

Heath smiled at Stanton's explosion of humour. Portis, however, looked round with a stony expression.

"I don't think so," he said.

"Mr Stanton was merely being light-hearted," Heath said, "but I just wanted to make a point. There is no reason to think that the Tobrii read from left to right."

"But, Mr Heath, every race in the universe reads from left to right."

"Do they? Can you say that for certain? The Tobrii may have been the exception. After all, on Earth, the Hebrew language is read from right to left, whereas the rest of the world reads from left to right."

The steward looked at the glyph once more, shook his head. "I'm sorry, I don't accept that."

"The question still remains, though," Cassie said. "Where did they go? Did they leave the planet?"

"No," Portis said, sounding relieved to get back onto more familiar territory. "I can tell you, quite categorically, that the Tobrii never developed the ability to travel into space. There are no factories, no fuel refineries, no evidence of developed sciences beyond the most basic architecture and rudimentary mathematics. In fact, these glyphs often highlight their distinct lack of interest in anything outside their own sphere of existence. It seems they were a very inward-looking race."

"All right," Cassie said, circling around the group and looking at the other glyphs, "so where did they go? If they didn't fly away in their own spacecraft ..."

"Ah, what if they were _taken_ away?" Stanton said.

"What do you mean?" asked Portis.

"I mean, what if some other more advanced race came along in their big ships, decided these Tobrii chaps were jolly interesting and herded them all into their spacecraft and flew away with them?" Stanton looked around the group. "Just a suggestion."

"And one that has been suggested many times before. My answer to that would be, where are they, then? If another, more scientifically advanced, species took the Tobrii people against their will and relocated them elsewhere in the universe, why don't we know about it? There would be evidence, surely."

"Fair point," said Juma. "What if they were destroyed? What if this advanced race came along, decided they didn't like the look of the Tobrii, and killed them all?"

"Again," the steward said with a roll of the eyes, "there would have to be evidence. Bodies, bones, mass graves."

"Maybe they were evaporated," Stanton said with a small smirk. "The invading race evaporated the Tobrii with a dirty great evaporating ray!"

Everyone laughed.

"No, no, no," the steward said. "Why would they? The Tobrii were a peaceful race, no threat to anyone. There is no hint of warmongering or aggression in any of their paintings. I really think, to use a human expression, you are clutching at straws."

"So," Heath said. "If they didn't leave by their own steam, and they weren't taken, and they weren't wiped out ... where are they? An entire race can't just disappear."

"Graves," Cassie said. She was staring at another glyph some distance away from the group.

"Excuse me?" Portis called over.

"You said earlier that if there was an attack—some terrible cataclysm—and the Tobrii were murdered, there would have to be mass graves somewhere."

"Yes, but there aren't any. That's what I said."

Cassie looked over at the group. "But surely, any race which is born, which lives and then dies, would have a place to bury their dead, anyway?"

"Well, yes," Portis said.

The group muttered a communal agreement.

"Then where are they?"

Heath nodded, smiling at Cassie.

"Why are there no graves?"

A heavy silence fell over the group. The only sound was the whistle of the desert wind outside. It was Juma who broke the silence.

"A very good question, but right now I would really like to know what that is."

Everyone watched the old judge as he walked across to the circular platform in the centre of the floor. Without hesitation he hopped up onto the first tier.

"Judge Juma!" Portis cried. "You mustn't—"

Juma turned round. "I am only looking, my dear fellow. You really must learn to relax."

Before Portis could answer, a piercing scream came to them on the desert wind, a thin sound, a haunting sound, the sound of something very mortal in terrible pain.

Everyone looked at the open entrance to the temple, back in the direction of the shelter ...

Then, as one, the group began to run.

## Chapter Six

Dust

They reached the station in less than ten minutes, but the rich oxygen was beginning to have a debilitating effect on Heath and his fellow humans. As they approached the station, Cassie leaned against him while Stanton remained some distance behind, swaying and stumbling as if severely inebriated. Eventually, Stanton stopped and placed his hands on his knees.

The shuttle rested on the landing pad beside the shelter. Large corrugated pipes protruded from the side of the craft and disappeared into the open door of a large rectangular unit standing free in the desert floor. The hum of a very powerful generator filled the silence.

"Captain Muriuki!" Portis bellowed. They stood in a rough semi-circle in front of the ship. The dying light made it difficult to see anything inside the cockpit. "Captain Muriuki, are you in there? I think we have a problem!"

No response, only the sough of the desert wind.

"Maybe he went into the station after he heard the scream?" Cassie suggested.

Portis looked round, fear burning bright in his reptilian eyes. "Captain Muriuki would not have left the ship open," he said. "Stay here."

Portis ran up the gangplank and vanished into the shadows of the ship's hold. After a moment, Heath broke away from Cassie.

"Will you be all right for a minute?" he asked her.

"Where are you going?"

"It's all right. I'll be back in just a tick."

She nodded, but her reticence was obvious.

He followed the Sliferian into the ship. When he stepped into the passenger area, he found the steward standing with his back to him in the open doorway of the cockpit, his right hand holding the curtain. Heath could see that the Sliferian's long fingers were trembling. Heath stepped up to his shoulder and peered into the dimly lit cockpit.

There was no sign of the captain.

"He ... he's gone," Portis muttered.

"What?" Heath said, still searching the cabin.

"We can't get back to Gateway without the captain. I can't fly this thing."

"Stop worrying, Portis. The captain must be in the station somewhere. There's bound to be a good reason why he left the ship unattended—"

"Oh, really?" the Sliferian snapped, pointing at a shape under the console. "Then what is that?"

Heath followed the Sliferian's elongated finger to the dark patch and dropped into a crouch. He pulled out a small pen-light from his jacket pocket and clicked it on. It took only a few moments to examine the small pile of white dust. The pile was about six inches high, and looked to Heath like a molehill.

"What is it?" Portis asked.

Heath saw the glint of something metallic in the pile and carefully used his pen-light to pull it free, causing a tiny landslide. He lifted the shiny object up on the end of his pen for closer examination. It was the gold earring Captain Muruiki had worn in his left ear. He felt a terrible churning sensation in his stomach.

"Please, what is it?" Portis demanded.

"My dear friend," Heath said, looking down balefully at the pile of white dust, "I think it's what's left of our captain."

* * *

Heath drew the security door across the cockpit and faced the trembling steward.

"We're trapped," Portis said, his eyes fixed on the closed door behind Heath.

"What?"

"If Captain Muriuki's gone, we're stuck here. I don't know how to fly this thing! I'm not a pilot."

Heath frowned. "Let's not worry about that right now. What we need to do is keep this cockpit shut. It is, in effect, now a possible crime scene."

"Crime?" Portis said. "You think this is murder?"

"I can't say for certain yet. We don't even know for certain if that is Captain Muriuki back there. I say we go outside, tell the others what we've found and then find our Valusian friend, see if we can piece all this together."

Heath marched towards the exit but General Portis continued to stare at the closed cockpit door.

"Why is this happening?" he said.

"I don't know," Heath said, looking back. "Not yet, anyway. Come on, let's go."

They descended the gangplank and found the rest of the group huddled at the bottom.

"Well?" they all said in unison.

Heath opened his mouth to speak, but Portis interrupted.

"Captain Muriuki is dead."

Shrieks and cries of horror.

Heath threw an angry glance at Portis. "No, wait. Listen, everyone. At the moment, Captain Muriuki is missing."

"What did you find up there?" Judge Juma asked, stepping forward.

Heath took a second to try and compose himself, to think of a way forward. He could see panic in everyone's eyes, even Cassie's, and he knew from past experience that panic was never good, especially on the surface of an alien planet.

"There is no body, if that's what you're asking. All we found was a small pile of dust. We don't know what it is yet, and until we have searched the entire complex we cannot say for certain that it is, or was, the captain."

"That's not the whole truth!" Portis said, stepping forward to address the small crowd. "We found the captain's earring in that pile of dust. I think ... I think Captain Muriuki was vaporised!"

More cries of horror and dismay.

Heath glared at him, but the Sliferian only looked back at him with a petulant expression.

"Where is the Valusian?" Juma shouted. "It has to be him! He must have done it!"

Heath tried to shout above the noise of the group. "Please, everyone, I'm appealing to you to remain calm. No one has _done_ anything! There's no proof—"

"There are lights on in the sleeping quarters!" Portis interrupted, pointing up at the first floor of the oval station. "He must be up there!"

"Right," Juma said. "Come on everyone, let's go and find out if the blighter can explain himself."

The group marched away in unison, General Portis racing to join them, leaving only Cassie standing at the bottom of the gangplank. She looked up at Heath with a heavy frown.

"I told you, didn't I?" she said. "I said something bad was going to happen."

* * *

By the time they caught up with the group, they were on the first floor landing outside the Valusian's sleeping quarters. Portis hammered on the door.

"Open up, Mr Gallus. Open up right now or I will be forced to break down this door."

There was a noise from inside the apartment and the Sliferian stepped away. Everyone watched the door as the bolts slid back.

Cassie gripped Heath's arm.

The door opened wide and the Valusian's imposing figure filled the frame. He was dressed in a flowing bathrobe and his long white hair was unkempt as if he had been sleeping.

"Is there a problem?" he said, looking round the group.

"Is there a problem?" said Juma. "A man has been murdered and you ask if there's a problem."

"We don't know that anyone has been murdered," Heath said. "We are simply looking for Captain Muriuki."

"Oh stop it!" Portis snapped. "You've already tried to play this down."

Heath glared at him.

"There was a scream," Stanton said. "You must have heard the scream. We heard it from the temple twenty minutes away."

The Valusian shook his head. "I heard nothing. I was asleep."

"That scream would have woken the dead," Juma countered. "You can't tell us you slept through it."

"I am telling you," Gallus said, with a glowering look.

Juma stepped forward. "Then I am calling you a liar, sir."

The Valusian's nostrils flared. "That is very unwise, Judge. I do not take kindly to being called a liar."

"Oh, so what are you going to do about that?" Juma said. "Are you going to kill me, too?"

A chorus of approval rose up from the rest of the group. Heath could take no more.

"Everyone! Stop!"

Silence fell in the corridor. All eyes turned to Heath.

"This is not the way to approach this. We need to think through this situation with logic and, more importantly, with clear heads. Accusing each other of being murderers when we don't even have a body is not productive."

"I'm sorry, Mr Heath," Portis said in a sarcastic tone, taking a step towards him. "I am in charge of this situation. Why should any of us listen to you?"

Heath sighed, knowing there was no other option now, knowing he could keep his identity a secret no longer. With a glance in Cassie's direction, he reached into his jacket pocket and produced his wallet, displaying his badge to the group.

"Barclay Heath, of Earth's Secret Service."

"Good Lord," Chorley Stanton said. "I knew it! He's a secret agent."

Portis stared at Heath, a resentful expression on his reptilian features. He pushed out his chin.

"Heath, as I told you back at the ticket office we do not recognise the authority of the British government."

"You may not, Portis," Stanton said, "but I do, and I'm sure I'm not the only one. Heath is just the man we need in this situation, not some jumped-up little general who can't even keep a group of tourists under control."

Portis looked ready to explode, his huge eyes narrowing to slits. Somehow he managed to contain his anger.

"So, Heath," Stanton said, "what do we do now?"

Heath put his badge away and took a moment before answering. "The first thing we should do is spread out in twos. We need to search the entire station. We need to be certain that Captain Muriuki is indeed missing."

"Sounds good," Night-Umlau said.

"But if it turns out that Captain Muriuki is dead," Juma said, "if that pile of dust is indeed our pilot, then surely the Valusian is the chief suspect. We can't let him wander around free. He may decide to off someone else."

"Judge Juma," Heath said, "as much as I hate to admit it, that is a valid point." He addressed the Valusian directly. "Mr Gallus, would you be good enough to remain in your room until the search of the complex is completed? I will have to ask General Portis to lock your room from the outside during this time."

The Valusian bowed. "I have no problem with that," he said. "I will use the time to try and gain some more rest." He glared at the judge. "After being so rudely interrupted."

"Thank you," Heath said. "General Portis, would you be so kind?"

The Sliferian, thick lips pressed together in a petulant pout, removed a large bunch of keys from his tunic pocket and gestured for the Valusian to step back into his room. Gallus walked slowly to the bed and sat down. Portis shut the door and locked it.

"Right, everyone," Heath said. "There are seven of us, so two teams of two and one team of three. I don't want anyone to be on their own for the time being. There are three floors so I suggest we take a floor each. Miss Klaven and I will take the lower floor. Centennial and Juma take this floor. Night-Umlau, Mr Stanton, Portis, you'll have to search the upper floor. We'll meet back here in fifteen minutes." He paused. "Good luck everyone. And I sincerely hope we find him. For all our sakes."

## Chapter Seven

The Valusian

Heath found the station eerie in the silence. The ground floor comprised of a ball room, a swimming pool and a sports area, but there was something grim and lifeless about it. Heath flicked on the lights of the open ballroom to get a better look.

"Captain Muriuki?' he called out.

Somewhere else in the complex he heard a faint echo, one of the other groups calling out the pilot's name.

Heath walked around the polished floor, peering into the shadows. After a while, he realised Cassie was standing still behind him.

"Cassie? Are you all right?"

"Oh, Barclay," she said, "I know why you're doing this, but I think we all know the truth."

He joined her at the window, looking at the side of her face. "What do you mean?"

"The captain is gone. And that's just ... just awful."

Heath moved closer, taking her shoulders in his hands and turning her towards him. "Listen, Cassie, I know how this looks at the moment, but there really is no need to despair. Even if Captain Muriuki is lost to us, there will be another shuttle arriving tomorrow. All we have to do is sit tight and get through the next twenty-four hours. We have food, we have heating, and we have beds. We're going to survive this."

She nodded, managing a small smile, but her frown remained.

Heath glanced at his pocket watch. "Time to regroup."

* * *

The three search parties came together in the corridor outside the Valusian's bedroom. Stanton shook his head, as did the Galrean.

"All right, everyone," Heath said. "I think we can safely assume, for the time being anyway, that Captain Muriuki is no longer with us."

"Stop saying that," Juma said. "Call a spade a spade, will you? He's dead. Everyone knows it."

Heath glared. "Until I see a body, I am withholding my judgement on that matter." He turned to Portis. "Now, General Portis. What is the situation with the shuttle?"

The Sliferian looked around, flustered. "Well, even if I could pilot it, which I can't, three of the Zahir shells have been damaged due to overcharging."

"So, what does that mean?"

"The ship has six Zahir shells. It really needs all the shells to be able to complete the Zahir jump." He shrugged. "It could do it with five, possibly four at a push, but not three."

Heath nodded. "Which simply means we're grounded for the time being. All we need to do is sit tight for the next twenty-four hours. We have food, heating, beds to sleep in. Does anyone have any objection?"

"Hang on a minute!" Juma said. "You're talking as if everything is hunky dory. For God's sake, man, there's a murderer in our midst!"

"Judge Juma," Heath said, "I am trying to reassure everyone. What are you trying to do?"

Juma bristled. He looked round at everyone. "Listen, people, do you think it was a coincidence that Captain Muriuki, our pilot, was killed? What if the captain was killed first so we would end up stranded here, completely at the mercy of whoever is behind this?"

"And who do you think is behind this, then?" Stanton asked.

Juma pointed at the closed bedroom door. "I think that's pretty obvious, don't you?"

"I shall be questioning Mr Gallus presently," Heath explained in as calm a manner as he could muster.

"Presently?" Juma blustered. "If I were you, I'd be in there right now, giving him the third degree."

"Well, you are not me," Heath said. "And thank goodness for that. How you ever survived a career in Law—"

"Shhh!" Cassie said.

The corridor fell into silence.

"Did you hear that?" she said, head tilted towards the locked door.

Everyone shook their heads.

"Like a faint buzzing noise."

Heath looked at her, then stared at Portis. "General, would you be good enough to ...?"

"Indeed," Portis said, fumbling with his keys.

"Mr Gallus, are you all right in there?" Cassie called.

"Maybe he's doing a runner!" Stanton said.

Portis found the correct key and hastily unlocked the door. When the door rolled open, everyone surged towards the opening, eyes searching.

The bed was empty. The window on the far side was open, banging gently in the breeze.

Portis and Heath rushed into the room first, Heath scanning the living area in seconds. The en suite bathroom was open and showed no signs of occupation. Heath moved around the far side of the bed where the Valusian had last been seen sitting on the edge, preparing to return to sleep. He looked out of the open window. The desert was darkening, the sun a squashed red oval on the horizon. Heath estimated it was a good twenty-foot drop to the ground below. There was no sign of the Valusian at all.

"I told you he was doing a runner!" Stanton said from the doorway.

Heath understood the man's reaction. It looked like that, but ... something wasn't right.

Heath turned and looked down at the carpet, his eyes drawn to a dark shape in the shadow of the bed.

"Oh no," he said.

"What is it?" Portis said.

Cassie came up behind Heath, pressing herself against him. She looked over his shoulder.

On the carpet was a pile of dust, about three inches high.

White dust.

"Oh God," Cassie said.

Heath crouched down and looked closer at the pile of dust. It looked exactly the same consistency as the dust they had found in the shuttle cockpit. He noticed that the breeze was disturbing some of the fine particles, causing them to swirl in the air above the peak.

"Cassie," he said calmly, "would you be good enough to shut the window?"

Still staring down at the pile, Cassie recovered herself enough to nod and pull the window closed. She leaned over behind him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Is it?" she asked. "Is it him?"

Heath sighed. He had never seen anything like this in all his years with the Service. He had witnessed all manner of deaths, beings of all species destroyed, eviscerated, pulped, but turned into dust? This was very odd. In the end, he chose not to reply.

Stanton leaned against the dresser, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and was about to light one when Heath said, "Please don't do that in here!"

Stanton froze, cigarette hanging from his lips. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't think it would matter."

I guess it does, Heath said to himself. If this is what's left of Objura Gallus, he didn't want to risk harming his remains.

Stanton walked to the open door, prepared to smoke his cigarette in the corridor.

"Don't go too far," Heath warned.

Stanton looked at him for a second, then at the others in the room. He nodded and stepped outside.

"What does this mean?" Portis asked. He looked at the pile of white dust. "This changes everything, doesn't it?"

Heath stood up. "It certainly proves that the incident with Captain Muriuki was not a one-off."

"Oh my gods," Portis said, a look of devastation in his large round eyes. "We're all going to die!"

"Stop that right now!" Heath said. "Panic is not going to help anyone. There are things we can do, now that we know what we're dealing with."

Portis swallowed hard, regaining a little of his composure. "What should I do?"

"Right, waiting patiently for the next shuttle is no longer an option. You need to send a distress signal to Gateway Station. If they can send out a craft as soon as possible then maybe we can get off this planet before any more of us are ..." He looked at the white dust. "Just send out an urgent SOS. Can you do it from within the station?"

Portis nodded. "There's a radio-wave unit downstairs."

"Good, because the other thing we can do is stay together. No one is to stray out of sight. Not even for a minute." Heath looked to the open door. "Chorley, are you still there?"

"Yes, sir!" Stanton called back.

"Good. Now, Portis, is there a communal area where we can all stay for the foreseeable future?"

"Yes. The guest lounge downstairs. Lots of chairs and sofas. And it's across the hall from the radio shack. If we can't sleep in our beds we can at least make ourselves comfortable."

"Good thinking. Let's all go down there now."

The guests wandered solemnly out into the corridor. Heath paused at the door, aware that Cassie was not with the group. She stood by the window, looking out at the darkening landscape with a forlorn expression. She was hugging herself, even though the room was not cold.

"Cassie?" he said.

"Barclay," she said, a tremor in her voice. "I don't want to die."

"You're not going to die," he said.

"I know you're trying to be kind, but you can't stop this. No one can stop what's happening." She tore her eyes away from the dark scenery, eyes filled with tears. "Just look at what happened to the Tobrii. They're gone, Barclay. All of them. Every single one."

## Chapter Eight

Secrets

Seated on a plush sofa, Heath watched through the open double doors of the lounge as Portis attempted to hail the Gateway Station on the radio-wave unit. Cassie sat beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. He found it distracting, but in the most pleasant way. It was a long time since he'd enjoyed female company, and the sheer proximity of a woman as young and vibrant as Cassie made his heart ache. He wondered if she felt she could rest against him because she felt drawn to him in some way, or because she felt comfortable around him because of his age —that she saw him as a father figure. He sincerely hoped it was the former, then scalded himself for daring to think such an arrogant thought. As if someone like Cassie Klaven would ever consider such an old warhorse like him even for a second.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift; fleeting images of imagined futures, stolen moments, and tender embraces ... Then his reverie went deeper and became more focused. He began to see small points of coloured lights in a blanket of pure black. Red, silver, green ...

"Barclay?"

His eyes snapped open. Cassie was sitting up, looking at him with a concerned frown.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes," he said. "I'm fine."

"What were you doing?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just then, you were ... I don't know. You looked strange."

He shrugged, and was preparing to laugh it off when he hesitated. He looked into her eyes. This girl was so astute, so intuitive. He remembered her incisive look when he had been evasive about his past with Chorley Stanton. She had known he was lying then. He couldn't lie to her now. And besides, he didn't want to.

He leaned in close. "Cassie, can I let you into a little secret?"

She nodded, a brightness returning to her features. Her eyes were focused on his, filled with a mixture of delight and intent.

"I have ... a gift."

"Gift?"

"When I close my eyes, I can see ... I can see people in colours."

Her eyebrows drew together. "I don't understand."

"Life-forces, you'd call them. Every race in the galaxy has a particular coloured life-force. It's like an aura that you can't see in the naked light of day. But when I close my eyes and focus my mind, I can see their life force and its colour."

"Really?" she said. "How extraordinary."

He nodded. "Just a moment ago, I was looking, trying to see who was ... who was left."

"You mean, when people die their life-force vanishes?"

He nodded again, aware of the possibility their speech might carry. Night-Umlau was nearest, seated on a large armchair with his eyes focused on a small red prayer scroll. He glanced up for a moment, then resumed reading. The Galrean was lying flat on his back in the centre of the lounge, as he was unable to sit in any of the chairs due to his phenomenal weight. Chorley Stanton leaned against the wall at the back of the room, smoking his fifth cigarette in a row. Judge Juma paced around the room, his lips pressed together in open consternation.

"So what do you see in this room?" Cassie asked.

"Well," Heath whispered, "the Galrean, he emits a silvery light. Quite beautiful, actually. Judge Juma gives off a pinkish light. Night-Umlau is a mixture of yellow and purple."

"Really?" she said, eyes wide. "Because of the dual personality?"

"I imagine so."

"What about old Portis?"

"Green."

"There's a surprise." She laughed. "And what about us? Humans, I mean?" She glanced over at Stanton. "There should be three, right?"

"Yes, three red points of light. But of course, I can only see two of them."

She looked anxious for a second.

"Don't worry," he said. "I just can't see my own life-force, that's all."

"What about Captain Muriuki and Gallus?"

"I've already considered that. I've scanned the entire complex as far as I can, but there's nothing. Not even a hint."

"So ... So they're really dead?"

He sighed. "I suppose they must be."

Cassie cast her eyes down and was silent for a while. Then she looked up. "So what do you think is happening to us?"

"There are three questions plaguing my mind at present: What is happening? How is it happening? And, most important of all, why? Provide the answer to either of the first two and we can be fairly certain that it will give us an answer to the third." He smiled. "What do you think?"

"Me? I'm no detective, Barclay."

"No, but you have an astute mind. You can see the truth in things, even when it appears obscure to others. I would love to know what you're thinking right now."

Cassie shook her head as if disturbing cobwebs in her mind. "All right, well, my first suspicion is that the disappearances have something to do with the Tobrii mystery. Maybe this is what happened to them all those years ago. It would explain a lot. If they were simply turned into dust, the wind would blow them away out into the desert."

He nodded, unable to stop smiling at her.

"That would explain the lack of evidence, certainly," she continued. "How does that theory sound?"

"Very appealing," he said. "Interesting, though, that you used the term 'they were turned' into dust, and not 'they turned' into dust."

She froze for a moment, going over her previous speech. "Yes, I did, didn't I? I was obviously thinking in terms of what we're experiencing now. So if the Tobrii turned into dust voluntarily, that's a completely different matter. Maybe that's the key to all this. Did they choose to turn to dust, or did something happen to them?"

"If they did indeed turn to dust," Heath added. "It must remain a theory for the time being. Let's hope we are all safely transported off this rock before anyone else succumbs to this strange malady and we can ponder more theories from the safety of Gateway Station."

"I agree," Cassie said. "What's happening with our rescue?"

As she spoke, the glass doors of the lounge slid back to reveal the hunched figure of General Portis. His head lolled, his shoulders slumped in a dejected manner.

"Any luck?" Stanton asked from within a cloud of cigarette smoke.

Portis shook his head. "There appears to be some interference on the wave network. I can't even hail any nearby ships. The whole system is ... inoperative."

"Well, you're not going to give up, are you?" Juma asked, hands on hips in the middle of the room.

"I've been trying for over an hour, Judge Juma. It's hopeless."

"Good God, you can't just give up!" Juma exploded. "We have to get off this planet. You have to keep trying to get help."

Portis gestured to the radio room behind him. "Please, be my guest."

"I don't know how to operate the radio, you fool! Now for all our sakes', go back in there and keep trying!"

"Give the guy a break, will you!" Stanton said.

"Why?" Juma said, turning on him. "He is an employee of Gateway Station and it's his duty to ensure our safety."

"He's already told you it's not working, fella. Personally, I think it's more important that we all stay together. We seem to be safer when we're in sight of each other, wouldn't you say?"

The judge stared at him, nostrils flaring, lips pressed together so tightly they had lost their colour.

In a calm voice, Stanton said, "I think you need to calm down, Juma. You're losing control of yourself."

"Don't tell me to calm down. I am more in control of myself than you could ever be." He stepped closer so their faces were only millimetres apart. "I know your type, Stanton. I used to see people like you in the dock every day of the week. Scum off the streets, desperate little creatures scrabbling for purchase on the underbelly of society, willing to do anything, to kill, steal, maim, for the smallest crumbs. You may think you're above all that because you came into a bit of money, but your essential nature never changes."

Stanton's face was set, his eyes unflinching, holding the judge's gaze. "What are you trying to say, Judge? Spit it out."

"I think you don't want us to be rescued."

"And why on earth would I want that?"

"Who can say? A plan to get compensation from Gateway, perhaps? More money, certainly. I've seen it time and time again. When people who have nothing come into money it's just not enough. They're unable to just stop there. They want more and more."

Stanton laughed and shook his head. "You seriously think I have something to do with all this? You really have lost control. Lost control of your mind!"

"Then why are you here?" Juma asked.

"I could ask you the same question."

"Please, gentlemen," Heath said. "This is really not helping."

"I'll go."

Everyone followed the voice and found the Galrean standing by the open doors.

"I used to be a navigator for the Asphalt Armada. It's been a while and the technology has probably changed a lot, but I'll give it a try."

"Thank you," Heath said.

The Galrean looked down at his thick stony fingers. "As long as there are no small controls."

Portis shook his head. "No, it should be fine. It's designed to be operated by all species."

Centennial nodded and walked out of the room, the glass doors trembling ever so slightly in his wake.

Juma and Stanton parted and went to opposite ends of the room.

Cassie turned to Heath. "I've been putting it off. I really must go and powder my nose."

Heath looked concerned. "I know you're the only female here, but I don't like the idea of you going alone."

"Barclay," she said with a little laugh, "the bathroom is only ten yards away." She pointed to the door just beyond the double lounge doors. "I'll be no time at all."

He nodded. He watched her leave the room, only vaguely aware that Portis was staring at her, too. After she had disappeared into the bathroom, the Sliferian came over to the sofa and sat down gingerly on the edge.

"Mr Heath," he said, avoiding eye contact.

"General," Heath replied. He studied the Sliferian for a moment, aware that the bluster was gone. He seemed tired, resigned to some dark fate. Heath didn't like it one bit. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"This situation. It's beyond me. As much as I hate to admit it, you are the most knowledgeable man here." He finally met Heath's gaze. "Tell me, how can an entire race of people disappear? How?"

"It's not the first time," Heath answered.

Portis cocked his head, eyes wide with amazement. "What?"

Heath turned his pen over and over in his hand. "Nineteen-nineteen. The Ryjel Quadrant. A small planet by the name of Fyanta, no bigger than Earth's moon, home to a tribe of simple creatures called the Fyani. Erased from existence for the simple crime of being in the way of the unstoppable machinery of the Sliferian Empire. Their moon was needed, they were not." He met the Sliferian's gaze, awaiting his reaction. "Ring any bells?"

Portis leaned in close, his thick lips trembling with barely contained anger. "Those people were moved."

"Yes, moved to a planetoid three million light years away with an atmosphere that proved to be toxic to the Fyani. In less than three months, every last one of the Fyani died."

"We didn't know that."

"You didn't bother to check."

Silence fell over them. They held each other's gaze.

"Listen, Heath. That is not what we are talking about here. And who are you to lecture me about imperial crimes? As I understand it, two thirds of your own planet is under the rule of the British Empire. Don't tell me the Empire you represent has not committed such atrocities in pursuit of global domination."

This time Heath fell silent..

"Fair point, I grant you. Fair point."

Portis glanced around, then leaned a little closer. "So, do you have any suspicions? Any at all?"

"What about you?"

"Me?" Portis said.

"Yes, you. Why did you replace the scheduled steward at the last minute?"

The Sliferian glowered for a moment. Then, in an angry whisper, he said, "I replaced the steward on this flight because of _you_ , if you must know. Your little demonstration at the ticket desk raised a lot of questions about the safety of this flight. I came along to make sure there were no... _problems_. Now, though, I wished I hadn't."

Heath sensed the truth in the Sliferian's words.

"Anyone else under suspicion?" Portis asked.

Heath looked round at the other guests. His eyes paused on the figure of Night-Umlau. "Our Quirkian friend," he said.

"Really? Why?"

"When we first arrived and were in our respective rooms I overheard a conversation he was having with himself. Well, more of an argument, really. At first I dismissed it as just some quirk of his people, if you'll pardon the pun."

"What was he arguing about?"

"Hard to tell, really, but something to do with a secret his female side did not want to get out. That was before all of this started happening."

Portis stared at Night-Umlau for a moment. "What room are you in?" he asked.

"Seven," Heath said. "Why?"

Portis looked down at him, his gaze piercing and full of horror. "Night-Umlau was in number eleven ... at the opposite end of the floor."

A dozen thoughts crashed into Heath's mind at once and he found it difficult to focus on any one of them. He felt a horrible juddering sensation, as if his entire being had been knocked sideways both physically and mentally.

He'd heard two distinct voices, one male, one female. Together in the same room. He'd not considered anything other than it being Night-Umlau talking to himself. They were all strangers on this flight. Weren't they ...?

The oily squeak of the bathroom door ended their conversation. Portis gave him one long last look before rising and drifting across the room to another sofa. Heath watched Cassie as she walked towards him—brown curls swaying, warm smile lighting up her face—and a horrible sensation settled in his gut.

Her smile soured as she sat down. "Are you all right, Barclay? Something wrong?"

Before he could say anything, a deep-throated scream shattered the silence, and everyone turned to look out towards the radio room.

## Chapter Nine

True Colours

The entire group stood shoulder to shoulder in the tiny radio room, looking down at the empty chair. A mass of white dust littered the seat and spilled onto the floor. The headphones dangled from the console, swaying gently back and forth.

"I told you we should all stay together," Stanton said through clenched teeth. He looked at Judge Juma with a venomous glare. "But you wouldn't listen."

"At least he was trying to do something," Juma hissed. "He wasn't prepared to just sit and wait, wait to die!"

"Enough, the pair of you," Heath said with a raised hand.

Juma turned away from Stanton, but his anger did not subside. He focused on the Sliferian.

"You," he said. "You came out here first. Why did this happen to him and not you?"

"What are you going on about?" Portis said, some of his former ire coming back.

"Think about it. Our tour guide is out here alone for over an hour, but when the Stone Man comes out, he's killed in less than five minutes."

Portis could only stare at him and shake his head.

Juma turned to Cassie. "And what about you?" he said. "You went to the bathroom just before he was killed, didn't you?"

Cassie stepped back as if the accusation was a physical blow. "So?"

"You had to pass the radio room, didn't you? Did anyone see Miss Klaven for the whole time she was gone?"

"You really have lost your mind if you start accusing Miss Klaven," Stanton said.

"Why?" Juma said. "We're all suspects, aren't we? Even Miss Klaven. Why should she be any different? Just because you want to get into her underwear?"

Silence dropped over the little radio room. Then, before Heath could stop him, Stanton's arm came up, striking the old judge a roundhouse blow which sent him up onto his tiptoes. Juma seemed to hover in that position for several seconds, before gravity did its work and brought him to the ground with a heavy thud. He lay there on his back, eyelids fluttering, his attacker standing over him with his fist still clenched.

"That," Stanton said, "was the most satisfying thing I've done in a long time."

* * *

Portis and Stanton helped carry the unconscious Juma into the lounge where they laid him unceremoniously on the carpet. Heath rolled the glass doors shut behind them, and turned to face the room.

There were only six of them left: himself, Cassie, Stanton, Night-Umlau, Judge Juma and Portis.

Heath sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

"All right, everyone. The loss of our Galrean friend seems to confirm one thing: these 'vanishings' appear to happen when one of us is alone and out of sight. It's imperative that we all stay together and in sight of each other. It seems no one is safe."

"Amen to that," Stanton said.

"Stanton," Heath said. "I understand you were acting in defence of Miss Klaven's honour just now, but please, no more resorting to physical violence. Remember what I told you about Juma's condition?"

"But the man was being a complete cad. I couldn't let that go."

"Stanton? Let's just remember we're British, yes?"

Stanton sighed and gave an accepting shrug.

"Right, assuming we are safe as long as we stay in sight of each other, I suggest we try and get some rest. Although, seeing as we are all suspects perhaps we should all stay awake as long as we can. I estimate that the next shuttle should arrive in about eighteen hours."

"I couldn't sleep if I wanted to," Stanton said, shaking another cigarette out of its packet.

Heath smiled. "Me either."

Cassie crouched down beside the unconscious judge, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead and listening to his breathing. She loosened his shirt collar and tie. Heath noticed a chain around Juma's neck, disappearing beneath his shirt. He couldn't recall seeing him wearing anything like that earlier ...

"Is he all right?" Stanton asked.

"I think so," she said. "Hard to tell. It's not like I can check for a pulse or anything."

"Oh, yes," Stanton said with a laugh. "Of course."

Cassie stood up then and Heath saw a clear change in her posture as she addressed Stanton, an awkwardness that he had not seen before.

"Thank you," she said. "For standing up for me."

"Please, don't thank me," Stanton said. "Barclay was right. I shouldn't have resorted to violence. I don't make a habit of going around punching old men."

She laughed and Heath noticed her lift her face towards Stanton's, her hand touching his arm. She was flirting with him. The sudden burning sensation in his own chest took him by surprise.

_Dear God, is that the flame of jealousy? Now that really is absurd, Barclay_.

He set about arranging some cushions on one of the sofas just to try and take his mind off the idea.

"Well, thank you, anyway," Cassie said to Stanton.

"Glad to be of service," he said. "I look forward to protecting your honour again in the future."

Cassie walked over to Heath, saw the sofa he had made up and gestured to the one adjacent to it. "I'll take this one shall I?"

"No, no," he said. "I prepared this one for you."

"Oh, thank you, Barclay," she said. "That's very sweet of you."

"I prefer the armchair anyway. Lost count of how many times I've nodded off in my recliner at home. I've grown quite accustomed to it."

She lay down on the sofa, adjusting the cushions here and there until she was comfortable. Heath removed his jacket and placed it over her upper body.

"Thank you," she whispered, looking up at him with a smile in her big brown eyes.

He stayed there for a few moments, crouched by her side, wanting to say something to her, but after a while he realised he actually wanted to ask her about what Portis had told him.

"Look," she said, nodding across the lounge.

Heath turned and saw Night-Umlau seated cross-legged on the carpet, prayer scroll in hand, his thick lips moving as he read.

"I wish I believed in something," Cassie whispered.

"You lost your faith?" Heath asked.

Cassie watched the Quirkian with a small frown creasing her forehead. "It's so hard to believe in these faithless days."

"Is that a poem?"

She nodded, but did not elucidate further. "Not so long ago, I believed," she said in a quiet voice, "and everything seemed so simple. With belief in God came reassurance. Reassurance that if we prayed hard enough His divine influence would protect us. And when we shuffled off this mortal coil we would become immortal, and live forever at His side." She shook her head. "When I lost my faith, I lost my reassurance. There's no reassurance for me anymore. That's the scary thing."

Heath stared at her, even though her own eyes remained fixed on the Quirkian. The thought of her living her life out there in the universe and being afraid was abhorrent to him. He ached to hold her, but he knew that would be inappropriate.

"Oh, Cassie," he said. "Who did this to you?"

She looked at him with a horrified expression. "What makes you think someone made me like this?"

"I've seen it before, Cassie. So many times. A bright young woman, like you, full of life, talented, intelligent, with a good heart. Then someone comes along, someone with no heart at all, and they try to break her spirit. Why? Out of jealousy? Out of sheer meanness? Because of their own controlling nature? Or simply because they can't bear to see someone so beautiful thrive because it reminds them of how broken their own spirit is."

She stared at him with tears glistening in her eyes.

"Was it your husband?" he asked.

She looked away, shuffling down under his coat so that only the top half of her face was visible. Silence stretched out.

"I always wanted children," she said in a soft voice.

"And you will," he said. "One day."

She shook her head, and shut her eyes, causing tears to spill down her face.

He sighed. "Cassie, look at me."

She resisted, then, after a slow blink, she met his eyes.

"Cassie Klaven, I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get out of here safe and sound. If you believe in nothing else, have faith in me."

She raised her open hand from under his coat and pressed it against the side of his face.

He closed his eyes, savouring the sensation until she removed her hand. That simple caress meant even more to him than a kiss.

## Chapter Ten

Out of Sight

Heath snapped awake to the sound of harsh wind blowing through the room. He sat forward, quickly adjusting to the situation.

The glass doors were open and Chorley Stanton stood between them, staring out into the hall towards the exit. Heath scanned the room: Cassie was still asleep on the sofa, Judge Juma remained prostrate on the lounge floor and Portis was climbing out of his own makeshift bed. There was no sign of the Quirkian priest.

"Stanton?" he said, jumping out of his chair. "What's happened?"

"It's Night-Umlau, Barclay. He just ran off."

"What?"

"I was watching him. He got up and went to the glass doors and I thought, I assumed, he was just going to use the bathroom, but he just headed straight for the exit."

Portis ran over, rubbing his big eyes and blinking against the swirl of sand in the wind. Cassie sat up on the sofa.

"Did he say anything?" Heath asked.

"No, nothing!"

"Did you see the way he was heading?"

"Hard to tell, but I think he was going in the direction of the temple."

"Really ..."

"Look," Cassie said. She crouched down on the carpet, studying the Quirkian's prayer scroll. "He left this behind."

Heath crossed the room and looked over Cassie's shoulder.

"He left his marker in the middle," Cassie said. She opened the book wide and scanned the Quirkian text which looked like Chinese glyphs. "Anyone read Quirkian?"

"I have a passing knowledge of Basic Ruul which is very similar," Portis said.

The Sliferian took the book from Cassie and scanned the pages briefly. "It's a chant, a psalm, if you like, calling the bewildered and the lost to find their place in life. I wonder if this section is significant: 'Be brave, you children of the Muse. Life is a cycle of connected living beings. Protect only yourself and you will improve the world not one iota. Protect those you do not know and you will save yourself.'" Portis looked up at the others.

Heath rubbed his fingers across his lips. "I think, people, our dear Night-Umlau has gone off to try and be a hero."

"Shouldn't we go and try and find him?" Stanton volunteered.

Portis shook his head, pointing out into the swirling sands. "You can't. Night has fallen. The sand blizzard is only just beginning. You cannot go out in it. You will die."

"Maybe that's why Umlau left when he did," Cassie said. "Maybe he knew this was the time to leave before it became too dangerous."

"Left to do what?" Heath asked.

"We can't just sit here!" Stanton said.

"I don't intend to," Heath said. "But I see no value in running around aimlessly. We need to think this through, see if we can work out what's happening before anything else occurs." Heath went to the drinks trolley and poured himself a glass of water. He took a long sip, swallowing with a grimace, realising just how much sand had invaded his throat. He looked around the room at each of the four faces: Portis, Stanton, Cassie and the unconscious Juma.

"If we assume that what is happening to us is tied into whatever happened to the Tobrii, then I have one very important question: why is this happening now?"

"What do you mean?" Portis asked.

"Portis, perhaps you can tell me. How long have Gateway Tours been flying sightseers to Tobriosus?"

Portis blew air through his thick lips. "About twenty years. Before us, there were other visits by other planets. The Zenzee used to come here all the time."

"Interesting. And in all that time, has Gateway Tours ever lost a passenger?"

"No."

"Not a single passenger has vanished in the manner we've seen today?"

"No, never."

Heath nodded, looking round the group. "Then what's changed? What's different about this trip? Why have we been singled out?"

Silence filled the lounge.

"Is it just coincidence?" Heath said, waiting for someone to venture an answer, an opinion, but all eyes were cast down. "Come on people, think. Was there anything unusual about this flight, something that makes it different from every other flight before it?"

"There aren't very many of us," Stanton offered, shrugging with his hands in his pockets.

"Yes!" Heath said. "There aren't very many of us. Portis, how many travellers are there usually on this excursion?"

"Between thirty and forty. Most of the time, though, the shuttles are full."

"Right. Now, you told me at the ticket station that someone bought up the remaining seats on this particular flight. Somebody thought there was something special about flight fifteen. Somebody decided to spend an awful lot of money making sure there were only nine people on this trip - seven passengers and two flight staff. Significant?"

Everyone searched the faces of everyone else.

"Three of us are human," Stanton said.

"Four," Cassie said quickly. "Captain Muriuki was from Earth."

"Four humans, five non-humans. Is there significance in that?" Heath asked.

After a silence, Portis shook his head and Stanton muttered a negative response.

"Don't you have any theories, Barclay?" Cassie asked with a hopeful look in her eyes.

He shook his head. "No theories. Only questions. But, hopefully the right ones. The most important one at the moment is, why? Is this happening by accident or by design? Is there a malicious mind at work behind these events or is it merely some ancient mechanism set in motion by random chance today? We could ask the same question about the Tobrii. Did they begin to vanish by choice or was their disappearance the result of something beyond their control?"

Silence fell over the room once more. The sound of the growing sandstorm hissed at the outer doors.

"I think you're all missing one very important point."

All eyes fell on the figure of Judge Juma now sitting upright on the carpet and rubbing his jaw where Stanton had struck him.

"Judge Juma," Heath said. "Good to have you back with us."

"Good to be back." He looked up at Stanton and narrowed his eyes. "You hit me."

"And I'd do it again in a heartbeat. No pun intended."

"There'll be no need for that, young man," Juma said in a reasonable tone of voice. "After my little siesta, I woke to find things much clearer in my mind. Like the point I was about to make."

"And that is?" Heath said. He and Stanton each offered the aging judge a hand and helped him to his feet.

"The most important point of all," Juma said. "I'm really surprised you haven't touched on it, being one of the King's agents, and all."

Heath arched an eyebrow in expectation.

"The fact that no one has witnessed the disappearances."

"Yes, that's true," Cassie added.

"Muriuki vanished whilst alone on the shuttle, or so we believe. Mr Gallus vanished whilst alone in his room. Our Galrean friend vanished while he was alone in the radio room."

"Yes, but," Portis interrupted, "I was out in the radio room first. Why didn't I vanish?"

"Because I was watching you," Heath said.

"Really?" Portis said. "The whole time?"

"Yes, on the whole.'

"Why?" Portis said. "Why were you watching me?"

"Portis, for no other reason than that I was willing you on. And, I suppose, as a detective it is in my nature to watch people. As it turns out, my inquisitive nature may have saved your life."

Portis nodded, his reptilian features creasing with a small smile of gratitude.

"For the time being anyway," Juma added with a dark look. "But the point remains. Those who have disappeared did so whilst they were alone. Why?"

Everyone looked at each other.

"Well, I would like to propose an experiment," Juma said.

"And what might that entail?" Heath asked.

"It's really very simple. We all turn and face the wall."

"What?" Cassie said.

"You're actually proposing that we tempt whatever is causing this to do it again?" Stanton said.

"Yes, I am," Juma replied.

"But that's insanity!" Cassie said.

"It's suicide," Stanton added.

"Possibly, but it will certainly test my theory to the limit."

"And what theory is that?"

"Well, Heath here has suggested that we all just wait together until tomorrow when the rescue ship arrives and all will be well. I don't think that's the case at all. If the cause of these disappearances is doing it when a member of this party is left alone and unobserved, what happens when all of us are unobserved? Will it single out one of us? Or will we all disappear at once?"

"And if there is a criminal mind behind all this, won't they be the last one standing?" Stanton said.

"Quite possibly," Juma said with a wry smile. He looked at Heath. "What do you say, Heath? Are you game?"

Heath paused before speaking, looking the judge up and down. "You know, for someone who was absolutely terrified of dying, you seem suddenly very blasé about risking your life for the sake of an experiment."

"I told you, after being knocked unconscious I see things much clearer now. So, my good man, are you game?"

Heath continued to stare at him, lips pressed together. After a long pause, he said, "I do not wish to risk the lives of these people. If you want to risk your own, I cannot stop you."

"Very well. I shall have to do this on a voluntary basis only. Anyone else wish to accompany me?"

"No," Cassie said. "Never."

"You can count me out," Portis said, folding his arms.

"I'll do it," Stanton said.

"No!" Heath said. "No one is doing it. Now stop this madness now!"

Silence fell over the lounge. Stanton and Juma bowed their heads like naughty schoolboys.

"Now the best thing we can do is create a circle of chairs and we all keep one another in sight. That is the safest, most sensible option." He looked at Stanton. "Chorley, would you oblige by making a circle with the chairs, as close together as possible?"

Stanton nodded and set about moving the furniture.

"Do you think Night-Umlau knew what was happening?" Cassie asked. "Do you think he had a plan to save us?"

"Maybe," Juma said, "he is the culprit behind all of this and was making good his escape before ..."

"Before what?" Heath asked.

"I don't know. You tell me."

"Well," Heath continued, "I only hope that if he did leave for good and noble reasons that he has not succumbed to the same fate as our other friends."

Everyone nodded.

Time passed.

Cassie pulled up her legs to hug her knees, trying desperately to keep awake. Heath played with his pocket watch, flipping the case open and shutting it gently in a rhythmic motion. He periodically studied the others. Stanton seemed uncharacteristically nervous.

"Anyone mind if I smoke?" he asked.

"Ordinarily I would say I do mind," Juma said, "but seeing as you can't go outside ..."

"How very gracious of you," Stanton said with a scowl.

He threw a cigarette into his mouth and lit it with a match.

The sound of the rushing winds hammering waves of sand against the building grew louder and louder.

Stanton breathed deeply and exhaled a cloud of white smoke. "Anyone got any good jokes?"

No one said anything.

"Any stories?" He looked at Cassie. "Didn't I see you with a book of poetry on the shuttle, Miss Klaven?"

"Yes," she said, growing suddenly uneasy.

"Would you like to read some to us? It would certainly help to pass the time."

"Well, I don't know about that," she said. "It's just rough bits and pieces. Random scribblings, really."

"Oh, go on," Stanton pressed. "Don't be shy."

Heath saw the colour rising in her face. "She doesn't want to," he said, looking at Stanton with a cool glare. "Now leave her be, man."

Stanton's smile crumbled and he looked at Heath for a long moment afterwards.

"You're the storyteller, Stanton," Juma said. "You didn't stop talking all the way to the temple earlier. Why don't you amuse us with one of your little anecdotes?"

"Yes," Heath added. "Tell us more about how you saved Lord Marcus of Bathurst."

Heath watched closely for his reaction. Stanton looked uncomfortable, his face flushed.

"I don't think I'm in the mood now," he said.

"Tell us," Heath went on, "how you met him, when you've never even been to Earth in the first place."

"What?" Stanton said, his eyes growing wide.

"You told us you were a street sweeper at the time the Lord went missing. London hasn't employed street sweepers since 1918. I think you have a rather romantic notion of life in London because you've never been there, Chorley Stanton." Heath paused. "If that is indeed your real name."

Stanton laughed, but the laugh quickly died in his throat. He looked at the faces around him, his expression becoming severe. "All right," he said. "I'm not from Earth at all. My parents left earth as part of the first wave of colonists. I was born on Ganymede." He shrugged. "So I make things up. I'm a fantasist. Not a crime is it?"

"Not last time I checked," Heath said.

Juma sat forward. "I knew it. So, Stanton, is that how you fund your travels? 'Making things up'? In other words, conning people out of their money?"

"Shut up!" Stanton said. "You don't know a thing about me!"

"No," Juma said with a smug smile. "It appears we don't."

Stanton stepped away from the circle but stumbled as if about to faint. He steadied himself, tugged at the collar of his shirt. "Is it me or did it just get very hot in here?"

Heath stood up and looked around. He sensed an electric charge in the air around them. "The temperature has risen. Something's happening."

A wind rose up from nowhere, disturbing everything.

"What's happening, Stanton?" Juma snapped.

"How should I know?"

A moment later the air above their heads exploded into a bouquet of violent colour. A form appeared in the space there, a large winged creature, its body hard and glistening, with scales the colour of tarnished silver. The wind of its rapidly beating wings sent everyone tumbling backwards. Stanton stood alone in the centre of the room and the creature seemed to single him out, hovering over him like the Angel of Death. He raised his arms to shield himself, but it was too late.

A sting about two feet long and resembling a unicorn's horn shot out from the creature's tail and speared Stanton through the chest. He opened his mouth wide to scream but the force of the puncture wound had forced the air from his lungs. He made a terrible airless squeal and arched his back. Heath watched, unblinking, as Stanton's entire body exploded into dust. The dense cloud of white particles spun round in a whirlwind, retaining Stanton's form briefly before the creature vanished in a blinding flash of purple light. Heath closed his eyes and turned away.

As suddenly as it had started, the wind dropped. When the noise and the light had dissipated, Heath dared to look.

The dust particles fluttered slowly to the ground, creating a small pile on the carpet.

Stanton was gone.

## Chapter Eleven

Blood and Sand

For a long time, no one said anything.

Cassie sat on the edge of her chair, hands clamped over her nose and mouth, her eyes glistening with moisture. Portis lay on his side, hands over his large round head. Heath and Juma stared at the empty carpet where Stanton had stood only moments ago. Now, all that remained was a small pile of ivory-coloured dust, and there, beside it, Stanton's silver lighter.

Juma looked at Heath. "It would appear your survival theory has just been blown out of the water."

Heath said nothing. Anger and regret simmered in his gut.

"What do we do now?" Cassie said.

Heath picked up the lighter, turning it over in his hands.

"Barclay," she said with a beseeching expression. "What do we do now?"

"We have to get to the temple," he said quietly.

"What?" Portis said, climbing to his feet.

"We're not safe here anymore," Heath explained.

Before Portis could protest further, Heath crossed the room, pulled open the double doors of the lounge and stormed down the corridor to the front doors. After a few moments Cassie, Portis and Juma followed after. He stood with his hands pressed against the glass, looking out into the haze of the sandstorm.

"How far would you say it is to the temple?" Heath asked Portis.

The Sliferian stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. "You're not seriously considering?"

"Yes, I am seriously considering. We have no choice. Not now."

"What are you looking for?" Cassie asked.

"Something," he told her. "Anything. I'm bargaining on the idea that Night-Umlau went to the temple to try and do something about our situation. In light of what's just happened, I think we should be doing the same." He looked back into the sandstorm. "Our only chance of stopping them, of surviving the night, is out there."

"Wait a damned minute!" Portis said, pointing at the howling sandstorm outside. "Have you not listened to a word I've said? If we go out in that sandstorm we'll be killed. Even if that crazy Quirkian priest managed to survive it, the storm is far worse now. We'll be cut to ribbons."

Heath looked up. "Then you can stay here and take your chances, Portis. I intend to try and prevent us succumbing to whatever force is at work here. Even if it means risking my life in the process."

Portis looked to Juma. "Judge, tell him. Tell him this is madness."

Juma struggled to meet his gaze. "I'm afraid, as much it irks me to say so, I agree with Heath. We have to do something, even if it means a suicidal journey to the temple."

Portis threw his hands up.

"I'm coming with you," Cassie said.

He hesitated, looking at her with a thousand thoughts cascading through his mind, but the one which remained uppermost in his mind was his promise to keep her safe. What was safe right now, he wondered. Staying here, or venturing out into the storm?

"I wish I could tell you to stay here, Cassie, I really do. I wish I could be certain that you'd be safer here than out in the storm, but I can't. I just can't."

"Then it's settled. I'm coming with you."

He nodded. "We're going to need blankets. Heavy blankets. Very heavy, very thick blankets."

* * *

Minutes later, they stood in a huddle at the front doors with large Hessian blankets draped over their shoulders. They carried a single water pack between them, hopefully enough to see them through. Portis had found a length of rope in the store room, suggesting they use it to stay together in the storm. Heath finished tying the last knot which connected him to Cassie.

"Not too tight?" he asked.

"No," she said, quietly. He could hear the fear in her voice.

He gripped her shoulder. "We're going to get through this, Cassie."

"Don't promise me," she said. "You don't have to promise me anything, Barclay." She managed a trembling smile. "You're already my hero." She took a deep breath. "Now, let's go for a stroll, shall we?"

"That's my girl," he said. "Juma?"

The old judge tied the knot connecting him to Cassie and looked up, his face dark with terror. He gave a curt nod, unable to meet his eyes.

"Portis? Are you coming?"

The Sliferian, standing behind Juma and holding the end of the rope, looked miserable. He took a deep breath. "All right," he said, looping the rope around his waist. "I'm not staying here all by myself. Let's do this."

"Good man," Heath said. "All right. Cover yourselves, everyone."

They pulled the blankets over their faces. Feeling his way with a blind hand, Heath found the bolt and slid it across. The doors rattled in their frames against the wild winds beyond.

"When this door opens ... it's going to be rough," he said. "Brace yourselves!"

On a silent count of three, he threw the door open. Instantly the wind rushed in at them, blowing the group back along the hall in an overpowering blast of sand and rushing wind. Heath lost his footing and went to the ground, Cassie smashing into him and dragging Juma and Portis after them.

Eventually they were able to regain their footing and make their way back to the doors, feeling their way with searching hands.

Once out in the open, they began to push through the brutal storm, crossing the unforgiving desert in search of hope.

* * *

The noise was overwhelming. The wind was like the scream of a banshee and the hiss of sand against the landscape around them, pounding against the blankets like a hundred fists, was like the sibilant voices of a thousand snakes. Holes had started to appear in Barclay's blanket, ragged tears which were slowing growing bigger and bigger. He continually adjusted his blanket to try and find the most whole section with which to protect himself. His trousers were peppered with holes and he could feel the sting of sand burn on his shins.

"Barclay, I - I can't breathe!" Cassie shouted.

"We're almost there, Cassie. Hold my hand!"

He reached behind and her hand found his under the blankets. Her grip was weak, her fingers barely closing around his. He wondered how Juma and Portis were doing. He began to wonder if he had made a mistake allowing Cassie to make this awful journey. If they didn't make it to the temple then he had condemned them all to a horrible fate. But the alternative, he reminded himself, was not much better.

"Just a little further," he shouted back to her.

Suddenly their progress came to a full stop. Barclay could feel a heavy resistance coming from behind them. At first he thought Cassie had fallen, but glancing under the blanket he could see the bottoms of her slender legs. Her shins were bleeding profusely but at least she was still standing.

"What is it?" she said.

"I don't know. Can you see Juma and Portis?"

She twisted her body around. "Juma's all right," she told him.

"I ... I think it's Portis," Juma managed to say, struggling for breath. "I think he's fallen."

Heath closed his eyes. It was the last thing he wanted to hear. "Is he still conscious?"

After a few seconds, Juma said. "He's alive, but he's in a bad way. What do we do?"

Heath took three long slow breaths, trying to shut out the maelstrom of noise outside and focus on solving the dilemma.

"What do we do, Barclay?" Cassie asked.

If they tried to struggle on with the burden they might all die because of it. If they left him, what would that make them?

Cassie's hand found his and pressed hard. "Barclay, listen to me," she said. She lifted her blanket at the same time as Heath so that together they made a canopy, allowing them to see each other. "I'm going to say what we're all thinking. We have to leave him. I know that sounds cruel but ..." Her voice filled with emotion. "I don't want to die, Barclay. Not like this. It – it's the only way."

Heath looked at Cassie with eyes wide. He was shocked to hear her saying such hard truths but he knew it was the sensible, rational decision. Before he could answer, Juma's pale face appeared at her shoulder as he pushed himself into the joint canopy.

"No," Juma said. "Absolutely not. We leave no one behind."

Heath stared at the old judge, finding something unsettling about his new attitude toward his fellow travellers.

"If we try and save him, it could kill us all," Heath said, trying to play Devil's Advocate one last time.

"No," Juma said, "we can do this. We've come this far. We need him alive!"

Cassie looked from Juma to Heath, her eyes telling him that it was his choice. "You choose, Barclay."

Heath bit down hard on his back teeth. "Juma, grab his legs. I'll take his arms. Cassie, try and make the best shield around us that you can."

* * *

They stumbled on the steps of the temple, falling hard against the dark rocks. Juma yelped in pain as he jarred his hip. Cassie laid her head on Portis's chest, sobbing with exhaustion.

"Come on," Heath bellowed, his throat sore and filled with dust. "Just a few feet."

They struggled up the uneven steps, dragging Portis with them an inch at a time. Their limbs were heavy, their bodies aching and bloody. Finally, they pulled themselves into the protective opening arch of the temple entrance and collapsed on their backs.

Heath ripped the blankets off his face, fighting for a clear breath, a lungful of air not tainted by sand.

"Is... is everyone all right?"

No one answered for a long time. The only sounds were the hiss of the storm outside and the ragged breathing of the survivors.

"Cassie?" Heath called out.

"I'm here," she managed to say, her voice thick with dirt and tears.

"Thank God," Heath said quietly. "Juma?"

"I'm alive," he replied with a bitter tone. "Just."

"Portis?"

No answer.

Heath struggled into a sitting position. His entire body ached, every inch of his skin feeling as if it had been flayed with a cat-o'-nine-tails. Portis lay in the middle of the group, unmoving, his reptilian eyes closed, his thick lips bloated and cracked.

Juma sat up, helping Cassie do the same. Heath edged closer to the Sliferian.

"Portis?" he said, slipping his hand around his wrist and trying to find a pulse. It was there, but very faint. The blood loss was terrible. And the blood had dried already, congealed with sand.

Heath met Juma's eyes for a second and saw a worried, desperate look there.

"Portis, can you hear me?" Heath said, leaning closer.

A soft hiss escaped between Portis's thick lips, a tiny breath. "Water."

"Of course. He's a reptillus. They need water more than humans. Cassie, the water pack."

She ripped open the bag they had brought and threw him a silver water canister.

The Sliferian took several small gulps of water and let his head fall back onto the cold stone floor. He swallowed hard.

"Better?" Heath asked.

"Better," Portis replied.

He took some more water whilst Cassie passed the other water canisters round. They all drank deeply and took a moment to breathe.

"So now what?" Juma asked.

Heath took one more mouthful of water and glanced around the shadowy temple floor. His eyes came to rest on the dais some twenty feet away. His eyes narrowed, trying to focus on a small mass which stood out in the gloom.

"Oh no," he said.

Cassie and Juma turned to look in that direction. Portis managed to sit upright, his gaze fixed on Heath.

"What is it?" Cassie said.

Heath got to his feet, wincing against the pain of a hundred cuts and grazes. He approached the dais, limping slightly and clutching his sides. When he reached the edge of the circular stage he found his worst fears confirmed.

At the edge of the circle lay a pile of dust.

White dust.

## Chapter Twelve

Into the Catacombs

Cassie appeared at his side, shortly joined by the other two.

"Night-Umlau?" Cassie asked eventually.

They all stared at the dust in silence.

Heath nodded.

Cassie shook her head. "Well, whatever he was looking for, now we'll never know."

Heath studied the dais and the surrounding tiers. He dropped to his knees at the outer edge and pressed his fingertips against the crack. The faintest breeze.

"What is it?" Cassie said.

Heath didn't answer. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew Stanton's pack of cigarettes and lighter. He put a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, puffing on it profusely for a few seconds. Then, holding the smoke in his mouth, he crouched low and exhaled.

The smoke disappeared into the crack, as if drawn by an invisible force.

"Barclay?" Cassie said.

"There's a chamber beneath the temple floor," he explained. "Maybe something even bigger."

"Bigger?" Cassie echoed. She studied his face for a moment. "Catacombs?"

"Yes, more than likely," Heath said, looking up at the circular dais. "It's my guess there are catacombs beneath the temple. Night-Umlau worked it out before any of us, but then he was a religious leader. All around the universe you'll find that most temples, churches, cathedrals all have some form of underground catacombs. I think he was trying to find his way into those catacombs when that creature spirited him away."

"Turned him to dust," Juma said, mopping his bloody brow.

"Why didn't he tell the rest of us?" Portis said. "If he had a plan to stop this madness, why didn't he include us in it?"

Heath looked at the Sliferian. "We'll never know for certain, but it's my guess he didn't know who he could trust, so he kept it to himself."

"Well, if he's gone, we'll never know," Portis said.

"Not necessarily," Heath said. His fingers were twitching, rubbing together, the way they did when he was thinking, when theories collided in his head.

"What do you mean?" Cassie said.

Heath began to walk round the edge of the outer platform. "He may have still left us a clue. This was obviously as far as he got when that creature caught up with him. This dais was his destination. He must have thought there was something about this structure that could help us. I think this is the way in."

"But how?" Juma said.

"Yes, how," Heath echoed, hopping up onto the plinth and approaching the central dais. He scanned the outer tiers, and then he saw it.

Four stones, slightly discoloured, at each compass point. The circle was made of deep slate grey stones but these four stones were a lighter shade.

He hurried over to the first one and looked at it, brushing away the accumulated dust.

The stone had flecks of a golden material, enough to lighten its tone.

"Barclay?" Cassie said. "What is it?"

"Come up here and look for yourself," he told her.

She went to the far side and scanned the circle.

"Four stones, different from the others," he said, standing.

"What does it mean?" Portis said, limping to the edge.

Heath grinned. "What do you do when you want to make your house secure?"

"Your house?" Juma said. "I don't follow."

"You put a lock on your door. But is that enough to secure your home? No. A single lock is quite easy to overcome. So what do you do then?"

"A-Add more locks?" Cassie said with a hesitant stammer.

"Exactly!" Heath said. "Simple! Four points which need to be opened simultaneously." He gestured to the four coloured stones. "Gentlemen? Cassie? Four locks and four of us. Would you each care to stand on one of the flagstones?"

"Are you out of your mind?" Portis began.

"Please," Heath said, "we don't know when that creature is going to return, and if my thinking is correct, this won't work without four of us. So, hurry, if you will."

Juma and Portis looked at each other and then climbed onto the platform, assuming their stance on the north and east stones.

Cassie stepped onto the southern stone and looked at Heath expectantly.

Heath stepped onto the fourth one and spun to face the others.

"I could, of course, be completely wrong, in which case we're going to look quite foolish—"

Before he could finish, the platform shuddered and the four blocks depressed an inch into the floor. The dais began to rotate with the sound of grinding masonry.

"Hold on," Heath said. "Here we go."

The dais began to lower into the temple floor as it rotated. Cassie couldn't help but laugh.

"Barclay! You were right! It's working!"

The downward spiral was slow but steady and soon their eyes were at floor level and still the dais continued its descent. The darkness beneath the floor opened up, light from the temple spilling through to reveal the start of the catacombs Heath had predicted.

It was all true.

They descended in silence as long sections of blank stone wall rolled up past them. A vast, dark chamber opened up around them. Heath estimated another fifteen feet until they reached the floor.

Without warning, the air around them filled with a static charge. Before he could say anything or shout a warning their vision filled with colour and the deafening buzz of rapidly beating wings filled their senses.

Portis screamed.

Heath looked up to see the Sliferian trying to shield himself from the beast hovering over him. Cassie screamed. The sting plunged into his chest and after several seconds of agony, Portis vanished in an explosion of particles. Seconds later, the creature vanished, too.

The howl of wind filled the air for a few moments longer and then ... silence. The rotating disc came to a grinding halt.

Gradually, the three survivors looked at each other.

They stayed in that frozen position for a long time, staring at the spot where Portis had been only moments ago. Now that Portis's presence was gone, the eastern stone was now flush with the other stones around it.

Heath walked to the edge of the dais. The catacomb below was huge, stretching away into the darkness on all sides. They could see the entrances to numerous tunnels and smaller chambers.

"How far down is it?" Cassie asked.

"Ten, maybe twelve feet."

"We could jump that," she suggested.

"No one is jumping," Heath replied. "We'll help each other down ... _safely_."

One by one, they helped lower each other into the dusty space below. Heath was last to go. He lowered his body over the edge and Cassie and Juma supported him as he dropped the last few feet. They stood on the dusty floor of the catacomb and peered into the ominous shadows.

"God," Cassie said, rubbing her arms vigorously. "It's so cold."

Heath didn't hesitate. He removed his tattered jacket, draping it round her shoulders. She gave him a small smile.

"Look, there's a torch," Juma said. Fixed to the wall was an ancient wooden torch. A dark sticky material covered the tip.

"If that's pitch or something similar, we may still be able to use it," Juma said. "Anyone got a light?"

Heath reached into his pocket and found Stanton's silver lighter, offering it to Juma. The old judge paused before taking it, and even in the gloom Heath could see something like guilt passing over his features.

He put the flame to the torch and, to everyone's relief, it ignited, giving off a pleasant glow.

"So where do we go from here?" Juma asked.

"I have no idea," Heath replied. He walked along the corridor a few paces, studying every inch of the walls. As Juma followed, light from the torch illuminated a red symbol painted halfway up the wall. The symbol resembled an egg-like object.

"What is it?" said Cassie. "What does it mean?"

"Who knows?" Heath replied. "But it's a start. Let's see if we can find another one."

"Where are we heading, though?" Cassie asked. "I mean, what are we heading towards? Do we have any idea what we're looking for?"

"No, not really." Heath pointed at the red symbol on the wall. "But this tells me there's something down here, something important enough that the Tobrii left markers for it."

"Let's get going then," Juma said.

Heath and Cassie exchanged a glance before following the figure in the tweed suit. They moved slowly through the catacombs, huddled together for warmth and for comfort. Juma led the way, holding the torch high to give them the best illumination.

"I can't believe there are only three of us left," Cassie said.

Heath said nothing.

"I've been thinking," she said. "That ... creature. Do you think it's been trying to stop us? Do you think when it attacked Night-Umlau and then Portis it was trying to stop us from getting down here?"

"Well, that's really the magic question isn't it?" Heath said. "Is this just some random series of events set into motion by accident ...?"

"Or is it," Cassie continued, "some divine plan, with a mastermind behind it, guiding all these events to some desired conclusion?"

Heath nodded. "Or maybe even a combination of the two?" he suggested. "But do you know what's really troubling me, Cassie?"

"No, what?"

He stopped walking. Cassie walked a couple of steps further then halted. Juma, still leading the way, sensed their pause and turned back.

"What really troubles me," Heath said, "is that if there is someone behind all this it has to be one of us three. And I know it isn't me."

The silence, enhanced by the glowering darkness all around them, filled the air like a noxious gas. Cassie's expression turned hard, filled with anger and resentment.

"Barclay, you don't ..."

"At what point were you two going to tell me you knew each other?" Heath said.

Cassie's anger softened. "What?" she said.

Heath stared at them, his gaze like steel. "When we first arrived on Tobriosus, I was in my room and I heard a male and a female voice in the room next door discussing something. Foolishly, I assumed it was Night-Umlau having an argument with himself, but as Portis pointed out a little while later — Umlau wasn't in the room next to mine. Which means it had to be you, Cassie, the only female on the trip, and the owner of the room next to mine ... which was you, Judge Juma. And before that, in the departure lounge at Gateway, I thought you were being rude, Juma, blanking us the way you did. Now, though, I see there was some connection between the two of you."

Cassie's mouth hung open. She clutched Heath's jacket closer around her, and then looked at Juma.

The judge frowned. "Do you want to tell him or shall I, my dear?"

Cassie shut her eyes, shaking her head. "Barclay, I promise you, it's not what you think."

"Then explain."

She visibly quailed at his hard tone. Flustered, she scrambled for the right words with which to begin. "I ... I have met Judge Juma before, but under circumstances I would very much like to forget."

"What circumstances?" Heath demanded. "Hurry."

"Barclay, my husband was a powerful man. We married when I was very young and he expected children. I was unable to give him that blessing. We were unable to conceive. We never found out exactly why, but he blamed me. He said it was my fault. He could have divorced me, but he didn't. He said he loved me and wanted to make things work. Little did I know what he meant by that."

"Just cut to the chase, my dear," Juma chided. "I don't think Heath cares for the melodrama."

"Go on," Heath said, ignoring Juma.

"There are certain places in the universe where one can go to cheat nature," Cassie said. "If you have enough money and influence you can get anything you want. My husband tried to make children from stolen embryos. It was wrong, we both knew that. But he wanted it and I felt so guilty I felt I had to go along with it to make him happy. But ..." She hugged herself, a look of revulsion on her features. "I saw the thing he made, Barclay, the thing that was supposed to be our child." She looked physically sick. "Oh, Barclay, it was monstrous. It truly was a crime against nature. I knew that, and I was ashamed."

"What happened?"

"The authorities found out and we ended up in court. Judge Juma resided over the case. He sentenced my husband to life imprisonment. Believe me when I say this, Barclay, there was no one more surprised to see Judge Juma at Gateway than me."

"Yes, there was," Juma interrupted. "Me."

"Really?" Heath said. "So you two being on this flight together was a coincidence?"

"Yes, Barclay," Cassie said imploringly. "I swear to you. And the only reason you're here is because the young man I was supposed to be travelling with found out about my past and left me at Gateway."

"Really?" Heath said.

"Yes, Barclay. Please believe me."

Heath bowed his head a moment. "I just wish you'd told me earlier, Cassie. Confided in me."

"I was ashamed. That conversation you overheard," she said, "that was us just establishing our legal distance. That was all, Barclay. You do believe me, don't you?"

A noise cut through the darkness.

"What was that?" Juma said.

"What?" Cassie and Heath said in unison.

"I heard something."

They listened together for a few seconds.

"I can't hear anything," Cassie said.

"You're just getting the jitters," Heath said.

"No, shush! There it is again!" Juma insisted.

This time, Heath picked up a faint noise somewhere far off. A buzzing noise, like the sound of a large insect.

"Oh God, Barclay," Cassie said. "He's right. It's that thing! It's found us!"

## Chapter Thirteen

The Blight in the Shadows

They held their breaths, listening. One by one, they turned in the direction of the noise.

"It's coming from behind us!" Juma said.

"It can't be," Heath said.

"It is, Barclay," Cassie said, gripping his arm.

"Let's move!" Heath said, urging them on down the passage at a faster speed.

From out of the darkness behind them, a vibration, like the flutter of giant wings, drew closer.

"Run!" Heath shouted.

They raced around another corner, through a low archway and into an open chamber. Juma and Heath struggled to roll the large stone door closed. The noise of the creature was deafening now. Heath thought he saw a glint of light from something shiny, like armour plating, emerging from the darkness in the passageway.

Then that vibration ...

Something hideous and alien loomed out of the shadows.

The door slammed home just in time and both men collapsed against it, gasping for breath.

The buzzing noise hovered beyond the door, accompanied by the thud of a large floating body banging against the stonework with a petulant air.

"What," Juma said, between breaths, "in the name of all that's holy, _is_ that thing?"

Heath recovered his breath first and turned to study the room. The chamber seemed illuminated without the need for artificial light. Juma put the lamp down on the dusty floor.

There was a crystal chamber against the far wall and in the centre of the room a pillar of rock reaching from floor to ceiling, with a large handprint carved out of the stonework. Heath edged closer and saw that the handprint was smaller than a man's, with a thumb and only three fingers.

"What the hell is this place?" Cassie said. "A control room?"

"Something like that," Heath said. "But controlling what?"

Cassie moved over to the crystal chamber, her eyes misty, a trance-like air about her. She pressed her palms to the glass and peered into the empty space. "What happened here?"

Juma paced around the room, looking at the carvings on the walls. "Well, come on, Heath. You're supposed to be a clever sod. What does it all mean? How did they do it? How did the Tobrii vanish?"

Heath stepped up to the chamber, his shoulder touching Cassie's. He put his forefinger to the glass and drew a line through the dust. "There is only room for a single occupant in there. One of the Tobrii would stand in there ... but why?"

"Is this how the Tobrii made their sacrificial offering to that thing?" Cassie asked.

"No," Heath said. "Reason tells me that what's been happening to us happened to the Tobrii. Although I'm willing to bet it happened to them at a much more leisurely rate. I think that creature was like some kind of Grim Reaper, picking off the Tobrii at the moment of death but, for some reason, with us, it couldn't wait. That creature was awakened shortly after we arrived, and it's almost as if it's trying to complete some task, like some preordained duty it's been waiting eons to finish ... but what?"

"So the real mystery still remains, doesn't it?" Cassie said. "Where did they go?"

"Yes. What makes you think they went anywhere?" Heath asked.

"Because of the dust left behind. Maybe the dust is the remains of everything that's not part of the physical being. Clothing, jewellery, that sort of thing. Remember Captain Muriuki's earring? Stanton's lighter and cigarettes? So, if the Tobrii disappeared in the same way our friends did—suddenly—then what happened to the remainder of their corporeal bodies? Where did that go?"

Heath began pacing around the chamber. "You're asking all the right questions, Cassie. We're almost there. The winged creature reduces its victims to dust, just piles of dust. What about the rest of their essential being? Their bodies go ... where?'

Cassie shrugged. "To that big Tobrii place in the sky?"

Heath's eyes bulged. "What did you say?"

"Sorry, I was being flippant."

"No, say it again."

She laughed. "To that big Tobrii place in the sky."

Heath leaned back, staring up at the ceiling but looking beyond it, imagining the giant arch at the top of the tower.

"Oh my God," he whispered. "That's it."

"What is?"

"The arch. The arch!"

Cassie continued to stare at him with a wrinkled brow. His mind was a maelstrom of facts and ideas all tumbling over each other, fighting for superiority. He knew the answer was coming. The only answer that made sense, the answer that fulfilled all the questions.

"Where did the Tobrii go, Cassie? Why were there no bodies? No graves? No depiction of a deity in their glyphs?"

Heath walked to the west wall and gently caressed the smooth surface with his fingertips. He gasped, his fingers springing away.

"Barclay, what is it?" Cassie asked.

He pressed his fingers against the rock again, firmly this time. Then, slowly, he pressed his cheek against the wall, and closed his eyes.

He felt the pulse of something in the rock, a vibrancy, something hard to define. Of course, all rock was alive in a sense - it was a mineral, or at least, forged from many different minerals, but alive nonetheless. But this ... this was different. This was alive in a more real sense.

"Barclay?" Cassie said, sounding anxious. "Please, talk to me."

"The Tobrii," Heath said in a soft tone, "didn't disappear and leave behind an empty temple. Cassie, they _are_ the temple."

Cassie placed her hand over her mouth. "Oh my God."

Heath broke away from the wall and turned to Cassie and Juma. "You remember the arch, the broken arch at the top of the temple? I think that if enough bodies are added to the temple structure, that arch will grow and ... well, _something_ happens when the arch is complete."

"All right," Cassie said. "So maybe this entire process is like their form of purgatory. Maybe when that arch is complete, the Tobrii are released. They'll finally die and be allowed to go onto whatever afterlife they have."

Heath looked at her with a grave expression. "Or maybe, Cassie, they will be reborn. Maybe the Tobrii have found a way of cheating death altogether?"

"How many?" she asked. "How many bodies do you think it would take to complete that arch?"

Heath grinned darkly. "How many of us were on that flight?"

Cassie's brow wrinkled as she tried to process everything. "So, you think it wasn't a coincidence there were so few of us on this trip?" she asked.

"No," Heath said. "No, I don't, Cassie. Wouldn't you agree with that, Juma?"

A clicking noise echoed around the chamber. Heath and Cassie studied Judge Juma, who had his back to them, head down, focused on something he held in his hand.

"Quite," he said, turning slowly to reveal a small black pistol. Heath recognised it as Portis's. "In my experience as a judge, coincidence is quite often the absence of proof."

## Chapter Fourteen

Regeneration

Cassie stepped back, reaching behind her and finding Heath's arm.

"Juma," she said. "What are you doing?"

Heath stepped sideways so that his body covered Cassie's. He glared at the old judge.

"I thought you would have figured this out before now, Heath. You're supposed to be the greatest detective mind in the universe, aren't you?"

"I did work it out, Juma. A little while ago, in fact," Heath said. "I just wanted you to believe I was in the dark."

"Oh," Juma said with a sarcastic grin. "You knew all along it was me, did you?"

"I did begin to suspect you when you were continually accusing everyone else. You really overplayed that, I'm afraid."

Juma shrugged. "My apologies."

"And your sudden change of heart after Umlau disappeared, that was quite unusual, as was your act of bravado over saving Portis from the storm. Now I understand your sudden desperate need for us to get to the temple. Time was running out, the victims were running out. Somehow you knew we needed four of us to get through to the catacombs. You had to get here, to this place, though God alone knows why."

"Yes, the timing had to be right, because that thing—" He nodded to the space outside the chamber. "That creature doesn't discriminate. It takes whomever it likes whenever it likes."

"That creature," Heath said, "has lain dormant for centuries. How did you awaken it?"

Juma reached into the collar of his shirt and pulled out the pendant from around his neck. Heath recognised it instantly.

"The amulet from the dig," Heath said.

"Yes," Juma said. "Amazing how such a tarnished old piece of junk could unleash such an incredible power." He smiled. "As soon as I touched it, as soon as my fingers caressed the engraving, I felt something stir in the universe, an incredible force awakening. From the moment I picked up the amulet, that thing was awakened and searching for its first victim. I never expected it to be our pilot. Most fortunate. I couldn't have planned it better, really."

"What's stopping the creature from attacking you?" Cassie asked.

"The amulet protects me, my dear. You see, the beast cannot touch the bearer of the amulet. It's all part of the Tobrii culture. Everyone dies except for the possessor of the amulet. That person has a very special task to perform." He pointed to the crystal chamber. "In there."

"I don't understand," Cassie said.

"I needed seven," Juma said.

"Seven?"

"Just seven. I was assured that would be enough."

"Enough for what?" Cassie asked.

"For my plan to work," Juma said with a grin.

"Plan?" Heath said. "What plan?"

"It was my son who worked it all out. He was on the archaeological team here last year. He found the catacombs through sonic tests. He never managed to find the way in here, but his experiments concluded that there were indeed catacombs down here. He told them his theories but they dismissed him as a crackpot. They sent him home in the end, said they were concerned for his sanity. How wrong they were. How right he was. The sacrifice of just seven people could regenerate an entire race ..."

"But things didn't quite work out that way, did they?" Heath said. "I assume it was you who bought up all the extra seats once you had enough people onboard? You bargained on there being seven victims ... or offerings? Seven _plus_ yourself, right? But due to Miss Klaven's kindness, I ended up coming along. How does that affect the plan, Juma? You need seven victims and so far you've got six. One of us three has to go. Who's it going to be?"

"You are correct, Heath, for the most part. Only trouble is, I have no control over the process. I only set it in motion by picking up the amulet."

"Why are you doing this, Juma?" Heath said. "Why are you letting innocent people die?"

"It's really not as bad as you think, Heath. For them anyway. As for me ... I'm tired, Heath. Do you have any idea what it takes to keep yourself alive? Every day, every conscious minute, fighting to keep your body going, to breathe, to keep the blood flowing. You humans are so lucky. You take your bodies for granted. They do all the work for you. Try and imagine for one second what it is like for me." He bowed his head. "I thought about ending my existence for a long time, but something kept me holding on. Like you humans, though, like everyone, I do want to live on. That's a universal desire. _To live forever_. But I'm tired, Heath. So tired. I can't do this indefinitely. So, when my son told me about this, the great Tobrii secret ... well, it seemed like the ideal solution. The gift of immortality. Rejuvenation, regeneration. Whatever you want to call it."

He touched the stone pillar. "It appears the Tobrii chose the moment of their death too. But it wasn't permanent. They knew that, one day, when the arch was completed, they would come back. That was the plan anyway." His brow furrowed. "But something went wrong. I think their calculations went awry. They didn't have enough people. Perhaps the remaining males were unable to procreate with the females, and not enough Tobrii were born. They must have realised towards the end ... God, that must have been a terrible time. When the last few passed away, knowing that the regeneration would never happen. That they could be lost here forever, trapped ..."

"So, Juma, what happens next?" Heath said. "You killed almost everyone on board ... for what?"

"No, no, that's the thing, Heath." Juma's eyes were wide, staring, filled with fire and passion. "They won't stay dead. This is why I was able to carry out this plan without guilt. When the final, seventh victim joins the temple, the arch will be complete, and then everything will be ready and waiting for the regeneration."

"And how does that happen?"

Juma pointed at the glass chamber. "The chamber. That's what they built it for. For this day. There will be only one sacrifice in all this. The life of one person will revive the thousands of Tobrii. They will be reborn. As will our fellow passengers."

"This is madness. Who's going to do that, Juma?"

"Me, Heath! Me!" Juma laughed. "I know it was selfish to put those poor passengers through this, but it will all work out in the end. I promise. The only person who won't be coming back is me."

The walls shook suddenly. The buzz of the flying creature sounded through the walls. They all looked at the door.

"Quickly," Juma said, fear colouring his features. "If that thing gets in here ... We must hurry."

"Hurry?" Heath said. "What do you expect us to do, Juma?"

"I told you!" Panic in his voice. "One of you has to die. I'm sorry. I can only reassure you that this will only be temporary. You will return."

Heath pushed Cassie behind him. She struggled, gripping his shoulder and trying to pull herself back level with him. But he backed her roughly into the wall.

"Me, then," Heath said. "Damn you, Juma."

Juma nodded. "I'm sorry."

He raised the pistol.

Cassie slipped out from behind Heath, charging at Juma like an angry Harpy. In that frantic moment, Heath expected to hear the crack of the pistol, but Juma hesitated, thrown into confusion by the young woman's fearless attack. She grabbed the pistol and forced it skyward. They tussled for several moments.

"I won't let you do this!" she screamed. "How dare you use people like this! How could you?"

"Stop!" Juma said. "Stop this, woman! I really don't want to have to—"

Heath jumped in, grabbing Cassie around the waist and dragging her backwards. She continued to claw at the air.

"Why?" she yelled. "Why are you doing this?"

He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. "Don't you see?" he said. "It's a chance to be God. It's a chance to influence an entire race. Think of it. I've spent my whole life dealing with the sinful and the lost. This way I can help a new reborn species to grow, to learn, to find their way in the universe."

"You really think you're the best person to guide the regenerated Tobrii, Juma?" Heath asked.

Before the judge could respond, the air shifted between them. The oxygen seemed to momentarily displace itself. Heath felt his lungs empty of air and he could only stare dumbly as bright particles of gleaming dust formed into a solid creature before his eyes. The shimmering shape solidified in less than a second, and Heath saw wings appear, then two antennae, then a bulbous, armour-plated body, followed by a head with slicing mandibles. In a flash the creature was hovering in the air before them. The noise of its fluttering wings was deafening.

The creature looked at Juma and seemed to bear down on him. He screamed, managed to fire off a single round. The bullet bounced uselessly off the beast's armoured torso.

"No!" Juma screamed. "No, not me!"

The creature hovered for a second longer then raised its body a foot or so into the air. A foot-long sting extended from its tail. The creature thrust its body forward, impaling Juma through the chest.

He arched his back, unable to scream. He gasped for air, his eyes rolling over white. He would have fallen to the ground but the creature kept him upright, skewered on the end of its sting.

Juma sagged, his arms and legs falling limp. The pistol tumbled from his hand onto the dusty floor.

A hazy glow surrounded him, growing brighter and brighter before the old judge vanished in a silent explosion. In the space he had recently occupied, millions of bright particles held his shape, before gravity took hold and they drifted to the ground to form a small pile of dust.

The creature hovered a few moments before turning to face Heath and Cassie. Heath pressed himself even more firmly against her. She returned his embrace. The creature's eyes were two large black opals and Heath saw himself reflected in that alien gaze. After a long moment, the creature fell back and disappeared with a soft thunderclap and a bright flash.

Heath took a deep breath, before he turned to Cassie.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm fine. Really, I'm fine."

"I don't understand," Heath said. "Juma said he was protected."

Cassie looked down then, indicating the object in her open palm. It was the amulet.

Heath looked into her big brown eyes, a mixture of admiration and fear running through him.

"Oh, Cassie," he said.

He went over and crouched down beside the pile of dust where Juma had once stood.

A heavy weight fell over him. Juma's plan was now in tatters. His idea to sacrifice himself to save everyone else in return for some strange dream of immortality was over. Juma was now the seventh victim. If he had been correct in his assumptions, the arch at the tip of the temple would now be complete. But now ... now someone needed to give their life to bring everyone back ...

"What do we do, Barclay?" Cassie asked softly.

He continued to stare at the pile of dust. The weight in his heart grew heavier.

_Self-sacrifice_.

One life to bring back the seven innocent passengers, and, if Juma was right, countless Tobrii.

One life.

"Barclay?"

He had no choice, he told himself. No choice at all.

Do it now, you old fool. Before it's too late. Before you change your mind.

He heard a noise behind him, the sound of feet rushing across stony ground. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Cassie at the stone pillar. She had slipped the amulet around her neck. She placed her splayed fingers in the hand-shaped groove.

Something large and heavy thundered into life in the walls around them. Then the sound of a giant motor, turning, turning, turning.

"Cassie, what are you doing?" he said.

She glanced round at him, her eyes wide. Then she was running, crossing the room in a blur, heading for the glass chamber.

The door slid open. Cassie dove through the opening into the enclosed space.

"Cassie! No!"

He stood up and lunged towards the chamber as the door began to roll closed. He stumbled, slipping on the pile of dust that was all that was left of Judge Juma. The dust scattered in all directions. Heath slipped and fell to his knees as the door slammed shut.

He climbed up the glass, hammering on it with his fists.

"Cassie, don't do this!" he said.

She pressed her back against the wall of the chamber, staring at him and shaking her head. The noise of ancient machinery rumbled all around them. Dust drifted down from the roof of the chamber.

"Cassie!" he yelled. "Not you! It should be me!"

She shook her head again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He ran to the stone control pillar and thrust his hand into the pad, closing his eyes and praying it would interrupt whatever she had set in motion. But the machinery rumbled on. He kicked at the stone pillar, trying to break it with several hard kicks, but it was like granite.

He managed to break off a chunk the size of a house brick. Nothing happened.

He turned and looked at the chamber. It was filling now with white smoke. Cassie was a shadow in the fog.

He picked up the chunk of stone and raced towards the chamber.

Once, twice, three times he railed on the glass, but it refused to shatter.

He hit it once more but the stone bounced off and fell to the floor.

He leaned against the glass, breathing hard and fast. The noise of the ancient machinery filled the chamber.

"Cassie!" he bellowed. "Cassie!"

She came forward, her silhouette growing more solid in the rolling smoke. She pressed her palms against the glass, a sorrowful expression on her face.

"Oh, Cassie," he said. "It should have been me. I promised you I would get you out of this. It should have been me."

"It's all right," she said, her voice muffled behind the glass. "You're still my hero, Barclay. You'll always be my hero. Just ... let me be the hero this time. All right?"

He shook his head. "You're young. I'm old."

"It doesn't matter," she said. Her eyes fluttered and he thought she was about to faint. But she straightened up, fighting whatever effect the smoke was having on her. "Really, Barclay. I'm fine with how things have turned out." She glanced around. "This ... this is right. It feels right. I told you I wanted to be remembered, didn't I?"

He smiled, a tear spilling down the side of his face.

"And even if I'm not remembered for this ... at least you'll remember me ... won't you?"

He raised both arms and pressed his open palms against the glass so they aligned with hers. He looked into her eyes.

"Always."

The smoke grew thicker, more impenetrable. He fixed on her eyes until that was all he could see. After a time, he was unable to see anything beyond the glass. He sensed the heat of her palms through the glass for a few more moments, then even that faded.

The noise of heavy machinery continued to thunder in the walls all around him.

Heath realised she was gone and the strength went out of him. His legs buckled. He slid down the glass and sat there slumped against the chamber wall, until the dreadful rumble of machinery fell into silence.

## Chapter Fifteen

Saviour

Numb and exhausted, Heath stumbled alone through the dark tunnels of the catacombs for what seemed like forever, until finally he saw a strange light up ahead, a light that had not been there when they descended into this godforsaken place less than an hour ago.

They. Himself, Juma and ... Cassie.

He leaned against the wall and shut his eyes for a moment. The loss was still too painful, too shocking to him. The way things had spiralled so quickly out of his control. He had promised to get her off this planet. He had promised that she would be all right. But in the end, he had failed her.

He stumbled on, approaching the bright light with his hand raised against the glare. The light was spilling in through the circular opening in the temple floor. Above that, he could see the early morning sky.

The temple was gone.

The circular platform which had lowered them into the catacombs remained frozen halfway through its descent. With a grunt of effort, Heath jumped up and managed to catch hold of the platform edge and pull himself onto the outer tier. He lay on his front for a time, breathing hard and squeezing his eyes hard against the exhaustion which commanded his entire body. Slowly, he stood up and eyed the lip of the floor above. Twelve, maybe fifteen feet, he estimated. Beyond his reach. He was about to call out, to cry for aid but realised with sudden clarity the situation he found himself in.

Everyone was gone. Everyone except him.

Just then, a shadow fell over him. He squinted against the brightening sky and found a trio of silhouettes looking down at him. They were small, like children, their heads bulbous and hairless. Heath made out their long slender fingers and thin necks.

His heart froze in his chest.

The Tobrii ...

The tallest of the three figures reached down then, and Heath watched the alien's slender arm closely. The hand had only four digits—three fingers and a thumb. The Tobrii remained in that position, arm stretched down in an open gesture of help.

Slowly, Heath slipped his own hand into the Tobrii's leathery palm, and with hardly any visible effort, the Tobrii lifted him towards the light.

As he ascended he watched the space above him. More of the silhouettes came into view. By the time he clambered onto safe ground, dozens of the tall, dark-skinned figures surrounded him. They were naked, their bodies tall and elegant, skin like tree bark. Their large eyes shone brightly in the early morning light. The base of the temple was a flat area of stones some fifty feet square. The temple walls, the giant arch, everything had vanished and the beings around him, the reborn Tobrii, stood around in its place.

One of the Tobrii, the one who had helped him out of the pit, stepped forward and pressed his long-fingered hand against Heath's shoulder. Another Tobrii did the same. Then more moved closer, touching him, a murmur of what sounded like gratitude on their alien lips.

"No," Heath said, but his voice was weak, croaky, and his protest was lost in the growing susurrus.

The Tobrii crowded around him, all waiting for their turn to place their hand upon him.

Their saviour.

"No!" he said. "No, stop this!"

They did not understand him, continuing in their ritual of praise.

"Stop!" he shouted, shoving their hands away from him.

The murmuring stopped and those at the front of the crowd backed away, blinking their big eyes in silent confusion.

"I'm not the one who brought you back!" he told them, but they only stared back at him.

He sighed, not knowing how to explain anything more to them.

Then he caught something in the corner of his eye and turned as a section of the crowd parted and a recognisable figure pushed his way towards him.

"Heath! Heath!"

Wrapped in a tattered blanket, Chorley Stanton stepped forward and gripped Heath's hand. His face lit up with a smile.

"My God, man, are you a sight for sore eyes!" His smile faded. "I say, we are still alive aren't we? We haven't stumbled into Tobrii heaven, have we? Have we?"

Heath managed a tight smile and shook his head.

"I really thought that was the end of the game for me," Stanton said. "One minute that dreadful thing was bearing down on me, the next I was ... Nowhere." He clutched at his chest, a stricken expression crossing his face. "I can still remember that thing's sting going right through me." He opened the top of the blanket and studied his chest area. "Nothing. Not even a scratch. Then, completely out of nowhere, I'm back here, naked as the day I was born. Oh dear, maybe this is heaven."

Heath glanced around. "Trust me, Stanton. This is not heaven. Far from it."

"Have you seen any of the others?" Stanton asked.

Before he could answer, another voice rose up from the crowd. "Heath!"

Portis pushed to the front, leaning over as he struggled to catch his breath. "Thank goodness I've found you, and Mr Stanton. That's almost everyone now."

"Everyone?" Heath said.

"Yes, I've managed to locate everyone in the party. Umlau, Centennial, Gallus, Juma, you two and, most importantly, Captain Muriuki. Somehow, everyone has been brought back! It's a miracle!"

"It's not a miracle," Heath said.

Portis's brow wrinkled and he looked around. "Where is Miss Klaven? Wasn't she with you?"

Heath said nothing, finding it impossible to explain, even if he wanted to.

"What's that?" Stanton said.

Heath followed his gaze. Just visible above the heads of the Tobrii crowds, a shape rose out of the tumult. One by one, they moved slowly towards it, Heath in the lead, the crowds parting in a graceful movement until they stood in an enclosed circle surrounding a strange black figure which rose out of the hard-packed earth.

Crouching in the sand nearby and also wrapped in a blanket, Judge Juma sobbed uncontrollably, staining the sand with his tears. He glanced up at Heath and his face became even more miserable. He bowed his head and continued to cry.

"What the hell happened, Heath?" Stanton asked.

"I'll explain later," he said.

Heath moved closer to the black object. It resembled the trunk of a new tree. Its skin was jet black, like the skin of the Tobrii, and very similar to the walls of the temple which had recently stood in this space.

Heath noticed that the roots of the statue plunged into the desert floor, exactly where the wall of the previous temple had been.

"What is it?" Portis asked. "If the temple was made up of the Tobrii, then what is this?"

Heath reached out hesitantly and touched the bark of the strange black tree. He felt the warmth, the gentle pulse of life within. He closed his eyes and drew in a sharp breath, horrified and deeply touched at the same time.

"It's the start of a new temple," he said. "The cycle begins again."

Stanton shook his head. "I don't follow, old boy."

Heath ignored him. He turned and addressed the crowd. "This is your saviour!" he told the Tobrii. "This is the one who brought you back to life!"

The Tobrii exchanged glances with one another.

Heath turned back to the tree and whispered one word.

"Cassie."

## Chapter Sixteen

Immortality

The rescue shuttle was little more than a streak of pale yellow light across the purple Tobriosus sky. Heath stood at the window of his quarters and watched its approach. He felt no joy at its arrival. His heart was numb, his head filled with static.

At the far end of the corridor outside he could hear the sounds of the others as they packed their belongings. Stanton was relating one of his travel adventures to anyone who would listen. The big Galrean laughed along, a deep throaty laugh which shook the halls outside. Night-Umlau was engaged in deep conversation with the tall blonde Valusian. He couldn't make out everything they were saying, but it was something about making a journey to see family as soon as possible. No wonder, Heath thought. They had all been through a very real near-death experience and such events always made one think of home and loved ones. That was universal.

Portis was bustling about, still trying to order his passengers to do what he needed them to do, but no one was listening to him.

Life goes on, Heath told himself. The sound of all that life continuing on around him raised a smile on his face, if only a small one.

Yes, life goes on.

He turned and walked to the bed, zipping up his own travel bag. He glanced around the room, just to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything. Satisfied, he went outside and closed the door behind him.

The door opposite was open, and he could see the Paisley-patterned valise which belonged to Cassie resting on the armchair inside. Clothes lay strewn across the bed. No one had packed her things.

Heath went in and studied her belongings. A few dresses, some shoes, a make-up box, some jewellery. He placed it all in the bag and, as he did so, he lifted one of the dresses and found her notebook on the bed.

He picked it up and flicked through the pages. There were numerous poems in various stages of drafting and redrafting, with small pencil drawings here and there. Notes about things she had seen, people she had observed, emotions she had felt. He skipped to the last marked pages and found an entry dated the previous night.

Met a rather dashing gentleman on the Tobriosus Flight. Barclay. I always liked that name. He claims to be just a retired traveller but I don't believe a word of it. There is something of the secret agent about him, I say. Then again, perhaps I have read too many romantic books. He appears to be only a few years older than my ex-husband. Is it any wonder I am drawn to older men when men my age always turn out to be such hounds! No, no, I'm not going to blather on about Huron again. I should have known he was too good to be true. I should have known he would run a mile when he found out about my murky past. From now on, I shall stick to the more mature gentleman. I might consider Barclay but I get the distinct impression he's had his heart broken not so long ago. Can two broken hearts mend each other? Or is that just too much hurt to overcome? Oh, listen to me!

The entry ended with a small drawing of a smiley face with puffs of cloud coming out of her head.

Heath sat down on the edge of the bed.

The very last entry was a poem. The last thing she ever wrote.

His eyes fogged up with tears, stopping him from reading.

"Is everyone ready?" Portis shouted out in the hall. "The shuttle has landed and I would very much like everyone down in reception. Please!"

Heath stepped out into the hall and watched as the other passengers ambled down the corridor with all their belongings. He held his own travel bag in one hand and Cassie's notebook in the other.

Portis went to the door at the far end of the hall and knocked impatiently. "Judge Juma! Please hurry! We are leaving!"

There was no answer.

"Judge Juma?"

Portis shoved the door and it opened inward. He disappeared inside for a few moments then emerged into the hall again.

"He's gone."

* * *

They found him sitting on a rock at the front of the station. Heath approached him, stunned by the way the Tobriosus sun glimmered on the horizon, casting the desert in a shimmering glow. Juma's hunched body seemed to be moving, caught in the heat haze, but as he drew nearer Heath realised the sad truth.

Juma's body was slumped in a sitting position with his head bowed. His eyes were open, staring. No breath escaped his grey lips. His face was the colour of old snow.

Heath exhaled and his brow drew into a tight frown. He put down his bag and sat down on the rock next to the old judge.

"Oh, what miserable fortune, to own the ability to choose the moment of one's death."

He studied Juma's frozen profile.

"You old fool," he said. "You poor old fool."

Portis snorted. "Surely you don't feel pity for him? It was his fault. All of this. He bought all the seats on this flight, set everything in motion."

"Pity?" Heath said. "Portis, we all deserve pity in the end. Even the worst of us." He reached over and gently rolled Juma's eyes shut. "He was right, we are lucky. Imagine having to actively keep yourself alive every day, every waking moment? How long could you do it for, Portis? Stanton? Umlau? How long would you last before you gave up?"

No one answered.

The sound of the shuttle's engines firing off jets of steam filled the silence.

"We really must get going," Portis said.

Heath stood up. "I would like a few more minutes, if that's all right?"

"A few minutes for what?" Portis asked.

"To pay my respects and ... to say my goodbyes."

Portis realised what he meant and nodded. "Of course. I'll ask the shuttle to wait."

"Thank you," Heath said. "Would anyone care to join me?"

* * *

They stood around the black tree in a rough semi-circle. Heath, Portis, Night-Umlau, Centennial, Chorley Stanton, Gallus and Captain Muriuki. The wind was gentle, disturbing small devils of sand around their feet. A few of the Tobrii had stayed for the moment, whilst the rest of the surviving Tobrii headed off in a caravan to find a more habitable part of the land. The Tobrii were silent and respectful, dressed now in long robes, given to them by Portis from the station stock. Some of them approached the tree and touched its rough surface, bowing their heads like obedient children.

He suddenly remembered Cassie's whispered words.

_I always wanted children_ ...

He watched the young Tobrii for a moment, and shook his head. In a strange way she was a mother now, a mother to all these children. She would be their guiding light. He closed his eyes and prayed that was enough for her.

Heath held Cassie's notebook in his hand, turning it over and wondering how to say what he wanted to say.

"The very first thing Miss Klaven—" He stopped, shook his head. "The very first thing Cassie did for me was an act of kindness. She didn't know me at that point. I was just a stranger in a spaceport. She saw a man in need and she put herself forward. Her final act was ... it's beyond words, really. For one so young, so clever, so beautiful, to give her life to save others, it's just ..." He shook his head. "I cannot say what I want to say about her. My words are not enough. Let me say it with the words of a poet." He held up the book, cleared his throat.

"It's called 'The Endless Shore'...

"I stood upon the endless shore

And Death did speak to me.

He whispered in my ear awhile

About Eternity.

"We walked along the endless shore

And whiled the hours away.

I asked if He would leave me be,

Let me have this day.

"We reached a place where children played

And watched them for a while.

'Time is never their concern,'

Death told me with a smile.

"We stood upon the endless shore

And Death whispered to me,

'Can children give you what you want?

Your Immortality?'"

Heath closed the book. His eyes stung, but no tears came.

The wind filled the silence.

"That was beautiful," Night-Umlau said. "Who wrote it?"

"She did," Heath explained.

"What are you going to do with that?" Stanton asked. He gestured at the notebook in Heath's hands. "Are you going to leave it here?"

Heath studied the leather-bound book and shook his head. "No."

"But people need to know about her."

"They will," Heath said. "Oh, they will. I'm going to take it home with me, home to Earth, and I'm going to visit a publisher and convince them to publish everything in here that she ever wrote. It's the one thing she couldn't do, but the one thing she desperately wanted. To be remembered for something." He looked at Stanton, then at each of them in turn. "Trust me, my friends, Cassie Klaven will be remembered ... forever."

If you enjoyed _THE VANISHED RACE_ check out Book #1 in the Barclay Heath Mystery Series:

## THE HOTEL GALILEO

WELCOME TO THE HOTEL GALILEO

It's the Roaring Twenties. Humanity has ventured out into the stars, and out there, on the shoulder of Orion, sits Earth's crowning achievement—the awesome steam-powered space palace known as the Hotel Galileo.

Returning to Earth after a long vacation, retired detective Barclay Heath decides to stop at the famed space hotel for one night only. But Heath soon discovers dark forces are at work—before the night is over an Arcturan dignitary is found murdered in his bed.

With the future of Earth hanging in the balance, only the keen mind of Barclay Heath can see through the tangled web of lies and subterfuge spun by the chief suspects. Only he can unravel the mystery that lies at the heart of the Hotel Galileo.

" _If Agatha Christie wrote science fiction, she'd have stayed at the Hotel Galileo. Lee Moan captures the essence of the British Mystery added with the political tension of a Babylon 5 episode. Barclay Heath is a futuristic Hercule Poirot, a descendant of the gentleman detective, and is surrounded by a rich plethora of sidekicks and suspects that would make the Orient Express seem bland. An enjoyable read for those who like their mysteries in hard vacuum."_

— **David Boop – Author of "She Murdered Me with Science"**
