

A Dream Is A Pinhole In Time

A Tale In The Encircling Belts Of Tirano Saga

by Shawn B. Thompson

Copyright 2013 Shawn B. Thompson

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-1-

Avignon, France

Gendarmerie Nationale

Never tell the French cops the truth. I did. I thought that the truth would prevail no matter how fantastic it sounded. I should have known better. They scoff at my story as if I'm George W. Bush still proclaiming that Saddam Hussein had nuclear bombs.

If I'd remained silent, I'd probably be safely home in Mill Valley and trying to put the ordeal of the last few weeks behind me. Instead, here I am for the sixth day in a row sitting in an interrogation room in the Avignon gendarmerie. Who will they send today, and how long before his or her upper lip curls in disbelief?

The door swings open and in struts a short man in a gray suit carrying a Louis Vuitton briefcase. " _Bonjour_ , _Monsieur_ Burrows," he says. "I am Dr. Michel Avril."

Three shrinks in three days - I know what that means. The first two split on what to do with me. One concluded that I'm a cold-blooded murderer; the other that I'm an insane maniac who killed six people because I dreamt they were extraterrestrials. This shrink's job is to decide whether I should spend the rest of my life in a French prison as a murderer or in an insane asylum as a psycho.

Dr. Avril points to the metal folding chair at the end of the gray-steel interrogation table. " _S'il vous plaît_ , _Monsieur_ Burrows, be seated."

I sit and look at this man who will decide my fate. Even though he's professionally dressed in his three-piece suit, starched white shirt, and silk paisley tie, and has a pencil-thin mustache, he looks so young that he must be a recent graduate.

"I desire to hear the entire story," he says in unctuous French-accented English. He sits on the edge of the chair at the other end of the table, reaches into his briefcase, and pulls a pencil and legal notepad.

"Is that really necessary? I've told my story over and over for the past week. First to the police and then to the other shrinks. I'm sure you've read their reports. Can't we just skip the preliminaries?"

" _Non, Monsieur_. I arrived this morning from Paris to analyze this affair. I read only the summary of the police. How you say you dream the memories an alien named Tarnlot implanted in your mind and that you helped other aliens launch into outer space. It is necessary that I hear the whole story to discover the truth.

I'd like to believe him, but I've practiced law for thirty years and recognize this ploy. Give a witness a false sense of fairness by pretending to need to listen to all he has to say in order to make up your mind. Avril may listen, but if he's like the others, his only quandary is whether I'm sane. He won't even consider that I'm telling the truth about aliens and hyperspace travel.

I might as well test him early. I set my arms on the table and lean forward. If he's like yesterday's shrink, the fear will show in his eyes. Fear of being alone in the same room with me. A monster who murdered his own girl friend, his law partner, his law firm's most important client, the client's bodyguard, and a retired professor and his wife. "Please, _Monsieur_ Burrows, from the beginning."

He didn't flinch in either fear or loathing. I lean back and fold my arms across my chest. Perhaps I'm desperate, but my gut senses that this guy is different from the other shrinks. I might as well tell my story one more time. It can't make my situation any worse. "Do you need to wait for a translator?"

"No. I studied at the University of Iowa for some years. I comprehend how Americans speak."

_Iowa?_ The only thing I know about the University of Iowa is that it's a hotbed for football players and wrestlers. I can't imagine why Avril would go there to study psychiatry, but I'm glad he did. He'll listen to my words instead of those filtered through a sneering translator.

"Okay. It began twenty years ago. Even if I didn't have a photographic memory, I'd still remember that day as if it were yesterday. I knew at the time it would determine my future. And it did. Just not in the way I expected."

-2-

San Francisco, California

Twenty Years Ago

Rays of late afternoon sun sparkled on the three rings encircling the copper planet etched on the entry gate to Quincy T. Lott's Nob Hill house. I'd soon learn whether I'd fulfill my dream and be offered partnership in the law firm of Lott & Pembroke. I said a prayer as I rang the doorbell.

I was straightening my lucky red and blue striped tie when the door opened. Quincy's six foot five inch, 250-pound frame towered over me. He wore his trademark azure silk dress-shirt and navy slacks. "Welcome, Hobie." He extended his arm. Thick fingers enveloped my hand. "Come in."

A black dachshund ran down the hallway; its nails clicked on the polished hardwood floor. It slid to a stop behind Quincy and barked menacingly at my feet. My eyes darted down to the dog and then back to Quincy. Quincy's curly eyebrows arched in amusement. "That's only Zinfandel, my maid's dog. He won't bite. He only barks to make you think he's a big dog."

I tentatively lowered my hand. The dog wrinkled its nose, sniffed, then rolled over onto its back. I'd heard it was good luck to rub a dog's stomach, so I did.

"Well," Quincy said, "Zinnie took a liking to you. I guess that means it's safe for you to join me in the dining room for a glass of wine." Quincy tilted his head and his brown eyes peered over his wire-rimmed glasses. I knew that look; it had withered many an opposing counsel. "And talk about why you're here."

I stopped rubbing the dog and followed Quincy. He stopped at a door. A nod indicated I should enter. My heart pounded. This would be the room where I'd learn my fate.

The room's redwood-paneled walls, red velvet drapes, and floor to ceiling windows reminded me of a private club's dining room. This was the kind of room where lawyers and executives conducted important affairs while partaking of the finer things in life. I'd spent the last ten years striving to become a participant in that life.

A circular oak dining table was set for two. I'd never seen such sparkling china plates or so many crystal glasses. Each piece looked so expensive that I figured the silver wine bucket holding a bottle of white wine cost more than my monthly salary.

I didn't think it was a good sign that the table was set for two. If no other partners were joining us, it meant they didn't want to be bearers of bad news. "Isn't anyone else coming tonight?" I blurted.

Quincy shook his head. "No, Hobie. Tonight it'll be just the two of us and the spirit of George Pembroke. Until George died last year, he always joined me for these dinners." Quincy paused. "He was a good man. Too bad he died young."

_Young?_ I thought. The old coot was in his eighties. Quincy must have been feeling his own mortality. Even though he was in great shape and looked no older than the day I met him, he had to be in his mid-seventies. He probably realized his years were numbered.

Quincy pulled the bottle out of the bucket and poured some wine into my glass. "George always enjoyed this wine. It's a sauvignon blanc from my Napa Valley vineyard."

My hand trembled as I reached for the glass. I immediately sat it on the table to keep from spilling it. While Quincy poured a glass of the wine for himself, I glanced out the window. A tendril of fog crept up the street, only to be sucked back before it reached the pinnacle of Nob Hill. Would I be similarly be sucked down so near the pinnacle that I'd climbed toward for the past ten years.

Quincy leaned back in his chair. "When George and I started the firm we never imagined it would grow to its current size. In those days, a lawyer practiced solo or in a small partnership. Since then, the practice of law has changed dramatically. A lawyer can no longer competently practice in all areas of the law. A firm needs partners with specialized skills. L&P had to change with the times to retain its vitality."

He paused and took a sip of wine. He circled his lips and inhaled before swallowing. "This is good. Nice melon flavor with a pleasant vanilla aftertaste. Go ahead, try it."

I gulped a mouth full of the wine and tried to inhale the way he had. Some of the wine unexpectedly slid down my throat. It took all of my effort to keep from coughing and spitting wine all over the table. And I sure didn't taste melon, only liquid fire cauterizing my throat.

Quincy didn't seem to notice my discomfort, and instead, folded his arms across his chest. I admired Quincy so much as a person and a lawyer that I knew all of his mannerisms, and had copied most of them. I knew from the depth of his breath that he was settling in to give me one of his philosophical discourses. I hoped it wasn't some homily intended to let me down easily.

"George and I were always careful in choosing our partners. Being an outstanding lawyer is not enough. Our partners must care about each other as people, not merely as sources of income. Everyone gets along splendidly when the firm makes a lot of money, and during the time you've worked at the firm, we've prospered. It wasn't always so. Several years George and I reduced our partnership draws so that the younger partners could continue their full draws. We could live on our savings. They couldn't."

I twisted my law school ring back and forth on my finger. I'd heard this lecture at least a dozen times. And it always ended in his disappointment with some person being only interested in money. Evidently this time, it would be me.

"Unfailing loyalty to the firm and its partners. That's the guiding principle upon which the survival of Lott & Pembroke depends."

A dog's feet clicked down the hallway. "Ah, Zinnie always follows the food," he said. " _Señora_ Gomez must be bringing our salads."

A middle-aged Mexican lady in an ankle-length black skirt and a green and red-checkered blouse entered the room. She carried a silver tray with two china plates on it. Zinnie followed her, his nose in the air sniffing. Quincy snapped his fingers and Zinnie scurried underneath the table and plopped at his feet.

" _Graçias_ , Maria. The salad looks gorgeous," Quincy said as she left the room.

"It's my favorite," he said. "Virgin olive oil and fresh lemon juice over baby greens. Enjoy."

I picked up a fork and hooked a few greens. They tasted bitter. I swallowed hard to force them down. Both the wine and the salad were churning acid into my stomach.

"Hobie, I didn't invite you here tonight to deliver a sermon on what it takes to be a partner in Lott & Pembroke. Both George and I realized during your first year at the office that you were a selfless team player. Over the years, we watched you hone your eidetic memory. You've become an outstanding legal technician. Keep working hard and one day you'll be the best technician in the city."

He was trying to be complimentary, but I knew what he'd say next. Another firm would love to have someone with my ability, and that I'd be happier where my ability was truly appreciated.

He broke into a broad grin and extended his right hand across the table. "Hobie, as of this moment I welcome you as the newest partner in Lott & Pembroke."

Intoxicated with euphoria, I lunged forward and extended my arm across the table to shake his hand. My hand struck his wine glass. It crashed on the table. Wine splashed onto his salad and splattered his silk shirt. The remainder of the liquid surged toward the edge of the table. Quincy grabbed the napkin on his lap and tossed it in front of the path of the flowing wine before it reached the edge of the table.

I stared open-mouthed at the fallen glass. Quincy's eyes narrowed to slits. Instantaneously, despair replaced elation. I'd blown it. I slumped in my chair.

Quincy burst into laughter. "That's the first time anyone's first act as a partner was to spill wine on me. It was worth it, though, just to see the look of horror on your face. I wish I'd had a camera. I'd have posted the picture on my office wall."

I laughed too, from relief. "I'm sorry. I've been so nervous the past month. I was afraid you might change your mind before I could shake your hand. I know this wasn't a good beginning as a partner. I'll try from now on to live up to your expectations."

Quincy eyes grew serious. "You'd better. Much depends on it." He pushed his soaked napkin toward the middle of the table. "Now we'd better get this mess cleaned up."

Quincy picked a bell off the table and rang it. _Señora_ Gomez bustled into the room. She spotted the spilled wine, frowned, and quickly cleared the salad plates and wiped up the table.

"Maria, please bring the zinfandel," Quincy said.

He cast a sly grin at me. "I'd planned to have a special wine with dinner. Do you think you can keep from spilling it if I pour you a glass?"

I was still debating whether he was joking when _Señora_ Gomez returned and handed Quincy a crystal carafe filled with red wine. "Thanks, Maria," he said.

He poured a small amount into a balloon goblet for each of us. He handed one to me. "A toast to Hobie. May your days of partnership be as happy as mine have been."

He raised his glass to mine. The glasses touched and chimed like bells. Quincy swirled his glass, raised it to his nose, and inhaled. I followed his lead and did the same. A spicy berry and oak bouquet overwhelmed my senses. I took a small sip. A brambly raspberry flavor exploded in my mouth. I swallowed and a hint of pepper remained as an aftertaste.

"What is this? I've never smelled or tasted anything like it." I lifted the goblet to my nose. "I'd be content just to sniff it all night."

The sparkle in Quincy's eye reminded me of a father pleased by his child's accomplishment. "I suspected you would recognize a stunning wine. This is a zinfandel from the oldest part of my Napa Valley vineyard."

He swirled his goblet and sniffed the bouquet. I did the same. "What makes this wine so good?" I asked.

"The vineyard. It's a small block of thick, gnarly, head-pruned vines that are more than 100 years old. The old vines can only produce enough fruit for a few cases each year."

"I didn't know there were vines that old," I said.

"There aren't many," Quincy replied. "This one was planted by Maria's grandfather on phylloxera-resistant St. George rootstock."

He frowned. "Unlike that useless AxR1 rootstock, St. George is an indestructible gift of Mother Nature. Even the French imported St. George from California to prevent phylloxera infestation of their vineyards. If only St. George had been available for my other vineyard." He let out a long breath of air. "Such a tragic loss. Someday I hope you'll understand."

Quincy had earned the money to pay for college and law school by working as a field laborer in Napa Valley vineyards. He probably knew as much about vineyards as a professional viticulturist. I couldn't imagine why he thought I'd ever understand such esoteric vineyard babble as AxR-1, St. George, and phylloxera.

_Señora_ Gomez walked into the dining room carrying two plates. She set one in front of each of us. He glanced at my plate. "I asked Maria to roast a rack of lamb seasoned with fresh rosemary. It's a perfect accompaniment to the zinfandel."

The rack of lamb on my plate was carved into four slices and accompanied by roasted red potatoes. The aroma of the lamb and rosemary was seductive. I cut a piece of the lamb. The tender meat tasted as good as it smelled. Quincy ate a couple of bites and set his knife and fork down, his mouth and eyes tensed as if he were in pain.

"Is something wrong?" I asked.

"Saw an old acquaintance today. Someone I'd hoped I would never have seen again. Bothered me so much that I've had an upset stomach since."

I wondered who the jerk was and what he did to make Quincy dislike him. Probably, some money grubbing ex-client who refused to pay his bill.

"If you don't feel good, I'd better go."

He shook his head. "I won't hear of it. You go ahead and eat while I talk." He shifted his body sideways in the chair. "Hobie, I'd like your role as a partner to be unique. I want you to be the firm's version of a lawyer's lawyer. Let the other partners attract the clients and deal with them face-to-face. Be the firm's expert that everyone wants to research their tough issues and draft their complex documents."

That was a role I'd be happy to fulfill. I enjoyed the intellectual aspects of the law, but detested the hypocrisy involved in the wining and dining of clients. This would be perfect for me. I wouldn't have to bother with something I found distasteful.

As Quincy expounded on my role as the firm's research and drafting technician, I finished my lamb and potatoes. As if on cue, _Señora_ Gomez took our dinner plates and brought in dessert: chocolate decadence cake. Quincy cut me a big piece and poured more zinfandel in my glass.

"This zinfandel is great with chocolate," he said.

He was right. I took a second piece of to celebrate my partnership and poured another glass of zinfandel. By the time I finished, streetlights shone through the dining room's windows.

"I'd like to show you something no one else has seen," Quincy said with a twinkle in his eyes.

He picked up the nearly empty carafe of zinfandel and headed towards the door. He motioned for me to follow. "Come, and don't forget your glass."

We traipsed through the hallway and up two flights of squeaky wooden stairs to the top floor. Quincy pulled a key ring out of his pocket, selected a skeleton key, and unlocked an ivory-colored door. He pushed it open. A musty smell of old books drifted out.

I wondered what he could possibly keep under lock and key in his attic. He flicked a switch and fluorescent ceiling lights illuminated a drafting table in the middle of the room. Except for what looked like a hand-held television screen attached to a keyboard sitting on one corner, rolled up blueprints covered the table. Redwood bookshelves stuffed with old leather books lined three walls of the room. What seized my attention was a half-dome window that extended three to four feet out of the wall opposite the door. A telescope on a tripod sat in the middle of the protrusion and pointed skyward.

I walked to the window and crouched to look through the telescope. "What do you do with this?"

"I'm an amateur astronomer. As a hobby, I map constellations. It's difficult to see most of the stars clearly from here because of the lights of the city, so I use this room primarily for research. I keep my best equipment at my Calistoga house. I love to hike to the peak of Mount Saint Helena and track stars all night."

He put his hand on my shoulder as I crouched looking through the telescope. "Come over to the table and I'll show you some of my star maps."

Quincy set the carafe on the corner of the table and unrolled one of the sheets. Clusters of blue dots covered the white paper, with one black dot circled in red in the center of the paper. I assumed the dots represented the location of stars. One by one, Quincy showed me the sheets. Each contained dozens of blue dots, one black dot circled in red, and a future date in the lower right hand corner with "Tarnlot" printed under the date. Even though I'd never heard of it, I assumed Tarnlot was the name of the circled star.

"I'm not sure what I'm looking at," I said, realizing that with my eidetic memory I'd be able to recall each map if I had to. I hoped I never would though. "What does the circled dot represent?"

"My hypothesis of a phenomenon that appears periodically," he replied. "Did you know the discovery of most new single objects, such as comets, is by amateurs, not the professionals with expensive observatories? The professionals have only limited time allotted to them on those huge telescopes. Their searches only cover the specific matter they're studying. They don't roam the sky looking for anything else. That's why amateurs like me can discover new objects the professionals never see."

He unrolled the last sheet and stared at it as if it were a Michelangelo creation. I politely looked at it, but I'd seen more blue dots than I'd ever cared to see. I knew, though, that I should show some interest. "What is it? An undiscovered star?"

Quincy poured the last of the zinfandel in my glass. "Have you ever heard of hyperspace?"

I nodded.

"This is something similar. I call it a hyperfissure."

Only a small amount of the zinfandel remained, so I gulped all of it. "A hyper what?"

I never heard the answer. My head began to spin, my eyes lost focus, and my legs crumpled underneath me. Blackness descended.

When I came to Quincy was kneeling beside me with his hands cradling the back of my head. I tried to move my head; pain radiated down my spine. Quincy shook his head. "Lay still for a moment. Let me make sure you didn't hurt your head." He bit his lower lip.

The base of my skull ached as though his thumb was applying pressure at the top of my spinal cord. I closed my eyes. The tension leading up to tonight must have taken its toll on me and caused me to black out.

"How embarrassing. First I spill wine on you. Then I pass out." I winced from the effort of speaking. "The back of my head feels like your thumb is trying to bore a hole in it."

Quincy smiled as if to reassure me. "Not an uncommon reaction to the tannin in a wine. I shouldn't have poured you that last glass."

His fingers probed the back of my head. "No bumps or cuts. You should be okay. Ready to stand?"

The pressure on the back of my head had diminished to a tingling itch. "I think so."

Quincy stood and held out his hand. I grabbed it and he gently pulled me upright. I rubbed the back of my neck. The pain subsided to a bearable level.

"Was I out long?" I asked.

"Just a few seconds. I don't think it's anything to worry about." Quincy pulled up his shirtsleeve and looked at his watch. "I didn't realize it's so late. You need to get home, get some rest just to be sure."

He pointed to the red chair. "Sit. I'll go call a taxi for you."

By the time he returned to the room, the pain had evaporated. "You look much better. A cab's on the way."

"Thanks." I stood. "I think I'm okay now."

"Good. You had me worried. Now that I know you're feeling fine, here's your first assignment as a partner. Be at my office tomorrow morning at nine. We'll meet with the general counsel of Bay City REIT. He wants to discuss a public offering of a new issue of stock. I want you to research any questions he might raise regarding the new Securities and Exchange Commission filing procedures."

We left the room together and headed down the stairs. When we reached the door, Quincy shook my hand.

"Don't ever forget tonight," he said. He put his left hand over our clenched hands and his eyes locked on mine. "My plans depend on you. No matter how improbable it seems, don't fail me."

I couldn't believe Quincy Lott would depend on anyone, let alone me. "I won't," I said solemnly.

He released my hand and opened the door. I turned and walked out the entryway and down the steps. As soon as the door closed, I clenched my fists and raised my arms above my head. "Yes," I shouted at the sparkling stars. I had attained my goal: a lifetime partnership at Lott & Pembroke.

-3-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

I'm encouraged. Dr. Avril's hunched over the table writing as fast as he can. None of the other shrinks bothered to lift a pencil off the table during this part of the story. I knew from the disdain on their faces that they thought I fabricated an episode to establish a cause for my dreams.

He stops writing and looks at me. "This occurrence, it is twenty years before?"

"Yeah. I was probably about your age. Young and brash enough to think I could take on the world."

"You never dream it is necessary to take on _beaucoup_ worlds, _oui_?"

With his accent and bland expression, I can't tell whether he's cracking a joke or being sarcastic.

He glances at his notes. "You believe Monsieur Lott inserted the memory implant when you fainted?"

"Yeah."

"And you did not suspect it exists until recently?"

"Nope. Never had a clue it was lurking inside me. I thought I was living a perfect life for those twenty years. A partner in a prestigious San Francisco law firm, a connoisseur of food and wine, a wonderful girl friend. Then my world started to unravel two weeks ago in Honolulu."

He taps the notepad with his pencil. "Tell me about oh no lu lu?"

I tilt my head. "Who?"

He taps his forehead. " _Excusez-moi_. I say the pronunciation French. I forgot the initial 'h.' I should have said, tell me what occur in Ho-no-lu-lu."

I wonder if he did that to disconcert me. Doesn't matter. It'd take a lobotomy to make me forget what happened in oh-no-lu lu.

-4-

Honolulu

Conference Room

Cooke & Kubota, LLC

I gazed out the window of Cooke & Kubota's twenty-first floor conference room and ignored the cacophony of English and Japanese being spoken behind me. Under the bright Hawaiian mid-day sun, a silver 747 rocketed down Honolulu Airport's reef runway, lifted off, and climbed directly toward the downtown office tower where I stood. Even though I'd spent the last ten days watching planes take off, I breathed easier when the 747 banked sharply at Sand Island and headed south over the green waters of the Pacific Ocean. I watched the 747 until it became a dot on the horizon, wishing all the time I was on a plane headed home. In addition to being subjected to a horde of Japanese and their lawyers, I'd been cooped up far too long with my partner, Brad V.N. Hale, and the firm's client, Jack Morgado.

I abandoned my perch at the window and returned to the chore of proofreading the stacks of documents spread over the brightly polished koa wood conference table. On each of the documents the date of execution remained blank and I hoped today's date could soon be entered and this deal closed. For ten days negotiations and redrafting of documents had dragged on in an effort to finalize the joint venture agreement between one of Morgado's companies and the Japanese conglomerate, Nippon Katsumata Holdings, to construct the world's largest telescope atop Mauna Kea. Rumor had it that if NKH didn't sign a joint venture agreement by the end of the week its financing commitment from a syndicate of Japanese banks would expire.

Despite the importance of reaching agreement, NKH behaved in typical Japanese fashion. None of the Japanese attending the negotiations possessed the authority to approve any terms. Every word of every document had to be translated and sent to Japan for Mr. Katsumata's personal review. Mr. Katsumata said he would respond this afternoon, a record quick response for a Japanese magnate. A conference room full of people waited, and hoped.

The telephone next to me on the conference table rang. I grabbed the receiver. "Hobie Burrows."

"Tokyo calling for Mr. Shintani," the operator said. I handed the phone to Mr. Shintani, the highest-ranking NKH officer present. I hoped it would be good news.

" _Hai_ , _hai_." He nodded and bowed into the receiver until he hung up. "Mr. Katsumata approve all document. We sign now."

I felt as though the weight of a sumo wrestler had been lifted off my back. Jack Morgado clapped me on the shoulder and winked one of his deep blue eyes at me. The man smiled like a wolf who'd devoured a fat sheep.

"Hey, red head. Another deal closed. Go make dinner reservations at the best restaurant in Honolulu. You. Me. Brad. We'll celebrate. I'll buy. Not every day that I make $5,000,000 just to agree to assign a lousy patent to a joint venture of which I own fifty percent and Lott & Pembroke earns a $1,000,000 fee."

I knew where to go: Roy's Restaurant in Hawaii Kai. I'd read so many rave reviews about Roy's and the Hawaii Kai restaurant was the first of his chain. I was certain it would be a perfect place to celebrate the end of this ten-day Hawaiian ordeal. I needed at least one good memory from this trip.

While I remained at Cooke & Kubota to check that Mr. Shintani had signed all of the closing documents, Morgado and Brad went back to the Halekulani Hotel to freshen up before dinner. In their lingo, "freshen up" meant to sit at the hotel's pool bar and guzzle mai tais while leering at any woman in a skimpy bathing suit. Not my style, so I told them I'd meet them at Roy's.

*

When I arrived at Roy's, the hostess said Mr. Hale and Mr. Morgado hadn't arrived, but that she'd be happy to seat me. She led me up a flight of burnt-gold and green slate stairs to the second floor dining room. At my request, she sat me at a table next to a window that overlooked Maunalua Bay. A magnificent view swept from the camel hump of the extinct volcano Kokohead on the east side of the bay, past the white breakers rolling over the bay's coral reefs, and west across the Pacific to where Diamond Head jutted into the ocean. Even if the food turned out to be overrated, the view would make the evening memorable.

The sweet smell of burning kiawe wood drifted to me. I turned toward the open-air kitchen and watched one of the cooks toss another log in the wood-burning brick oven. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Morg, as Jack Morgado insisted everyone call him, and Brad standing at the top of the stairs with the hostess. I'd made a point of telling Brad that people dress casually for dinner at Roy's and that I was going to wear an aloha shirt. It didn't faze him. He insisted on continuing to play the role of a stylish San Francisco lawyer in a gray pinstripe suit, paisley silk tie, a starched white French-cuffed dress shirt with gold cuff links, and red suspenders. He also carried his ivory-handled mahogany cane.

Brad smiled at the hostess while his eyes perused her tight-fitting Hawaiian floral dress. His square-jawed good looks and trim six-foot tall body had over the years attracted a string of women. Personally, I thought his nose was too big on his oval face for anyone to consider him handsome. What did I know? It didn't seem to limit his success in picking up women.

Brad leaned melodramatically on his cane and whispered something to the hostess. He probably was using his line that he carried a cane because his leg "gave out" occasionally from an old combat injury. Of course, no one knew the specifics or even if he'd ever been in the military.

Morg, at least, had dressed casually in a black and white plaid short-sleeve shirt and black pants, which accented his wiry build. As usual, the top three buttons of his shirt were loose to expose his gold chains and fire opal pentagram medallion. He waved to a man sitting at a table next to the oven and walked over and shook the man's hand. Morg stroked his black goatee and bobbed his head in agreement with whatever the man said.

The hostess pointed to the table. Brad strutted over like a peacock spreading its feathers and perched in the chair next to me. He pointed a finger at Jack Morgado. "That man is Lott & Pembroke's most important client," he said. "We made more money from his patent deals last year than from any other client, including all of your beloved corporate clients. If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't bring his work to the firm. I hope you appreciate that."

I twisted my law school class ring back and forth on my finger. Brad never tired of finding a way to remind me that the partners had elected him chairman of the firm's managing committee because of the unconscionable amount of fees Morgado paid the firm . Quincy would have been shocked if he knew that under Brad's regime the sole criterion of judging one's contribution to the firm was the amount of fees collected from one's clients.

As if he'd read my thoughts, Brad leaned close to me and said in a stage whisper, "Keep telling you, Hobie, you've got to stop living in the past with that old fart Quincy Lott. Adapt to the new Lott & Pembroke. Big money to be made from entrepreneurs like Morg." I could smell the breath freshener he constantly squirted in his mouth. "Need I remind you, the managing committee's authorized to terminate the partnership of anyone who doesn't pull his weight in attracting clients."

I wasn't worried by Brad's not so veiled threat. As the past ten days had demonstrated, Brad needed me to do the difficult work of a legal technician. Someone had to worry about the crucial details because Brad didn't know the difference between an estoppel certificate and a guaranty agreement. I had negotiated the terms of the deal and drafted the necessary documents while Brad schmoozed with Morg and the Japanese. The deal would never have closed without me. I had proven I was just as valuable to the firm as Brad, as even Morgado realized. Several times during the negotiations when Brad got totally confused trying to explain the rationale behind some detailed provision of the documents, Morgado looked at Brad as though Brad was a blithering idiot. Each time, he asked Brad to make a telephone call to San Francisco with him and then whispered in my ear as he left the room that I should clear up the confusion.

Besides, even if Brad wanted to, he couldn't terminate my partnership by himself. Expulsion from the firm required a unanimous vote of the managing committee. The other two members of the committee, Robert Beresford and Jack Fong, were long-time colleagues. Brad could never convince them to expel me from the partnership.

Morg joined us at the table. "I was just setting up another deal," he said in his gravelly voice. "I made a ton of money last year selling that guy my foam patent. ." He winked at Brad "Now he wants to buy my latest synplast designs on the same terms."

Morg was a scientific phenomenon. He'd invented more patented products in the past decade than anyone and had become wealthy selling them. In addition to his inventions, his genius also consisted of always being present with his hand stuck out when large amounts of money changed hands.

"Do it. According to the street, he's flush with cash from a couple venture capital groups. You can milk him for every penny and walk away with a bundle." Brad winked at Morg, imitating Morg's favorite way to show mutual interest. "And of course, your lawyers will receive their standard seven figure fee too."

Morg ran his hand over his slicked-back black hair. "You make it sound like stealing candy from a baby." His eyes gleamed.

I found their unmitigated greed repulsive. To keep from saying so, I repeated my mantra of Quincy's three nevers: Never lose your temper, never show emotion, and never say something you might later regret.

I stopped listening and turned my head to watch the sun sink into the ocean. Orange streaks slowly rose from the water and engulfed Diamond Head. With the soft pumpkin twilight as background, silhouettes of six person crews stroked outrigger canoes swiftly across the dark blue waters of Maunalua Bay.

Brad and Morg's banter did not, however, repeat anything Quincy would have ever said or thought. In his deep melodious voice Quincy would have proclaimed Brad's philosophy an abomination. For thirty years I'd lived by Quincy's credo that the law was a profession, not a business to be engaged in solely to make money. Quincy loved to say that if one's only interest consisted of making money, one should become an investment banker.

"Good evening, I'm Nalani and I'll be your waitress." I looked up at a waitress with a classic Polynesian face and long black hair braided into a ponytail flung over her shoulder. She handed each of us a menu and a wine list. "I'll give you a few minutes to look at the menu."

She walked away and I opened the menu. My mouth watered reading the descriptions of the dishes. I understood why the restaurant critics raved about Roy's. The wine list was just as impressive.

Morg threw his menu on the table. His thick eyebrows scowled at me. "Why'd you choose this joint? How can I celebrate with all this funny sounding Hawaiian and Oriental crap? What the hell's ono? Some type of Hawaiian water buffalo?"

I swallowed hard, and even though Morg's response annoyed me, I tried to be helpful. "It's a white-fleshed fish found in Hawaiian waters. If you want something with red meat, there's rack of lamb in a cherry cabernet sauce. Sounds delicious."

I was scanning the menu for other suggestions when Nalani returned to our table. "Do you have any questions on the menu?"

"Yeah." Morg pointed at Brad. "The two of us would like a hunk of beef, either prime rib or a New York steak. Do you think you could handle that?"

"That shouldn't be a problem. I'll see what Roy can do." She smiled and headed toward the kitchen.

"Good, and bring us a pitcher of your best beer, too," Morg said as she walked away. "Make that two. We're celebrating."

Silently, I sighed in relief. Now I could enjoy a bottle of wine without worrying about what they'd say about it. They'd gripe regardless of whether I chose Ripple or Mouton Rothschild.

Nalani returned to our table. "Sir," she said to Morg, "Roy says he has a special cut of aged New York steak that he can fix for you."

Morg nodded and Nalani pulled a white note pad and a pencil from her hip pocket. "How would you like it prepared: sautéed or seared over kiawe wood?"

"Seared, and very rare. I want that sucker to moo when I cut it." Morg paused to laugh at his own humor. "And give me some potatoes, not that pile of rice I see on the plates going to other tables."

"No problem. The steak comes with scalloped potatoes," Nalani responded. "And you, sir?" she asked Brad.

Brad put his right elbow on the table and leaned his jaw on his fist to display his gold ring with its fabulous star sapphire. He loved to impress people with what he bragged was his "out of this world" stone. "Same thing for me," he replied.

Nalani turned to me. "And what would you like, sir?"

"I'll have the Provençal leg of lamb. The menu recommends Domaine du Vieux Télégraph with the lamb. Sounds good. I haven't had a wine from Châteauneuf-du-Pape in ages. Bring me a glass."

"Great choice," Nalani smiled. "Randy, our wine manager, worked with Roy to develop that dish especially for the Vieux Télégraph. You'll enjoy the combination." She started to turn toward the kitchen.

"Wait," Morg said. "Do you have Le Cigare Volant."

"Great wine," she said. "But sorry, we're sold out.

"Too bad," Morg said.

Nalani walked away. Morg winked at me. "I was going to buy you a bottle so you could taste it. That way you can cellar the bottle I gave you for as long as you want."

I'd been surprised last month when Morg gave me a bottle of Le Cigare Volant. It was the first time he'd ever given me anything. I tried to show how much I appreciated his gesture by telling him I'd lay it down and drink it in a few years when it reached its prime. I guess he must have thought that meant I didn't like the wine. I needed to let him know I realized how good the wine was.

"I'll have it on a special occasion," I said. "All the experts recommend aging it for a few years and it will be spectacular. And since it's a gift from you, I want to drink it at its best."

"That aging crap sounds like something that pompous Quincy Lott would have believed in," Brad said out of the side of his mouth to Morg.

I never understood why Brad always made comments like that about Quincy. Brad hadn't joined the firm until more than ten years after Quincy's death and couldn't have personally known Quincy. For some reason though, he enjoyed disparaging Quincy in front of me any way he could.

"You're right," Morg replied. He stabbed the white tablecloth with his fork. "I would never have brought my work to your firm if that bastard was still there."

Shocked, I arched an eyebrow. I didn't know Morg had such strong feelings about Quincy. He appeared old enough to have been in business while Quincy was alive, but he'd moved to San Francisco from Santa Fe only a few years ago. In fact, I'd never heard of Morg until Brad lured him to the firm. Brad must have turned Morg against Quincy. I wondered why. Why Brad would do such a thing and why had Morg accepted Brad's slander of Quincy?

It seemed as if they were purposely going out of their way to ridicule Quincy, knowing it would upset me. I considered making an excuse and leaving, but decided not to. The food and wine would be so delicious that I'd enjoy the meal even if I had to sit at the same table as the devil and Attila the Hun.

I said as little as possible during the meal, content to relish the lamb and a second glass of wine while those two blabbered about all the money they'd made together. As soon as I'd finished my mango crème brûle, I was ready to depart.

"I'm sorry," I said, even though I didn't mean it. "I have to leave. I'm catching the red-eye to San Francisco so I can prepare the closing binders tomorrow at the office. I'll leave you two to enjoy the rest of the evening."

"Oh, Hobie," Brad said as I rose from my seat. "Morg and I are taking the eight o'clock flight tomorrow morning. I should be in the office late in the afternoon. Wait for me. We'll need to talk about Morg's new deal."

"Fine. See you then," I said, both relieved and upset. The past ten days must have convinced Brad that he needed me to attain his goal of earning huge sums of money. I wasn't sure, though, that I could endure another period like the past ten days with him and Jack Morgado. They represented the polar opposite of everything Quincy stood for, and in which I believed. At times it seemed as if they were from a different universe.

As I descended the stairs leading to the exit, I heard the resonance of a Hawaiian slack key guitar playing in the lounge. The soothing guitar sounds tempted me to sit at the bar and enjoy the music and relax with a glass of brandy. I forced myself to continue out the door. I couldn't take the chance Brad and Morg would see me when they left the restaurant.

When I stepped outside, a cloudless night sky and the gentle caress of the trade wind greeted me. The crescent of the new moon floated over the ocean and stars shimmered overhead. Unfortunately, the serenity only heightened my irritation.

My flight to San Francisco wouldn't depart for another five hours and it'd only take thirty or forty minutes to drive to the airport. I didn't want to sit cooped up inside the airport terminal on such a lovely night. I decided to drive to the Lana'i Lookout, a short drive on Kalanianaole Highway from Roy's. The conical heights of Koko Crater shelter the lookout from the lights of urban Honolulu. In the darkness I could watch the stars and listen to the surf pound the rocky shoreline. After the disturbing comments during dinner, I needed a few minutes alone at an idyllic Hawaiian lookout. It would give me time to contemplate my future.

I pulled into the lookout's parking lot and turned off the car's engine and lights. No street lights marred the blackness of the lookout and I was the only person there. To my surprise, I teetered as I walked. I'd only drunk a couple glasses of wine and shouldn't be feeling tipsy.

With the new moon low on the horizon, the stars overhead glistened like diamond pinholes piercing a vast black dome. My head spun, making it difficult to stand, so I sat on a moss rock wall on the jagged cliffs above the coastline. I took a deep breath of the salty ocean air and tilted my head back. The Little Dipper sparkled overhead. I watched the stars and wished that Brad and Morg would return to whatever universe had produced them.

A falling star spurted out of the Little Dipper and drew me out of my reverie. I couldn't take my eyes off of it as it plummeted earthward. In my tipsy state, it seemed to hold me in its grasp while the lookout thrust me up to meet it. It plunged toward the ocean. I hoped I could see it hit the water. I jumped off the wall to get a better view from the cliffs. I landed on the side of my right foot. My knees buckled and I fell back toward the wall. I tensed my shoulders and tried to jerk my chin against my chest in an effort to avoid banging my head on the wall. I wasn't quick enough. A sharp white flash of pain shot through the back of my head. Consciousness slipped away.

In the darkness of unconsciousness, Quincy's face appeared. "It's time. Believe the dreams. Fulfill my plans. You promised."

When I regained consciousness my neck throbbed from my shoulders to the base of my skull. I stumbled to my car and in a haze drove to the airport. I just wanted to get home and forget everything about what had become the worst trip of my life. Somehow I managed to check in the car, pass through the layers of airport security, and board the plane without further incident. I was asleep and dreaming of an alien universe before the plane taxied from the gate.

-5-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

I stop talking and massage the back of my neck. The damn thing still bothers me. I may have to live with the discomfort the rest of my life.

"Monsieur Burrows," Dr. Avril says with his eyebrows drawn down, "before you recount the premier dream, I have some questions."

Those drawn eyebrows must be a universal look of disapproval among French shrinks. I wonder what upset Avril. "Sure," I reply.

" _Merci_." He puckers his lips and taps his mustache. "Prior to that night did you ever watch a meteor, a falling star?"

"Of course."

"Did one ever hit the surface?"

I know where this line of questions is headed. Force me either to acknowledge the implausibility of my story or to pile on one falsehood after another that can then be exposed later. I'd used the same technique in depositions. I always advised my clients to tell the absolute truth at all times because one lie leads to another and then another until it's impossible to remember a whole pile of impromptu lies. I have no choice but to follow my own advice.

"No. They always burnt out high in the sky."

" _Oui_. But you thought this one, it would crash into the ocean?" He stares at me with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

The young pup's going to have to do better than that to fluster me. "Yeah. I must have drunk too much wine and wasn't thinking or seeing clearly."

He straightens his tie. " _Sans doute_. You Americans do not know how to drink the wine in the civilized manner. You fail to understand that the purpose of the wine is to heighten the experience gastronomic, not for the inebriation."

I clench my teeth at his condescending stereotyping of Americans. I expected better from someone who studied in the U.S. Nonetheless, I won't respond. After thirty years of practicing law, I'm not going to let someone shrink still wet behind the ears rattle me with nationalistic insults. Too much is at stake.

We stare at each other for a moment. "You had a second question?" I ask.

He glances at his notepad. " _Non_. You provide the answer. Please, describe the premier dream."

For a shrink, this guy has a strange technique. No delving into my "inner-most" feelings about Brad and Morgado. I wonder if he'll react as complacently to a dream about an alien universe.

-6-

Arvor Castel

Planet Tirano

The base of the back of my skull started throbbing. With each pulsating constriction more of a new consciousness expanded in my mind. I became Tarnlot Arvor, the Lord Chancellor of Planet Tirano. I was in my quarters in the turret of Tirano's seat of government, Arvor Castel, sitting at a circular wooden table littered with the remains of an oft-repeated meal: Crumbs from a crusty loaf of bread, the last slice of a wheel of blue-veined cheese, and an empty green wine bottle. In the center of the small table, a candle's quivering flame provided the room's only light.

"Tarnlot," a familiar voice said. I looked up. Caykondra, the High Sibyl of Tirano, sat across the table from me dressed in an exotic single-shouldered vermillion gown.

"Tarnlot!" Caykondra said, this time in an irritated tone. "Are you listening to me?"

I knew that tone. Caykondra was about to start on another tirade about Zhun'Mar's meddling. A tirade I didn't want to endure. I lifted a half-filled wine goblet in what I hoped would be a diversionary toast. "To the last vintage from my Rwohn vineyard before the Radani poxxra destroyed it."

I clinked her goblet. "You're the High Sibyl, convince Vision to allocate even more of her processing time to developing a treatment, some soil fumigant that will exterminate every last one of those mutated pests without harming the un-mutated strain." I inhaled the wine's smoky bouquet. "Even worse than the loss of bubo immunity, the wine replication formula she developed is plonk compared to this nectar."

In the shadowy light, Caykondra's frown accentuated the epicanthic fold of her eyes. "Every sentient being knows your vineyard produced the galaxy's finest wine," she said in her lilting accent. "An irreplaceable gift from the Goddess Ghaeah."

I smiled. "As are you."

She shook her head. "Don't try to charm me." With the palm of her hand, she cradled the fire opal pendant that hung on the end of her silver necklace. She always cradled her pendant like that when she contacted Vision, the Sibyl Sisterhood's organic computer that used probability calculations to predict the future.

It didn't take a computer to ascertain the future about poxxra. Only wine from a vineyard infected with un-mutated poxxra produces the sulfphenols that provide Tiranoans with bubo-plague immunity, while the mutated Radani poxxra kills the vines. At the current rate of the infection's spread, in a deka, all of Tirano's vineyards would be destroyed. We had enough wine stored to last several deka, but after exhaustion of our remaining natural wine supply, a pandemic would occur if we were attacked by bubo-plague biologics, which the Radani undoubtedly knew. Perhaps, my diversion had worked and we would discuss Vision's progress in solving the poxxra conundrum.

Caykondra released her pendant. "Even you concede that Zhun'Mar's more fit to be a reclusive scholar of ancient history than King. He's more in touch with the politics of a millennia ago than today's. Surely you've noticed how his continual rambling about obscure trade deals out of antiquity has irritated the admirals. They think Tamok Mining is about ready to agree to sell us the sihlcon. If Zhun'Mar insists on some new tactic, it could set the negotiations back. He might even cause the Tamok to break off further discussions."

I held up my hand. "Please, not tonight."

"It can't wait. You're the only one who can reason with him. Convince him not to interfere. Vision projects it's only a matter of time until the Radani recover and attempt another invasion. The Belts must be seeded soon."

I pulled the sleeves of my azure robe to my elbows and turned in my chair to stare out the room's dormer window. The three translucent rings of the Encircling Belts sparkled in the night sky.

"Such a beautiful sight," I said. "The hue of each of the rings never changes."

Caykondra rose and stood beside me. She placed her hand on my arm. "I know you want to avoid this discussion, but you must not. Our future depends on obtaining that sihlcon."

She was so short that I had to bend my neck to look at her face. "You know Zhun'Mar," I replied. "Do you really think he'll change his hue merely because I talk to him?

"Besides, you exaggerate. He just wants to feel involved. After he finishes his monologues, he always follows the admirals' advice. He hasn't caused any harm, done anything rash."

Caykondra's thin eyebrows drew together and lines creased her forehead. A knock sounded on the door before she could say anything.

"Enter," I said, relieved for an excuse to end the conversation. I flicked on the overhead illuminants. A short wiry female in a skin-tight black uniform quick-stepped through the door. She took two steps into the room and stood at attention. She held her blond-haired head high. Her cobalt-blue eyes focused on me.

"Yes, Captain Mirae," I said. "What is it?"

"Lord Chancellor Tarnlot, High Sibyl Caykondra," Mirae said in her raspy monotone. "Tamok Mining has contacted the King. He commands that you come immediately to his chambers. You are to follow me."

Without waiting for a reply, Mirae turned and marched out of the room. Caykondra and I followed in her wake as she headed to the turret's spiral staircase that led to the Great Concourse on the Castel's main level. My thoughts roiled at the blatant breach of protocol involved in the Tamok contacting Zhun'Mar directly. And something else, a sense of apprehension, weighed on my thoughts. Tamok Mining contained the one secret I never wanted revealed.

In her skin-tight black uniform, Mirae's sleek movements resembled those of a caged steppe panther. Caykondra followed Mirae. She lifted the bottom of her trumpet gown off the steps, held it against her narrow waist, and with dainty steps, descended. I hunched my shoulders and lowered my head and squeezed my way down the cramped staircase.

I speculated on why the Tamok chose to contact Zhun'Mar. What chicanery had they conceived this time? Despite my reassuring words to Caykondra, I prayed Zhun'Mar hadn't acted rashly and responded. The need for the Tamok sihlcon to seed the Belts was too crucial to risk his blundering into the sensitive negotiations.

We reached the bottom of the staircase and I scanned the ivory-colored marble floor of the vast circular commons. The only people in the commons were two black-clad Vhirko guards stationed in front of a pair of metal doors emblazoned with the Arvor Golden Vines, the entrance to Zhun'Mar's private chambers.

Mirae marched across the commons, the heels of her boots clicking on the marble floor. The Vhirko guards snapped to attention with the right hand of each on the laser knife on her belt. Mirae saluted the guards. "Let us pass," Mirae commanded.

The two guards pulled the knives from their belts and crouched with knives held at challenge. I grabbed Caykondra's arm and we halted behind Mirae. A wariness that bordered on fear permeated my thoughts. The Vhirko were the elite female warriors that guarded the King, and their training taught them to trust no one and to assume that anyone at any time could attempt to harm the King. With their arduous training in martial arts, a single Vhirko could easily kill anyone foolish enough to try.

A tiny smile creased Mirae's lips. "You follow your training and your orders well. You make your Captain provide the sign. I will commend you to your lieutenant."

Mirae balled her left fist, raised it to her chest, and flashed a hand signal. The guards stepped aside. Mirae placed her hand on the palm identifier pad on the door. The double doors swung inward.

Caykondra and I followed Mirae into a vast windowless chamber. The doors closed with a thud. Zhun'Mar sat at a conference table in an alcove lined with shelves that were stuffed with archive boxes. He seemed oblivious to our presence, and to the Vhirko who stood at his back. He stroked his close clipped salt-and-pepper beard and continued to stare through gold wire-rimmed focus lenses at the thin ivory-toned rectangle of a hand-held archive reader. The lines creasing his forehead indicated he was absorbed in reading one of his beloved historical archives and wouldn't acknowledge us until he finished studying it. Irritated, I chewed my lip and hoped the wait wouldn't be long.

"Stand guard at the door, corporal," Mirae said. "I'll guard the King's person while the High Sibyl and Lord Chancellor are present."

The corporal saluted, and without taking her eyes off Zhun'Mar, backpedaled until her back was flush to the door. Mirae assumed guard at Zhun'Mar's back. I accepted the need for such vigilance. Even so, a part of me resented that Mirae refused to relax the Vhirko vigil in my presence. If anyone should understand the full extent of my efforts to keep Zhun'Mar on the Golden Vine Throne, it should be Mirae.

Zhun'Mar looked up and smiled. "Caykondra, Tarnlot. Please, take your seats."

Caykondra and I proceeded to the alcove and bowed. The musty smell from Zhun'Mar's ancient archives permeated the alcove.

"Enough formality," Zhun'Mar said in a crisp baritone voice. He removed the focus lenses, jostling strands of his shoulder-length black hair askew. He rubbed his blue eyes. "Please be seated. I've been studying archives. As usual, the manuscripts have been most insightful."

His self-satisfied tone set my nerves on edge. I doubted that I'd like his insight. I was tempted to remain standing so I wouldn't have to jump out of my seat at the absurdity of his latest insight.

Zhun'Mar laid his archive reader on the table. "Print two copies of message Zhun'Mar1717."

Two sheets of paper emerged out of the side of the reader. Zhun'Mar handed one sheet to Caykondra and one to me. "Read this. I received it on my private galactic-net line. What do you make of it?

\-----------------Message header----------------

Source: Tamok Prime Net.

From: Bhradvin Lok. Lord Chancellor of Tamok Mining.

Time: 1903 Tamok Standard.

Date: 2 Masmar, 5992 Universal.

Language Path: Tamok to Tiranoan. Perfect translation.

Distribution: Personal message for Zhun'Mar Arvor, King of Tirano.

Source authenticated. Encryption verified.

\-----------------Message Text----------------

The Honorable Mhorg Lok, Overlord of Tamok Mining, tires of the interminable negotiations of minions. It is time for you to meet face-to-face with Overlord Mhorg to hear his final offer.

At 10 Masmar, 5952 Universal, Deci 5, the Overlord's cruiser will rendezvous with your cruiser at the Caerwin coordinates established by the Vharsa Trade Conventions for parlay of the heads of delegations. Convention Protocols must be observed.

Overlord Mhorg and I will represent the Tamok. We will be accompanied only by Colonel Quant, our bodyguard. The presence of Lord Chancellor Tarnlot Arvor, the Radani Vanquisher, and High Sibyl Caykondra is required as a show of your good faith. You may be also be accompanied by any personal advisors you need to commit to a binding agreement.

We have been contacted by another party who does not quibble about terms. They are prepared to pay a record price in universal assignats for the sihlcon. If you do not rendezvous at Caerwin as instructed, we will proceed to sell all available sihlcon to the other party.

\----------------Message Termination---------

I crumbled the paper and threw it on the table. My worst nightmare was a face-to-face meeting between Zhun'Mar and Mhorg. Luckily, this missive was so outrageous that no one in his right mind would agree.

"Such unmitigated audacity." I didn't try to conceal my rage. "This insulting drivel shouldn't be dignified with a response. Does Mhorg Lok seriously think he can summon you with such a transparent negotiating ploy? Force us to raise our offering price with a mad rush to beat another buyer? I say call his bluff on this phantom buyer nonsense. Let him fear we'll walk away and he'll be stuck with all those mines of sihlcon that no one else wants."

"I agree," Caykondra added quickly. "He's good at concealing his profiteering, but Vision's been able to calculate how he's feathered his nests with assignats on every deal he's negotiated since he became Overlord of Mining. He can't be trusted. He'd cheat his own mother. That's why we've relied on the admirals to conduct the negotiations. He can't deceive them; they've seen it all. He must be frustrated and think it'd be easier to bamboozle you."

Zhun'Mar started to respond to Caykondra, but stopped. Perhaps even he realized she was right. He tilted his head towards Mirae. "And you, Captain?"

Mirae remained in her military posture and spoke. "The security risk to your person is unacceptable," she said in a dispassionate monotone. "Your cruiser has limited weapons capability. The Vharsa Protocols require escorting ships to remain at Caerwin System's perimeter. The escort would be too far away to provide protective fire. If you need help, they couldn't reach you in time. The danger to your safety, as well as the Lord Chancellor and High Sibyl's, is too great."

Zhun'Mar picked up his focus lenses, dropped them back down, and sighed. "Why should I fear Mhorg Lok? He's made no threats against me. In fact, I surmise that he fears me. That's why he chose Caerwin and invoked the Protocols. For safety, to prevent our treachery."

"There's more," Mirae continued. "I have retrieved updated intelligence reports."

She stepped to the table, entered a command on Zhun'Mar's computer. "Computer, display image of Mhorg Lok, Overlord of Tamok Mining," she said.

A life-size hologram of a sinewy man with black hair and goatee and piercing deep blue eyes appeared on the table. I wondered if I was the only one who noticed that except for the black hair, Mhorg's build and features resembled Mirae.

"This is Mhorg Lok," Mirae said. Her stone-faced expression gave no indication that she noticed the resemblance. "The Loks are one of Tamok's prominent clans. The Mhargrava Nahtalie Lok was the Tamok representative who sighed the Protocols establishing the Alliance. Mhorg is the eldest son of her son Ghorn Lok. Trained as a quantum physicist, he became head Mining Lord after he invented the formula for applying sihlcon to space masers."

Mirae frowned. "We've been unable to trace Mhorg's recent movements. He's permitted his younger brother Bhradvin Lok to oversee all negotiations. Unconfirmed sources indicate Mhorg's traveled to the Confluence Citadel."

"That makes no sense," I said. "The biggest trade deal in Tamok history and he's out on the fringes of the galaxy. There's nothing out there but a few itinerant merchant vessels and a couple of Radani security posts."

I stared at the white arched ceiling with its inlay etching of Golden Vines. "Could this be some chicanery to make us think he's been secretly negotiating with another buyer?"

"There is no hard data. We can only speculate," Mirae responded. She pulled on her ear lobe with her thumb and forefinger. "Our sources also indicate that he was accompanied by two high ranking Tamok physicists to test a new grav-weapon. Our frequency sensors monitored the Citadel and would've picked up any gravitational anomalies. They didn't. Intelligence believes the reports to be disinformation planted by Mhorg to hide his real purpose and whereabouts."

I saw a chance to discourage Zhun'Mar. Zhun'Mar hated to make a decision if he believed he didn't know all of the facts. "Mhorg's obviously been up to something. Something to spring on us at this meeting. Why else would he make such an outrageous demand? He knows we would have to leave immediately even to make it to Caerwin by the designated time. He doesn't want us to have enough time to analyze all of the facts."

Except for a twitch of his eyebrow, Zhun'Mar chose to ignore my comment. "Continue, Mirae."

Mirae nodded. "Computer, delete image of Mhorg Lok. Retrieve image of Bhradvin Lok, Lord Chancellor of Tamok Mining."

The holo of a square-jawed young man with shoulder-length dirty-blond hair and brown eyes appeared. He wore a sapphire robe, as well as a self-satisfied smirk that seemed to be permanently etched on his lips.

"This is Bhradvin Lok, Lord Chancellor of Tamok Mining the younger son of Ghorn Lok," Mirae said. "Bhradvin believes himself to be one of the great men of our time. Never tires of impressing an audience by telling how powerful and how smart he is."

Zhun'Mar nodded impatiently. "We all know Bhradvin's a braggart, Mirae. Unless you have something new to tell us, get to this Colonel Quant. I don't know who he is."

"Computer, delete image of Bhradvin Lok. Retrieve image of Colonel Quant of Tamok."

A holo appeared of a bulky man with a jutting forehead and jaw, deep set eyes, and short muscular arms. He wore the gray uniform and short-billed cap of a Tamok warrior. Even in the computer projection, the dark irises blazed hatred. I had no doubt that this man would kill merely for pleasure.

"Meet Colonel Quant. A Tamok goon. His torture of the prison work force in the mines is well documented." She paused, glared at the holo. "This man is an unsavory character. A strange choice for a bodyguard on a delicate trade negotiation."

"Delete image," Mirae said. She resumed her position behind Zhun'Mar. "The Vhirko believe it would be an unacceptable breach of security to risk your presence at Caerwin."

Zhun'Mar stood and straightened his ivory robe. He fingered the Golden Vines embroidered in gold thread on its right front side; always a sure sign that he was about to launch into a long lecture on what he'd researched. I glanced at Caykondra and rolled my eyes. Her thin scarlet lips formed a frown and she drummed her fingers on the table top.

"I'm not as dense as you three seem to think," Zhun'Mar said. "I share your skepticism." He pointed at the bookshelves. "That's why I've searched through the historical texts to ascertain how my predecessors reacted in similar situations. I've found a precedent that fits this situation perfectly."

He raised his right hand and displayed an ornately carved gold ring bulging with a setting of a cluster of purple grapes. "Let me remind you of the origin of the Golden Vine Ring. Remember how Ahrtzor ended the KaNoa Schism? Dhron, DepCom of the KaNoa Corps, offered to meet alone with Ahrtzor. Even though his advisors counseled against it, Ahrtzor accepted. When Ahrtzor and Dhron met one-on-one, they realized their mutual desire to establish a fair accommodation between Archonan and KaNoa. It wasn't easy, but at that single meeting they hammered out the Mutual Rights Compact. An agreement that has never been broken. Dhron gave Ahrtzor the Golden Vine Ring at the signing of the Compact. Ahrtzor passed the Ring on to his successor and for nearly two millennia it has passed down from monarch to monarch with each monarch adding a grape to the cluster. The Golden Vine Ring has become the symbol of Tiranoan unity."

With a triumphant smile, he looked at Caykondra and then me. "This meeting with Mhorg represents another such historic opportunity. A chance to acquire the sihlcon needed to keep Tirano protected for another two millennia."

I bolted out of my chair and stood face-to-face with Zhun'Mar. "That's not at all comparable," I shouted. "Ahrtzor and Dhron were great statesmen. Mhorg's no statesman." I slammed my fists against the archive shelves. Caykondra stiffened in her chair. "There's nothing to be gained by meeting him, and more than you can imagine to be lost."

I took a breath. My loss of temper and show of emotion would only make Zhun'Mar dig in his heels. "Don't be fooled," I said in a softer voice in an effort to be conciliatory. "History isn't about to repeat itself. Mhorg doesn't want to meet out of some altruistic principle. He's nothing but a huckster out to make himself wealthy at your expense."

To my surprise, Zhun'Mar held my gaze without flinching. "We must give Mhorg the opportunity to grow, a chance to prove who he really is," he replied firmly. "Remember, the blood of a statesman flows in Mhorg. He is the grandson of the Mhargrava Nahtalie Lok, the Tamok representative who had the foresight and courage to commit the Tamok to join Father's alliance to combat the Radani."

I struggled with the urge to tell Zhun'Mar whose blood actually flowed in Mhorg: his and Mirae's. But if I did, it would only make the potential disaster a reality.

Zhun'Mar returned to his chair. "If any of you have any more to say on this subject, you'd better speak now." He paused and in turn looked at me, Caykondra, and Mirae. "Otherwise, we four are going to Caerwin."

Exasperated, I twirled my hair with my forefinger. Zhun'Mar broke out into an affectionate grin. "Even when we were children you would twirl your hair like that when you were frustrated. Go ahead, little brother. Tell me what you're thinking."

I knew this would be my last chance to change Zhun'Mar's mind. I looked deep into his eyes and tried to avoid sounding petulant. "I understand your willingness to take risks to obtain the sihlcon. You, more than anyone else, have championed the need to seed the Belts. But it'd be foolish for you to travel under any circumstances in the far corner of the galaxy for this meeting. What if the Radani found out? They'd risk everything to avenge themselves. Surely Mhorg wouldn't object if you used that as an excuse to send the admirals. That would buy us time to find out what he's really up to."

Caykondra's right hand clutched her pendant. "Although Vision calculates the probability that the Radani intercepted Bhradvin's message at less than point 00001 percent, the risk exists. She, too, recommends that you refuse to go to Caerwin."

Zhun'Mar placed his elbows and palms of his hands on the table. "Father always said that a King must trust his gut, not some computer projections. And my gut tells me that this meeting is the way to break the impasse the admirals have reached in their negotiations."

He jutted his chin. "Mirae, inform the admirals to prepare my cruiser and an appropriate escort for immediate departure."

My gut told me disaster awaited.

-7-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"That's the end of the first dream."

Dr. Avril's head is lowered and he's scrawling as fast as he can on his notepad. His note taking is starting to annoy me. Of course, I should have recognized it sooner. That's what he intends, to disconcert me with his delays and cause me to slip up. It'll be a waste of his time as long as I keep telling the truth.

"Should I continue or do you have some questions?" I ask.

Avril looks at me. I can't discern any type of reaction because of his blank expression, almost as if he can't think of any questions. "Ah, were the rings that encircle the planet in the single band like the rings of Saturn?"

I cock my head. I hope he thinks I'm picturing Tirano, not startled by such a strange question. "No. They were separated. Each had a different trajectory." I close my eyes, envision the Belts. "Their colors were so intense. Awesome sight."

"The rings around a gas planet, it is common. But this planet, it was not gas." His tone was bland, but I detect a slight arching of his eyebrows. "Do you know how the rings were created?"

"I don't know why, but I somehow know they were the debris remaining after a meteor storm destroyed Tirano's moons. The knowledge must be somewhere in the memories Tarnlot implanted in me."

" _Oui_. It is possible." He looks down at his notepad. "I think enough questions. Please continue with your story."

His questions about the alien universe were less antagonistic, and a hell of a lot fewer, than I'd expected. Problem is, I'm not the least bit reassured; just the opposite. Avril's inexperience is terrifying. He didn't even ask who the people in the dream were. The other shrinks' questions went on ad nauseam insinuating that the dreams evidenced a psychotic episode. I can only hope that Avril wises up after listening to what happened when I returned to San Francisco.

-8-

San Francisco

A roar reverberated through my chair. I rubbed my eyes and shook my head to break loose from my dream state. My first thought was that I must have fallen asleep in front of the television and my house shook and groaned from an earthquake tremor. I lowered my hands, blinked my eyes into focus, and realized I was in an airplane seat. I looked out the window, and in the blackness of night, saw the familiar lights of the terminal building. I sighed in relief. The red-eye had just landed at SFO, San Francisco Airport.

I brushed my fingertips across the back of my head, not a bump or a scratch, and I didn't have a headache. Probably because I fell asleep before the plane taxied from the gate at Honolulu. The five hours of sleep were a welcome respite even with that weird dream. Ten days of constant contact with Brad and Jack Morgado must have tormented me more than I'd realized. I must have projected my feelings into that dream with Brad and Morgado as money-grubbing aliens and Keiko as my friend. And I made a pretty good Lord Chancellor. I wondered who the others were.

I checked my watch, 5:20 a.m. For once we'd actually landed on schedule. I decided to drive home to Mill Valley rather than going directly to the office. Rush hour wouldn't begin for at least an hour, so I'd be able to drive through San Francisco without getting hung up in traffic. Breakfast, a shower, a shave, and fresh set of clothes would refresh my tired body and my battered psyche. I needed some tranquility before immersing myself in Jack Morgado's next deal.

When I reached the Golden Gate Bridge wisps of creamy fog floated over the headland peaks before being sucked down the vertical crevices to San Francisco Bay. A sight that always made it great to be home. A breakfast of café latté and a scone at The Depot would be perfect on this cool morning. I'd even have enough time to leisurely read the Chronicle while I sipped my latté. I vowed not to think about Brad Hale or Jack Morgado for the next two hours.

As soon as I cleared the confines of the bridge, I accelerated and my BMW sped along Highway 101 until I reached the Mill Valley exit. Amber fingers of sunlight streaked the eastern horizon. The fog floated in and out of the shocks of pampas grass sprouting along the tentacle of the San Francisco Bay that juts between Sausalito and Mill Valley. Joggers, walkers, and bikers swarmed along on the exercise paths along the bay, disappearing and then re-emerging in the wisps of misty fog. I smiled to myself, happy to return to pleasant fall weather and autumn scenes. I might even go for a long walk this weekend if Brad and Morgado don't ruin the weekend with their new scheme.

I drove down Mill Valley's redwood-lined streets until I reached my destination, a faded-pink stucco building with bleached clay roof tiles. A light breeze drifted down from the green peak of Mt. Tamalpais to welcome me home with a caress. I breathed in the fresh Marin air, and with revived lungs, opened the door to my favorite coffee shop, The Depot. Its serenity always provided an early morning oasis.

A waitress wearing a crimson Stanford sweatshirt stooped over the black marble counter top to stacked with muffins, scones, croissants, and pastries in wicker baskets. The smell of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet smells of the pastries. She looked at me with an arched eyebrow. "Mr. Burrows. Surprised to see you on a weekday. Must be vacation."

"Hi, Jill. Nah. Just flew a red-eye back from Honolulu. Stopped for some breakfast before changing clothes and driving back to the office." I paused and eyed all of the delicious looking pastries. "Give me a latté and a lemon-poppy seed scone, please."

She cast me a lopsided grin. "Red-eye, huh. No wonder you look so beat. I'll make the latté a double. You need the extra caffeine jolt." She added an extra scoop of the black coffee grinds to the espresso machine. "I'll only charge you for a regular."

I handed Jill a ten dollar bill. "A Chronicle too," I said. She handed me my change and I grabbed a Chronicle from the stack on the floor. While I waited at the counter for my order, I skimmed the headlines on the first page before turning to the stock tables to see how my mutual funds had performed over the last ten days. Someday I hoped my investments would be worth enough that I could tell Brad to stuff it without worrying about my finances.

"Hobie, your order's ready." Jill handed me a mug of steaming latté with a half-inch blanket of creamy foam and a white china plate with a scone and a scoop of fresh raspberry jam.

I headed to my favorite spot: a French café table tucked under a tall arched window with an unobstructed view of the red-bricked pocket park behind The Depot. Many a Sunday morning I'd spend a couple of hours drinking coffee, reading the paper, and watching the people and their dogs play in the park. Brad always ridicules me for living in an aging yuppie haven. Perhaps Mill Valley is, but I was born and raised in Mill Valley and couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

I eased into the metal bistro chair and sipped my hot latté. As I stared out the window, a horde of bicyclists peddled up and parked their mountain bikes in the racks in the park. They strutted toward The Depot, outfitted in fluorescent, tight-clinging spandex pants and jerseys with aerodynamic plastic helmets and matching sunglasses. Even when they entered The Depot they wore those garish helmets and sunglasses, undoubtedly wanting to make sure people like me noticed their trim bodies. They reminded me of a bunch of Brad Hale clones.

I ignored their loud chatter about muddy mountain trails and tried to read the newspaper while I munched on my scone. I'd read a few paragraphs of an article and realized I had no idea what I'd been reading. Despite my efforts to put it out of my mind, I couldn't focus on anything else. I renewed my debate whether I should adopt Brad's philosophy regarding the practice of law and abandon Quincy's.

For the ten thousandth time, I lined up the arguments on both sides. The only reason to change was that if I didn't, Brad would continue to make my life miserable. I couldn't imagine what it would be like not to be a partner at Lott & Pembroke. It would be much more enjoyable if I could avoid the daily indignities Brad loved to heap on me, especially his caustic barbs about Quincy. On the other hand, at my age, I didn't know if I could accept what L&P was turning into even if I wanted. If the future meant sinking to the avaricious depths pursued by Brad and Morgado, I didn't think I could face myself in the mirror every morning. Quincy detested greed. How could I permit it to become the dominating principle for success in his firm?

I decided to call Keiko to ask her to have dinner with me. She always calmed me down and brought things into a proper perspective. As I punched her number in my phone, I reminded myself how lucky I'd been to meet Keiko. A few years ago a new wine store had opened on Montgomery Street and during one lunch hour I stopped in to browse. I was examining a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape when the most exquisite Asian lady I'd ever seen walked up to me. She was so dainty and her skin so lustrous that I thought she was a doll come to life just for me.

Despite my gawking, she graciously introduced herself as the store's proprietor and asked if I needed any help. Her smile charmed me on the spot. I told her that I collected Rhône wines and would like to see what she stocked. She said she only had current releases available in the store, but could obtain older vintages from a contact in Provence if I was interested. So that I could continue to talk to her, I said I was. We talked for a long time before I went back to the office.

I'd wanted to ask her for a date that very first day, but was afraid she'd refuse. I tossed and turned all that night. I finally worked up enough courage the next day to return to her shop and ask her to dinner. She accepted and I fell in love immediately. As difficult as I find it to believe, she loves me too. She even gave me a key to her apartment in the Embarcadero so that I could stay with her whenever I want. I fantasized that someday we'd get married and have at least one child before I was too decrepit: A son who could join me at L&P.

I stepped into the stall and picked up the phone. The cold headset shocked my ear. I dropped two coins in the slot and dialed Keiko's number. It rang twice.

"Keiko Nidara," she answered accenting the last syllable of each word. I loved hearing her speak; it had a magical effect on me. Whenever I told her so, she'd always reply that her accent results from mixing languages of different worlds. I imagined her laughing if I told her that I dreamt she was the "High Sibyl" of an alien world.

"Hello," she said, again accenting the last syllable. "Hobie?"

I answered before my thoughts drifted any further. "Sorry, Keiko. I was distracted. Just arrived on the red-eye. It's so good to hear your voice."

"Welcome back," she replied. "Missed you. Why didn't you call yesterday? I'm dying to know how it went."

"Took forever to close. What an ordeal. Ten days with Brad Hale are ten days too many. He took every opportunity he found to belittle me or Quincy Lott. I really need a sympathetic ear to talk to. Dinner at the Club tonight?"

"Of course. Meet you there at six. Gotta run. Have to get to the store to receive a shipment. Best zinfandel vintage in a decade. You're going to love them. Bye, or is it aloha?" She giggled and hung up.

I walked back to the street and hopped in my BMW. I glanced in the rear view mirror before backing out of the parking stall. A man leaning on a car parked across the street was staring at my car. I shook my head in disbelief. I turned my head and looked out the rear window to get a better look at him. The man didn't just resemble Colonel Quant, the Neanderthal in my dream, he was the spitting image of Quant.

The mystery of one person in the dream solved. He must frequent The Depot for coffee and I just never registered him in my consciousness. He definitely had the hulking appearance and demeanor of someone I wouldn't want to meet in a dark alley. My subconscious mind must have projected him into my dream.

I was still chuckling about figuring out who Quant was when I reached my house and pulled into the garage. I headed straight to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. The red light blinked on my answering machine and I decided to listen to the messages before taking a shower. I pushed the replay button, stretched out on the bed, and fluffed up a pillow to lay my head on while I listened. A stream of messages droned on and I fell asleep.

-9-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

Dr. Avril isn't taking notes. He's staring at the ceiling as if he hasn't heard a word I said. He seemed so eager. I'd hoped he'd be different than the other shrinks, but he's already lost interest. Only one way to know for certain.

"This is when I start another dream. Should I proceed?"

Avril continues to stare at the ceiling. " _Non_. I am perplexed. Do you think it curious to view the man Quant so soon after your dream?"

Ah, finally, a real shrink-type question. Even though his question is such an obvious one, it means he's listening. I haven't lost him, yet. "Not really. I read enough Freud in college to know that the subconscious mind can do many unexpected things. I thought that I'd merely projected someone I'd seen into my dream."

Avril clucks his tongue like a schoolteacher admonishing a slow student. "The little knowledge is the dangerous thing, _n'est-ce pas_?"

I'm not sure if he's making fun of me or trying to crack a joke. I shrug my shoulders. "Guess so." From what he's shown me so far, he's the one with little knowledge.

He leans back in his chair, rubs his mustache. "Please proceed with the next dream."

This guy really doesn't know what he's doing. I tilt my head, realize I failed to disguise my surprise. It's as though I'm being interviewed by a first month intern, not a qualified shrink. The others must have decided I'm so loony that I'm a good study for a youngster. Perhaps, I'm some sort of final exam. So far he's failing.

He locks eyes with me. "Continue, _s'il vous plaît_. _Le rêve_ , the dream."

At least he has enough backbone not to feel obligated to make excuses for his inability to ask any insightful questions. I might as well play along with him. I've got nothing else to do and I don't want to go back to the cold cell and drive myself crazy thinking about what I should've done.

I close my eyes to remember how the dream began. How my head tingled with the now familiar buzzing. A white flash erupted, memories streamed into my mind.

-10-

Royal Cruiser Dhanus II

Caerwin System

The Royal Cruiser Dhanus II sailed through space. I was sitting at a square muhrwood conference table in the upper deck's command chamber. Caykondra sat next to me and her face flared almost as red as her gown.

"The Protocols permit the communication channel with the frigates to remain open while we hover at the Coordinates," she said. "To do otherwise would be irresponsible."

"It may be not prohibited by the Protocols, but to do so would signify bad faith," Zhun'Mar replied in his lecturing tone. "Mhorg displayed his good faith by requesting a personal meeting in accordance with the Protocols. I won't insult him with such a blatant show of distrust."

My exasperation matched Caykondra's. To keep from exploding in anger, I laced my fingers behind my head, leaned back in the chair, and stared at the apex of the chamber's dome. I counted to ten. Without an open channel, our safety depended entirely on Dhanus' capabilities. Thankfully, Dhanus was not only spacious and luxurious, it represented the state of the art of the Tiranoan space fleet. A laser-propelled stellarator sail and the most powerful maser-thrust empyrean booster powered the oval-shaped cruiser. It came equipped with counter-fire missile launchers, an onboard landing pinnace, and an emergency ejection pod. Additionally, its enhanced computer system permitted the entire cruiser to be controlled from one terminal by a single crew member, Mirae.

I nonetheless chewed on my lower lip. None of this state of the art technology reduced my fears about hurtling along the border of the Black Cavities at half the speed of light in an orgplas tube. I couldn't repress the thought of what could happen with one minuscule miscalculation of the flight path so close to the Black Cavities. Every ship sucked into the Cavities had disappeared without a trace.

"Five centi until arrival at the Protocol coordinates," Mirae announced from the control terminal. "Thirty milli until the scheduled rendezvous. A Tamok ship approaches from the Tamok perimeter and will arrive at the coordinates in twenty-six centi. No other signs of Tamok activity within the Caerwin System."

Mirae fiddled with the control terminal. "There. The holocom's calibrated to Tamok projection frequencies. I've projected the holos to the other side of the table from you. The translator chip is set for Tamok main dialect. Set your neuroimplants to receive cel-transmissions, frequency Z-2."

I started to compliment Mirae on her proficiency with the equipment when a thud sounded on Dhanus' outer hull. The floor creaked. Caykondra grabbed the edge of the table and swung her head around toward Mirae. "What was that?" Caykondra asked with a nervous edge to her tone. "Did we collide with something?"

My thoughts echoed her concern. There were too many tales of disasters with no known cause near the Black Cavities.

Zhun'Mar tilted his head and peered knowingly down his nose at Caykondra. "Nothing to fret about." He placed his elbows on the table, steepled his forefingers, and tapped them together. "According to the ship manuals, such a vibration occurs when microscopic space debris penetrates the laser beam after the beam has passed through the focus lens. Results in a momentary fluctuation in the beam's flow to the stellarator sail."

He looked at Mirae. "Correct?"

Mirae didn't respond. I watched her fingers nimbly enter commands on the control terminal. The ship lurched to a stop, swayed, and started to drift starboard. Her fingers continued to enter commands on the control terminal. She grimaced, a reaction that was far from comforting from someone who seldom displayed emotion.

"The communication channel to the admirals has been cut," Mirae said. "The stellarator sail won't respond." Her fingers stopped moving and she stared at the terminal's green screen. "We're drifting off our course to the Coordinates. It'll take me a centi to start the emergency reactors."

Caykondra reached for her pendant and wrapped her fingers around it. Her eyes opened wide. "This shouldn't be possible. My pendant senses a massive grav-bender field enveloping the ship."

"That's impossible," I said. "We're within the Coordinates zone."

"I'm receiving a demand for communication," Mirae said. She activated the holocom. I turned to stare across the table to where the hologram would be projected.

A life-size holo of Bhradvin in a sartorial sapphire robe appeared. He sat behind a black rectangular control console with his smirk plastered on his face. The gray-clad bulk of Colonel Quant stood behind Bhradvin. The squint of Quant's recessed eyes in his oversized head brandished hatred in our direction.

I recognized the cramped, dimly lit area projected as the command unit of a Tamok intergalactic chaser ship. I could almost smell its thick recirculated air. A chaser required a crew of three, and even though the third member could not be seen, I had no doubt that Mhorg was aboard.

"I am Bhradvin Lok, Lord Chancellor of Tamok Mining. I have seized control of your ship."

Zhun'Mar stood, straightened the shoulder of his ivory robe. "What do you think you're doing? You promised to observe the Protocols." He pointed his finger at Bhradvin's holo. "I demand the immediate release of my cruiser."

Bhradvin's brown eyebrows twitched in what appeared to be amusement. "You're in no position to demand anything." He turned sideways in his chair and crossed his legs. "I knew you'd insist on coming to Caerwin even though it was such an obvious ploy. You flew right into the grav-field snare."

Caykondra rose from her chair and leaned over the table toward the holo. "Do you know the penalty for the use of a grav-field within the Protocol coordinates? I've already messaged Vision of what's happened. The frigates will catch you before you can get out of Caerwin. You'll be tried and executed by an Alliance tribunal."

Bhradvin moved his head up and down slowly, focusing on Caykondra's face, then the upper half of her single-shouldered gown. "Our Radani friends have empowered us with knowledge and abilities you can't even imagine, witch. The grav-field jammed your pendant's transmission."

Caykondra's head jerked back as though Bhradvin had slapped her.

"Oh, don't look so shocked. We know all about your pendant. The Radani would pay dearly to get their claws on it." Bhradvin's leer lingered on Caykondra's breasts.

"Mhorg promised me that he'd defang you, give you to me for my pleasure after he's relieved you of your pendant. I'm going to enjoy having you. You're even prettier than your file holo."

Mirae stepped forward. She squared her shoulders and every muscle in her body tensed as if she prepared to leap across the void to the Tamok ship. "Enough of your feeble attempts to intimidate. It won't work. Our frigates already noticed our course change and are pursuing. Harm us and every Vhirko ever cloned will volunteer to hunt you down. We won't stop until we squash you like the deceitful steppe-slime you are."

Bhradvin placed his hands on top of his control terminal and displayed a gold ring set with a sapphire star stone on his left ring finger. He glared at Mirae. "The Vhirko Mirae. Not bad looking for a clone bitch. No wonder Zhun'Mar picked you to guard him. He mustn't be as stupid as I thought. Unfortunately, you're in no position to make threats. Your ships will never detect our presence."

He turned his gaze to me. "Ah, Tarnlot. My fellow Lord Chancellor." He paused, smiled mockingly. My whole being hated that smirk. I wished the real Bhradvin and not a holo was in the chamber so that I could tear that smile off his face. I couldn't keep my upper lip from quivering or my eyelids from narrowing.

"Now, now, Lord Chancellor. Control your temper. Unlike the witch and the Vhirko, you're supposed to provide your King with rational counsel, even under stressful conditions." Bhradvin's mocking smile grew wider. "To make it easier for you though, I'll tell you what your situation is and what your choices are."

I clenched my jaw to bite back a profanity about what he could do to himself. I couldn't let his taunts unnerve me. I had to focus on the situation, look for something I could use to help us escape. I leaned forward to watch. If Mirae's intelligence reports were correct, Bhradvin would feel compelled to brag. Hopefully, like most braggarts he'd say too much in an effort to impress me and let some useful information slip.

"The grav-field's neutralized your focus lens. It can't transmit the laser beam to power your sail," Bhradvin continued. "The field's impenetrable. If you're foolish enough to engage your maser boosters, the collision with the field would obliterate your cruiser."

Bhradvin stood, straightened the sleeves of his robe. "You have two options. One, Zhun'Mar surrenders the Butcher Tarnlot to us for delivery to the Radani and then abdicates and surrenders the Golden Vine Ring to Mhorg. Two, he can refuse and all of you will die."

Zhun'Mar's eyes widened. "How could anyone even consider turning Tarnlot over to the Radani? You wouldn't be sitting there with that smirk on your face if it weren't for him. He saved all of us, Tamok and Tiranoan, from the Radani plague."

Bhradvin shrugged his shoulders. "We've reached an entente with the Radani. We've managed to spare Tamok from their revenge against the Butcher and any who stand by him. It's up to you to decide Tirano's fate. Choose the second option and the gravitational force of the field will increase until it crushes your cruiser. Without the four of you to lead it, Tirano would be an easy conquest for the Radani. Afterwards, the Radani have promised to put Mhorg on the Golden Vine Throne. The first alternative avoids bloodshed."

He paused to smirk at me. "Except, of course, for Tarnlot. Pick the second and billions of Tiranoans will die. Of course, the end result is the same in either case. Mhorg on the Golden Vine Throne. So choose carefully."

He glanced at his computer terminal. "It'll take nine centi for your frigates to catch up with you. If you don't respond in five centi, the grav-pressure will increase until your cruiser's been crushed. The only thing your frigates will find will be fragments. They'll assume your maser malfunctioned and exploded. There'll be no clue of our involvement."

The blood drained from Zhun'Mar's face. "Why? Why are you doing this? What have we ever done to you that would cause you to turn your back on Tirano?"

"You really don't have a clue, do you? You truly are as dense as they say. I suggest you have a heart-to-heart talk with your brother. He can explain. He knows how you Arvors have continually turned your backs on us Loks. We've waited a long time for revenge. Longer than the Radani. But today the Loks repay the Arvors."

"Surely we can work this out," Zhun'Mar said. "We'll, we'll pay you whatever the Radani offered. Anything."

"This time it's not about assignats. You can't buy your way out of this. This isn't business; this is personal." Bhradvin raised his right hand and made a short horizontal stroke. The holos disappeared.

Zhun'Mar slumped in his throne and stared open-mouthed at where the holos had been. "What in Ghaeah's name is he talking about? What have the Arvors ever done to his family?" He shook his head slowly. "If I'd had any idea of their hatred, this would never have happened."

What had I unleashed when I fostered Mhorg to Ghorn Lok? I glanced at Mirae. Her cobalt eyes penetrated through me like a cold dagger. Did she know? I couldn't hold her gaze and turned to Caykondra.

Caykondra exhaled loudly. As she stared at Zhun'Mar a vein pulsed visibly in her neck and her face reddened. "You had to ignore all of our counsel. Rush into what was an obvious sham. We all told you to leave the negotiations to the admirals. That Mhorg couldn't be trusted."

Before Caykondra could continue her tirade, I held my hand up to stop her. Recriminations about decisions that had been made and acted upon, including my secret, would have to wait. First we had to find a way to survive, and I didn't regard surrender as an option. I would have gladly faced Radani vengeance if it would save Tirano. It wouldn't. The Radani would never be content with just my death. They wouldn't be satisfied until they'd killed every Tiranoan, and despite Bhradvin's blathering, every humanoid, including the Tamok.

"Enough," I said in a sharp tone. I rose and stood behind my chair. My hands squeezed the top of the chair. "We need to focus and find a way out of here. We have to get the King safely back to Tirano."

Caykondra lowered her eyes and began to breathe slowly. Her shoulders moved up and down with each intake and exhale of air. I realized she was entering a Sibyl trance to calm her emotions.

I paced the floor behind the table and tried to analyze the situation. I knew nothing about grav-fields. Caykondra did. We needed her knowledge. I couldn't let her slip into that trance. We might not be able to pull her out in time. I placed my hand gently on her shoulder and squeezed. "Caykondra, please. We need you with us. You know more about grav-fields than any of us."

Caykondra took another deep breath. I hoped she was coming out of her trance, not entering. I squeezed again, harder this time.

"It would require an immense amount of power to maintain such a grav-field," she said barely above a whisper. "Such power couldn't be projected from any great distance. It can't be projected by the ship that's approaching from the perimeter. The source has to be close by, and shrouded."

I agreed. "It's got to be in their chaser ship. A chaser requires a crew of three. We know Bhradvin wasn't controlling the sophisticated equipment needed for such a powerful force, and clearly from his barbaric looks, Colonel Quant couldn't. Mhorg and that grav-bender are on that ship."

Caykondra stared at the table and clutched her pendant. "It would require an immense amount of energy to project a grav-field through a shroud. It'd have to strain the chaser's power to the limit. There's got to be fluctuations in the grav-field. It couldn't possibly be maintained flawlessly."

I walked behind Zhun'Mar and looked over Mirae's shoulder. She was already attempting to locate a weakness in the ward. "Good," I said. "Let us know if you find something."

I reached over her shoulder and flipped on the holovision's exterior view. The Black Cavities spiraling out of the Spewing Ring appeared to engulf Planet Caerwin. My hands trembled at the sight and I struggled to concentrate on escape rather than certain death. "There must be a way to determine their location and fire on it." I hoped I sounded in control of my emotions.

"I've found something," Mirae said. "A spot that fluctuates in intensity. Come here so I can show you its location."

Zhun'Mar and Caykondra joined Mirae and me at the control terminal. My heart continued its rapid thudding. On the terminal Mirae displayed our oval cruiser surrounded in yellow by the immense cylindrical field of the grav-field. She rotated the image ninety degrees and pointed to a spot on the terminal.

"Watch how this spot dims in brightness, now. The intensity of the fluctuations isn't uniform, but a fluctuation occurs every ten myria."

I peered out of the corner of my eyes at Caykondra. "What would cause that?"

"No grav field projection could be of uniform intensity," Caykondra said. "Because of the tremendous size of this field, its fluctuation can be detected. And I'll bet it's weakest the furthest from the point from where it's projected."

She turned to Zhun'Mar. "Agree?"

Zhun'Mar's stroked his beard. "I've already discovered how little I know about grav-field theory. But my research indicates your analysis is correct. I believe High Sibyl Kwenerra's treatise discusses theoretical fluctuation analysis. I have a copy of the original archive rom. We can access it on the computer, study it."

My patience snapped. "By the Belts! This isn't some classroom exercise you can research for spins. We need an answer now. Just give us your opinion on whether we can make it through the fluctuation." I turned to Caykondra for help.

She ran her hands through her hair. "I don't know. There's only one way to find out. Attempt to penetrate. But with our stellarator sail neutralized, we can't even try."

I looked at Mirae. "How much time until we have to respond?" I asked.

"Two centi remain," she replied. "If I can get the maser booster on line, I think I can get us out."

"How?" I prayed to Ghaeah that Mirae was on to something.

"I'll deploy the maser-mesh net spar. When the circuits in the net are fully charged, I'll launch a counter missile targeted to the point in the ward where it fluctuates. The missile's impact will be timed to coincide with the lowest intensity of the fluctuation. The missile will detonate on contact and blast a hole in the ward. At the same time, I'll fire the microwave beam to the empyrean booster and jump through the hole. Even if they track our path, they'd never follow us. Too dangerous with the frigates chasing us."

"Sounds risky to me," I said. I lowered my eyes to examine the calculations Mirae displayed on her terminal. "What if the missile doesn't create a breach large enough for our ship?"

Mirae pointed to a calculation on the terminal. "According to the computer's calculations, the detonation should breach a hole slightly larger than the ship's circumference. It'll permit us to pass through safely."

I studied the computer's projection of the breach. It appeared viable. "What's to prevent the grav-field from regenerating and closing the breach before we can jump through?"

Mirae didn't speak. She turned, her eyes level with Caykondra. I sensed that Mirae was searching for reassurance.

Caykondra remained silent, her eyes focused on her pendant a moment before speaking. "I don't know," she whispered. "I can't reach Vision to expand my research base. But I can't think of any other option."

"Are the maser net circuits charged?" Zhun'Mar asked.

"Yes. And a missile armed," Mirae said. "Should I proceed?"

Zhun'Mar sat heavily in his chair. "Quickly, what do you recommend? Surrender or this?"

Caykondra bit her lower lip, shook her head slowly. "The Radani must never possess my pendant. Surrender's not an option. I couldn't stand the feel of Bhradvin's eyes on me, and the thought of his touch is unbearable. I'd prefer to die and destroy my pendant in an effort to escape."

Zhun'Mar looked at me. He laid a hand on my shoulder. "Little brother?"

"I, too, would prefer to die attempting escape than to surrender Tirano to Mhorg. At best he'd be nothing but a puppet for the Radani." I pounded the table with my fist. "And Mhorg and the Radani underestimate Tirano if they think it would be an easy conquest without us. All Tirano would rather fight than submit to the Radani."

Zhun'Mar looked up at Mirae standing at the control terminal, his eyes fixed on the blond hair touching her shoulders. Without turning she spoke. "You don't need to ask," she said softly. "You know I agree with Tarnlot."

I realized that her soft voice indicated the emotion she felt. I hoped for once Zhun'Mar understood.

Zhun'Mar took a deep breath, set his jaw. "It's unanimous then. Get us out of here, Mirae."

"The next fluctuation will be in five myria," Mirae said. "Brace yourselves. I've timed the jump to coincide with when the missile explodes." Mirae gripped the edge of the terminal. Her knuckles turned white.

I heard the explosion of the missile at the same instant the empyrean thruster engaged. The jump's acceleration pushed me back in my chair. But rather than the smooth trajectory I'd expected, a blow struck the side of the ship. The ship listed and then plummeted into a free fall. The bottom dropped out of my stomach as I realized the direction of our fall. We were about to die in the Cavities.

The ship began to spin counter-clockwise. The spin tightened and accelerated, as if we were being sucked down a drain. Every particle of the cruiser wailed in an effort to hold together. I counted the myria and wondered how long until we died.

I reached twenty-five. We'd survived longer than I'd expected, but my fear only increased knowing we were nearer to death with each passing lacti. My mouth was so dry I couldn't swallow. I looked at Mirae. Her fingers frantically entered commands on the terminal. I wanted to tell her it was hopeless. We were going to die. She should spend her last moments in Zhun'Mar's arms. She deserved one brief moment of happiness.

"Hold on tight," Mirae yelled.

The empyrean booster whined. The spinning stopped, but the plummet continued unabated. The whine turned into a groan that increased to a roar. The ship shuddered. A thunderclap reverberated overhead. A cracking sound spread the length of the dome. Ceiling tiles crashed to the floor.

"Under the table! " Mirae shouted. She bounded over the control panel and shoved Zhun'Mar. I grabbed Caykondra and dove next to Zhun'Mar.

Mirae leaped back to the control panel.

"Mirae!" Zhun'Mar screamed. He reached a hand for her.

"Keep him under the table," Mirae yelled at me. "I've almost-" A tile struck Mirae on the shoulder.

"Mirae. No," Zhun'Mar's voice cracked. "No."

Mirae grimaced, but her fingers continued to punch the control panel. Zhun'Mar crawled toward the control panel. I reached for his leg, missed. A tile crashed only centimeters from his head. I crawled after him.

He slithered out of reach. The ship's groan lessened. I reached, but missed him again. The plummet slowed. The shower of tiles stopped. The ship jerked to a halt.

I lowered my head. Silence had never sounded so wonderful. Somehow Mirae had figured out a way to use the empyrean to brake the plummet. I stood and looked at her. Blood stained the shoulder of her uniform, but her expression was as emotionless as ever.

Zhun'Mar raced to her side. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head. "Just a scratch."

"And the ship?" I asked.

"As stabilized as I can get it," she said.

"Then we're safe?" I asked.

"For the time being."

"What happened?" Zhun'Mar asked.

Mirae remained in front of the control terminal, studying it intently. She pulled on her ear lobe. "The ward regenerated before we cleared through the hole. It struck the ship, snapped off the solar collector spar-disc and the stellarator sail." She paused. "It also deflected our jump off its path to Tirano."

"Where are we then?" Zhun'Mar asked.

"We deflected into the Black Cavities. Before I could regain control, we were sucked through. I've tried to match the planetary system we're in and the constellations visible from here with the computer's star charts. There's not one familiar constellation, and neither the Spiral nor any Cavity is visible from here." She swallowed. "I have no idea where we are."

"Can't we just reverse the jump?" Zhun'Mar asked.

Mirae balled her fists at her side; a bead of sweat ran down her forehead. "Not possible. The stress of stopping the fall shattered the maser net microcircuits. The only propulsion left is the emergency nuke booster. The ship's too damaged for intergalactic travel. I don't know how long it can function in its current condition. We'd better hope one of the nearby planets is habitable. Otherwise, when the engine fails, we all die."

-11-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"That's where the second dream ended," I say.

Dr. Avril continues to write on his notepad. I guess he's eager again. If he's like the other shrinks, he'll grill me about the impossibility of the second dream picking up where the first dream ended.

In a few seconds, he stops writing and studies his notes. Without taking his eyes off his notes, he speaks. "What is a centi?"

Interesting question. He is paying attention. "Guess I should've explained before launching into the dream. It's a decimal system the Tiranoans use to keep time. Each day is divided into ten equal parts, or ten "deci." Each deci is composed of ten centi, each centi is broken into ten milli, each milli into ten myria, and each myria into ten lacti. Thus, a day consists of ten deci, 100 centi, 1,000 milli, 10,000 myria, and 100,0000 lacti.

" _Très intelligent_. A metric time system." Avril taps his mustache "Perhaps, the Tiranoans, they are the French too?"

What an asinine comment. He can't be serious. "I somehow doubt it."

He chuckles. "Ah. You did not understand my little joke. We French were the first to adopt the system metric. Because the aliens extend the system metric to the time, they must be the French."

I nod but still fail to see anything humorous about my situation. He wouldn't be so flippant if our situations were reversed and I was the incompetent shrink.

"You said the space ship was the state of the art. You refer to the laser-propelled stellarator sail and to the maser-thrust empyrean booster. Do you have the idea what they were?"

None of the other shrinks bothered to ask about the design of the ship, let alone about its engines. Avril must feel obligated to ask something and isn't sharp enough to come up with any probing psychological questions.

"Mirae displayed an image of the cruiser on the control panel when she explained her escape plan. I have a good idea of what the outline of the cruiser looked like, and a general idea of how the laser propulsion functioned."

Avril flips the pages of his notepad, rips a page, and shoves it across the table at me. "Draw the ship for me."

So that's his game. He thinks I won't be able to draw it and it'll mean that I'm making all this up. "I need a pencil."

"Oui." He reaches into his shirt pocket and pulls out a mechanical pencil. He shoves it across the table.

I adjust the length of the lead and with a shaky hand begin to draw. I can feel his eyes watching me. I trace the hull of the ship and then add the propulsion devices. When I'm finished, I examine my drawing.

"I've never been much good at drawing, but this is pretty accurate." I pass the paper to him.

He picks it up and stares at it. "Please explain how the things propel the ship?"

How obvious. I foiled his hope that I couldn't draw the ship. Now he thinks I'll make something up that he can take to an expert and discredit as scientifically impossible.

"The solar collector spar concentrates ambient solar light onto the focus lens. The focus lens projects a laser beam that rams into the stellarator sail and shoves the ship along."

"Laser propulsion by the self-projection of the beam." Avril nods. " _C'est possible_."

I wonder who he's trying to fool. He wouldn't have any idea if it's possible.

"And the maser booster? How did it function?"

"Microwave propulsion. The maser net spar was full of circuits that created a microwave beam that it focused onto the empyrean booster."

" _Incroyable_." Avril mutters as he writes on his note pad.

I wonder if he really has any idea what's believable. He's a shrink and probably had never heard the term maser before today.

"What type of weapons were the grav-bender field and the shroud?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Some type of gravitational manipulations. The Tiranoans were shocked by the grav-field snare; it was something new. The shroud didn't seem to surprise them though. They seemed to think they could and should have detected it."

Dr. Avril jots down a note. "Before you continue with your story, what are the Black Cavities?"

I close my eyes and envision the sight again. "Like nothing I'd ever seen. Similar to a miniature spiral of the Milky Way, but instead of bright stars it was composed of hundreds of black pinholes that blotted out the space behind them. Despite their eerie beauty, it was terrifying to be so close to them. I think they're some type of tear in the fabric of their universe."

"They were some black holes, _oui_?"

I shake my head. "We survived falling through the Black Cavities. From what I've read, it's a science fiction myth that anyone could survive passage through a black hole."

Avril smiles, nods. " _Oui_ , this is the truth. Please continue with your story."

He's asking questions, but I don't see the point. A shrink wouldn't have the slightest idea if any of my answers were scientifically true. Nor do they have anything to do with whether I killed anyone.

I take a deep breath. All I can do is to keep on telling the truth, continuing with what happened when I went to the office after I woke from the dream. It's my only hope, slim as it may be with this lightweight.

-12-

Mill Valley, California

The dream ended when the telephone rang. The phone rang again and I opened my eyes. On the third clang I snatched the receiver. My throat was so dry I could only mumble a weak, "Hello." I probably sounded like I'd been on an all-night binge.

"Mr. Burrows, this is Jane, Mr. Hale's secretary."

She didn't need to identify herself. I'd never be too groggy to recognize her shrill voice. In her ten years as Brad's secretary, Jane had cloned his personality: pushy, abrasive, arrogant. The other secretaries derisively called her "the managing secretary."

"Mr. Hale called from Honolulu. He wanted to talk to you before he boarded his flight. I told him you weren't in the office and hadn't bothered to tell anyone where you were. He told me to find you. Make sure you're here when he arrives."

"I took the red-eye from Honolulu last night. Drove home to change clothes. I must have fallen asleep."

I reached for the alarm clock next to my bed. There must have been a power outage because it flashed red dashes. "What time is it?"

"Two-thirty. Mr. Hale will be in the office in two hours."

"Okay, Jane. I'll be there before he arrives." I slammed the phone down and hoped the bang ruptured her ear.

As I dragged myself out of bed and into the bathroom, I couldn't decide which upset me more. That I'd been so stupid as to fall asleep or that I'd felt obligated to explain myself to Jane. I filled a glass full of water and gulped it down, then another, as though my throat was parched from the stress of a harrowing fall through space. I didn't have time to waste thinking about my dreams. I had to get to the office, pronto.

After a quick shower and shave, I slipped on a starched dress shirt and a gray suit and threw a red and blue striped tie around my neck. I didn't waste time knotting it; it could wait until I arrived at the office. Instead, I ran through the house to the garage, jumped into my BMW, and raced through Mill Valley and onto Highway 101.

The mid-afternoon sunlight angled through the windshield and created a glare that made it difficult to see the road ahead. I reached for my sunglasses in my shirt pocket, empty. I rushed out so fast that I'd left them on the dresser. I didn't waste the time it'd take to go back for them. Even though I had to squint into the harsh glare, I pressed the accelerator. The speedometer touched eighty miles per hour and I zipped along until I heard the screech of a siren. I glanced at my rearview mirror. The flashing red lights of a California Highway Patrol car pursued me. I slowed down. Nothing seemed to be going right today, a speeding ticket on top of everything else.

As I inched over toward the shoulder, the black and white raced on. I exhaled with relief. If I'd been stopped, I couldn't have made it to the office before Brad.

As soon as I completed my thought, the realization struck me. I was behaving like a new associate. Even though Brad was chairman of the firm's management committee, he had no right to act so imperious and have his secretary summons me to his office. I wasn't some drudge associate to be commanded to appear before his august presence. I was senior to him on the firm's letterhead and entitled to be treated with the respect due a senior partner.

That would be the first thing I'd tell him. If Brad had to wait for me, so be it. My subconscious had been trying to tell me something when I'd blacked out in Hawaii. It reminded me that the time had come to fulfill Quincy's plans. I'd be the office gadfly that continually reminded everyone of Quincy's legacy. If anyone would have to change, it would be Brad and his allies at the firm. I'd survive at L&P on my terms and fulfill Quincy's plans.

I entered the tunnel in the Marin Headlands cruising along at sixty miles per hour. In the darkness a ribbon of red brake lights snaked the length of the tunnel. I slammed on the brakes, my tires screeched, and I prayed I wouldn't fishtail. I skidded to a stop mere inches from the car in front of me. I took one deep breath and thanked BMW engineering. If I'd rammed that car, it would have been pushed into the car in front of it. There would have been a chain reaction down the line and every plaintiff's lawyer in San Francisco would sue me as the proximate cause of a horrific chain of rear-end collisions.

The patrol car that passed me must have been going to an accident. Traffic into the city wouldn't have come to a standstill at this time of day for any other reason. It turned out to be a six-car collision at the tollbooths and it took more than an hour to cross the Golden Gate Bridge.

I didn't arrive at the office until after five o'clock. When I walked by Jane's desk on the way to my office, she scrunched her hook nose and painted-on eyebrows and picked up her phone. Undoubtedly, the hag couldn't wait to buzz Brad to tell him I was on my way in to beg for forgiveness from the almighty managing partner. She'd be the first to learn of my new resolve. I wasn't about to go straight to Brad's office. He'd have to wait until I was good and ready.

I continued on without saying anything to her and entered my office. The only office I'd had during my thirty years at Lott & Pembroke. Even though most partners moved to larger offices whenever possible, I'd never felt the urge to play office musical chairs. I loved my sparsely furnished cubicle. The only furniture consisted of an antique walnut desk and a black-leather desk chair, both of which had been Quincy's, and three oak client chairs. The view of San Francisco Bay from the office's one window extended from the red towers of the Golden Gate Bridge to the eucalyptus trees atop the Berkeley hills. The view was sufficient wall decoration; no need for gaudy pictures or pretentious displays of diplomas and awards.

I hung my suit coat on the hook on the back of the door and walked to the window. I leaned on the marble windowsill to gaze for a few moments at San Francisco Bay. A large cruise liner steamed leisurely toward the Golden Gate. Before the ship reached Alcatraz, a dense fog bank surged through the Golden Gate and, like a tsunami, engulfed the ship.

"Hobie," Brad's voice said in a sharp tone. "We have to talk."

I turned around and the sneaky S-O-B sat in one of my client chairs, his legs crossed. He flashed one of his irritated grimaces. I tried to act nonchalant and sat in my desk chair. I knotted my tie and didn't say a word.

Brad laid his cane on my desk with the tip pointed at me. He pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his shirt pocket, yanked a handkerchief from his pants' pocket, and began wiping the lenses of his sunglasses.

"Your supercilious attitude towards Jack Morgado last night embarrassed me and the firm. After you left the restaurant, Morg went ballistic. Yelled at me about you acting so insolently towards him. Threatened to take his new deal to another firm because of you. Morg brings millions of dollars of fees to the firm each year." He pointed a finger at me. "Something you don't seem to appreciate."

I arched my eyebrows in disbelief and shook my head. "I went out of my way not to offend either of you. I kept quiet even when provoked. If anyone should have felt offended about what happened at dinner, it was me, not Morgado."

I reached for the stack of pink message slips next to the telephone on my desk and flipped through them.

Brad pulled on the French cuff of his shirt. "Don't give me that feigned look of innocence."

He stuffed his sunglasses in his shirt pocket and leaned forward. "I've told you hundreds of times that you needed to change to survive in today's marketplace. The law's become a profit-driven business. What matters now is rainmaking: the number of clients and amount of money a lawyer attracts to the firm. You don't have any meaningful clients of your own, and if I hadn't been there last night, the firm would have lost its most important client. Why? Because of your arrogance."

I looked out the window. The fog surged like a gray tide off the Bay and inundated the Financial District. It rose toward my window and obliterated the view. The time had come to tell Brad to get off my back, to let him know Quincy's ideals would survive at Lott & Pembroke as long as I was around. "As far as I'm concerned, if you don't like my attitude, you can join another law firm and take your buddy Morgado with you."

Brad snorted. "Fat chance."

The other two members of the management committee walked into my office. Tall, thin, balding Robert Beresford squinted as if he was in pain. Chubby-faced Jack Fong stared at the floor, not looking at me. They must have heard Brad and I were going to have at it and wanted to calm us down.

I was glad they showed up. This would be my opportunity to use them to put Brad in his place. Robert was the closest thing I had to a protégée in the firm. I'd trained him in his early years at the firm and after he became a partner we had continued to work closely. Jack specialized in tax law. Even though he was a man of few words, most of which consisted of tax jargon, everyone respected his ability to analyze the financial affairs of the firm.

Robert closed the door and he and Jack sat in the chairs next to Brad. Robert looked at me, pressed his thin lips together and swallowed. His Adam's apple fluttered above his bow tie before he spoke. "Jack Morgado called and woke me up in the middle of the night last night. He was so livid he could barely get his words out. Said you refused to speak to him at dinner last night, as though conversing with him was beneath you. He threatened to yank all of his business from the firm if something wasn't done about you."

Robert shifted in his chair. Jack continued to stare at the floor, his hands clasped tightly together. Brad leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleamed.

Robert gritted his teeth and spoke. "We've been concerned for a long time about your continuing refusal to change with the times. Especially, your cavalier attitude towards trying to attract clients to the firm. Brad's talked to you repeatedly. Your behavior has only gotten more erratic. Now you've alienated our most important client."

He swallowed and his Adam's apple fluttered again. "Hobie, this is the hardest thing I've ever had to do. God knows I prayed it'd never come to this." He paused for a deep breath. "The time has come for you to leave Lott & Pembroke, to take early retirement."

I shoved my chair back and sprung up. My face reddened and I started to scream at them that Quincy would have told Jack Morgado that L&P wasn't interested in representing a greedy bastard. I started to, but couldn't. I had to handle this in the same manner as I would a client matter: rationally and emotionlessly as Quincy had taught me. I needed to convince them that L&P would survive, even flourish, if we returned to Quincy's principles.

"I've heard enough of this constant harping about clients." I looked Robert in the eye. "You of all people should know that at Quincy's firm, clients have always been regarded as clients of the firm, not the mere chattel of one lawyer. Quincy judged a lawyer by his legal skills and willingness to work hard for the firm and the - firm's - clients. I intend to make sure his legacy survives and that we return to his principles."

Brad's lip curled. "That pompous bastard. Those ideas were buried in the graveyard with him. The firm looks at the bottom line today. Money drives the practice, not his outdated concepts. Something you fail to grasp."

I pointed at the stack of prospectuses on my desk. "Don't give me that crap! Look at all the deals I've worked on. I've made a ton of money for the firm."

My voice sounded shrill even to me. I tried to lower my tone, speak slower. "Over the past five years I've billed more hours than any other partner, including the three of you. I've satisfied your greed requirement."

Brad picked up one of the prospectuses and flipped through it. Jack unglued his face from the floor, shook his head, and spoke softly. "I'm sorry, Hobie. Being a good technician may have been fine in Quincy's time, but in today's world, it just isn't enough. The economics of a modern law practice don't work that way. A partner's value to the firm depends upon his skill in attracting new business. We can hire three new law school graduates to do the same work you do, and we'd pay them a lot of them less than your partnership draw. The partners could share the savings as profits. It doesn't make financial sense for the firm to let you ride our coattails and pay your large draw."

I glared at Jack. "Do you really believe the work of a new associate could be of the same quality as mine? If the quality of the work declines, the clients will leave in droves. With your so-called financial acumen, you should understand the impact of that."

Jack averted his eyes. The turncoat couldn't even look me straight in the eye. "We've made our decision. It's final."

I lowered my head and stared at Brad's cane, its tip aimed at me like the barrel of a pistol. I didn't want to believe it. I'd failed to see the extent of the contamination. After just twelve months of Brad's leadership, even Robert and Jack had been corrupted. Not even the smallest shards of the Lott & Pembroke created by Quincy remained intact. It had been shattered beyond my ability to repair it.

I sank into my chair. Brad sat there smiling at me like the rodent he was. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit and pulled out a sheet of paper. He laid it in front of me.

"The partners appreciate your long tenure at the firm. We hope you won't fight us on this, make an ugly scene. Sign this. In exchange for releasing the firm from any liability, we'll pay you one year's draw in a lump sum. You'll also receive an unreduced partner's pension. The official L&P line will be that you chose to retired from the firm to pursue other activities."

Brad pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket, yanked off the cap, and reached across the desk to hand it to me. I looked out my window. A mangy sea gull landed on the outside sill. I shook my head. "I'll have to read it. I'll let you know later."

Brad capped the pen, stuffed it back in his pocket. He started to speak, but Robert shook his head and spoke. "We understand. Take your time. We want to be fair. If you have any comments on the terms, let me or Jack know."

Robert extended his arm across my desk to shake my hand. I didn't really want to shake the ingrate's hand, but couldn't bring myself to refuse. I wanted to at least maintain my dignity and behave like a gentleman. I shook took his limp, sticky hand.

"If there's anything I can do," he said.

Jack stood and reached his pudgy fingers across the desk. "Me too."

They walked out of the office. Brad remained seated, smirking. He picked his cane off my desk and pointed it at me. "You should've listened to me. Joined my side instead of his. I could've made it a whole lot easier for you. Now you'll find out how tough it is against us." He smirked.

"I'll find a way to make sure you personally regret this." I didn't even try to conceal my hatred.

Brad's face flashed crimson. "Don't do anything stupid or you'll end up like him." He turned and slammed the door behind him.

"Rot in hell," I yelled at the door.

I set my elbows on my desk and buried my face in the palms of my hands. I'd never wanted to be anything other than a lawyer at Lott & Pembroke. As a result, I'd remained silent while Brad used money to manipulate the firm and impose his avarice on it. Even though it hurt to admit it, I truly was nothing but a relic from the past who was obsolete in the new Lott & Pembroke. I hoped Quincy could forgive my failure to fulfill his plans. I signed the release without even bothering to read it.

I left the office for the last time without saying goodbye to anyone. Like a zombie, I stiff-legged my way toward the Club. A cold breeze whipped the thick wet fog into a coil that swirled around me and sucked me forward. The damp chill penetrated my suit jacket and my teeth started to chatter. All I could think about was how Quincy had depended on me, and how miserably I'd failed.

In a few minutes I reached the drab green entry awning with its faded gold letters: Montgomery Street Exchange Club. I opened the door to the Club and stepped onto the dun-brown carpet of the entry parlor. The Club's long-time assistant manager, Ramon, sat at the reception desk talking on the telephone. I scanned the lobby: The faded awning, the worn carpeting, the ever present Ramon in a rumpled green jacket, the black and white photographs of the past presidents of the Club lining the faded yellow walls of the reception parlor. Nothing had changed in the twenty years since Quincy had sponsored me for membership. Most members considered the Club dowdy, in need of renovation. I liked it just the way it was. I hoped that it at least it would never succumb to the temptations of Brad Hale-style change.

Ramon glanced at me, a cell phone pressed against his ear. I pointed at the stairway to the dining room. He shook his head and motioned for me to stop. As I waited for him to get off the phone, Ramon impatiently tapped a black pen against the desk's leather blotter.

"Sorry, ma'am. That is not possible. There's nothing I can do." He hung up, shrugged his shoulders.

"Some people," he said. "That was Mr. Hale's secretary. She said you were no longer at Lott & Pembroke. That the firm would no longer be responsible for your charges and I should cancel your membership immediately. I tried to explain to her that membership is personal. No such thing as a firm membership. She wouldn't listen. Kept saying the firm wouldn't pay one more penny."

My body went rigid as my blood pressure rose off the scale. Evidently firing me wasn't enough. Brad wanted to humiliate me publicly. I took a couple deep breaths in an effort repress the rage that wanted to surface. Getting mad in front of Ramon wouldn't do any good.

"I'll take care of it, Ramon," I said in a shaky voice. I turned and started toward the stairs, stopped, and looked back at Ramon.

"When Keiko arrives, please tell her I'm upstairs."

"Uh," Ramon tapped his fingers on the desk. "Sorry, Mr. Burrows. The upstairs dining room is closed tonight for a private function. James & Sutro announced their new partners today. They're having a dinner to celebrate."

My shoulders sagged. Had Brad orchestrated this to rub it in that I'd lost my partnership? "Shit," I muttered.

"Not to worry, Mr. Burrows." Ramon pointed to the hallway that led to the back of the Club. "We're serving dinner tonight in the Mahogany Bar. I'll send Ms. Nidara down there when she arrives."

I trudged along the narrow hallway with its scratched wainscoting and down the frayed carpeting on the half-flight of steps that descended to the Club's lower level. I pushed open the swinging glass-paneled door to the bar. The only light in the bar consisted of tiny tulip lamps on the faded-yellow walls above the cocktail tables along the sidewalls. My eyes took a second to adjust to the dim light and to see that all of the tables were occupied. Several people glanced at me and quickly returned their gazes to their drinks. Brad must have already spread the word that I wasn't good enough to remain at L&P.

The fifteen-foot long mahogany bar for which the room was named stretched across the back wall. Two stools at one end of the bar were empty. I headed toward the stools with my head down and refused to take my eyes off the redwood-planked floor. I didn't want to take a chance someone would ask me what had happened.

I slunk onto the stool at the end of the bar, glad that my back faced the tables. I rested my feet on the bar's brass foot railing. I stared across the bar into the mirror set in the sideboard that covered the length of the back wall. I didn't like what I saw: an irrelevant fossil.

"Good evening, Mr. Burrows," a voice said to my left. I looked up and John, the bartender, stood behind the bar, wiping a glass with a white towel. "Must've been one tough day. You look like the weight of the world's on your back."

He walked over to where I sat. "Usual, glass of sauvignon blanc?"

"Not tonight. Give me a scotch on the rocks."

John grabbed a glass from a shelf underneath the bar and turned to the double row of liquor bottles on the sideboard's shelf. "Got some good single malts. Which do you prefer: Bladnoch or The Macallan?"

I couldn't have cared less. "Whichever. You pick."

John poured some into a glass and handed it to me. As I swirled the glass, I couldn't stop feeling that everyone in the room was snickering behind my back. I took a sip. The alcohol burnt all the way down my throat, as if it, too, scorned me.

I set the glass down and stared at blackened cigarette burns and water-glass stains on the bar. Anger, desire for revenge, sadness, and self-recrimination knotted my gut. I understood why Brad disliked me; I reminded him of Quincy and everything Quincy represented. I wondered, though, what I ever did to Morgado to create such enmity that he would destroy my career, especially after all my hard work closing the Hawaii deal. I found no answers and glanced at my watch: 6:15. Keiko was always late, but tonight I wished she'd hurry.

I twirled my glass, the ice cubes clinking, and waited to hear the door swing open. At last it did and the reflection in the mirror showed Keiko walk through and look around the room. She smiled when she saw me at the bar. She walked over, stood on her toes, and kissed me lightly on the cheek. She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length black hair, straightened her scarlet dress, and centered her fire opal pendant on her silver necklace before sitting on the stool next to me.

"There, I should look presentable now." Her almond-shaped brown eyes sparkled.

John placed a cocktail napkin in front of her. "Good evening, Ms. Nidara. You wanna try a scotch too?"

Keiko looked at my drink, arched her eyebrows. "No. A glass of sauvignon blanc."

"Zero for two." He laughed. "Just received Iron Horse's new release. It's great. I'll bring you a glass. You may want to order a few cases for your shop." He walked away.

"Hobie, where have you been? I called your office this afternoon to tell you I'd be late. The operator said you hadn't returned from Honolulu."

I stared at the bar. So much of my self-image entailed being a partner at Lott & Pembroke that even telling Keiko would be difficult. John returned and set a glass of the wine in front of Keiko. I couldn't look at her. I lifted the scotch to my lips and gulped a mouthful. It scorched another crevasse the length of my throat.

Keiko laid her hand on my thigh. "Hobie, what's wrong?"

I finished the last of the scotch, my throat at last numb to its flames. "I don't want to talk about it."

"You're the one who said you wanted to talk."

"Things have changed." I lifted my glass to John. "Another."

Keiko reached up with her hand and gently turned my face to hers. "Hobie, this isn't like you. What'd I do? Don't you know by now, I'd never do anything to hurt you? Talk to me."

I blinked, rubbed my eyes. "I signed a paper resigning from Lott & Pembroke."

She grabbed my hand and held it in her lap. Her fingers exuded a comforting warmth. "Hobie," she whispered. "Why?"

The bitterness that I'd refused to face surfaced. "Even Robert and Jack turned against me and agreed with Brad. Decided I was a burden, a parasite, because by their greedy standards I had no significant clients. Either I agreed to retire or they'd boot me out."

She squeezed my hand. "I know you've been upset. Bothered about Brad Hale. I didn't think it was this serious."

John sat the glass of scotch in front of me. Keiko's glare almost thawed the ice cubes. "Take that damn thing away. He doesn't need it."

I lowered my head, certain everyone in the bar must have heard her outburst. "I don't know what to do, Keiko. I've never been anything other than an L&P lawyer. At my age no law firm would want me unless I brought along a stable of clients. Only clients I have are a couple of widows with trusts. I could probably get one of the banks to hire me. Hell, they'd hire anybody to get a new trust account. But I detest even the thought of being an in-house lawyer at a bank. No one in private practice regards them as real lawyers. All they do is call an outside lawyer whenever anything requires some real work. I couldn't face the mirror every morning if I sank so low."

"If it's money, I can help," she said in a gentle voice.

"It's not money. The only thing I ever wanted to be was a partner at L&P. Now it's gone. And I didn't even see it coming." The balls of my feet ached. I'd been pressing them against the brass foot rail as if to push through it. "Thirty years, then poof, nothing. So much for living by Quincy's principles. They're long dead, like him."

Keiko lifted my hand to her chest. "Look at me," she ordered.

I raised my head. Her eyes locked into mine. "It's taken plenty of backbone to remain true to your principles. You could have easily sold out and become no better than the others."

I averted my eyes and stared at the bar. A half-round water-glass stain seemed to mock me like Brad Hale. "That doesn't make it any easier to lose thirty years of my life, and any meaningful future."

Neither of us spoke for a few moments. I stared into the mirror. Quincy wouldn't have liked what he saw. He hated self-pity, called it a sign of weakness. Worse, I'd taken it out on Keiko, the only person left that I could count on.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you." I blinked back the self-pity. "Quincy would have given me a piece of his mind for how I've acted. I just hope he'd understand. I wanted the firm to remain true to his legacy. I didn't want to fail. But the firm's values decayed so fast that I didn't even realize the depth had reached the firm's foundation. It went beyond my ability to repair it."

"Hobie, it'll be all right." She dabbed the corner of my eye with a napkin. "We'll work things out."

"You know, maybe leaving's a blessing. I've been obsessed about Brad's constant ridicule of Quincy. I've even started dreaming that he and Jack Morgado are evil extraterrestrials. You and me, we're good aliens that they tricked and ambushed." I laughed. "Weird, yeah?"

Keiko tilted her head, opened her mouth, and started to say something. Instead, she bit her lower lip. I was afraid she thought I'd gone off the deep end. I needed to change the subject.

"Quincy loved this room. Many nights after working late we'd come here." I pointed to the table closest to the bar. "Sit at that table. He always ordered a quarter pound burger with melted blue cheese and a glass of zinfandel."

Keiko's lips formed an impish grin. She waved for John. He walked over. "Bring us each a quarter pound hamburger with melted blue cheese. And a bottle of Kaha ka 'Io Old Vines Zin."

John's eyes widened. "I haven't served one of those blue cheese jobs in years. Hope the kitchen still knows how." He chuckled as he walked to the intercom at the other end of the bar.

I put my arm around Keiko's shoulder, leaned over, and kissed her hair. Her musky perfume filled my nostrils. "Thanks. You always have a way of making things better."

John returned with the bottle of wine. "Great choice," he said. He uncorked the bottle and poured a small amount in a glass for me to taste.

"This is my favorite of our current stock," he said to Keiko. "Requested more, but with its tight allocation we could only get our hands on a couple cases."

Keiko nodded. "Know what you mean. I sold out at the shop in a day. Any zinfandel grown on old St. George rootstock is in hot demand. Too many acres of zin planted in AxR1 ripped because of phylloxera. Thank the old timers for planting St. George."

I couldn't keep from smiling to myself. Keiko's love for St. George rootstock reminded me of Quincy's fervor. I'd heard over and over from Quincy how the University of California at Davis touted AxR1 because it increased the grape tonnage per acre. Because of this greater production, fields of St. George vines were ripped out and replaced by AxR1. French vineyardists warned the Californians that AxR1 was not resistant to phylloxera, a louse that eats the roots of vines and eventually kills the vine. The Californians ignored the warning; they assumed that phylloxera had been permanently exterminated in California. Unfortunately, mother nature proved them wrong. A new biotype of the phylloxera louse appeared and began to suck the life out of vineyard after vineyard that had been replanted in AxR1. The old St. George vineyards remained phylloxera resistant and continued to produce great tasting grapes.

"Hobie, are you going to sit there all night staring off into space or are you going to sample your glass so John can pour me some too?" Keiko said gently as if afraid I might have slipped back into feeling sorry for myself.

"Sorry, just reminiscing about something Quincy told me." I swirled the glass, inhaled, and sipped. The peppery-raspberry spice unique to a Kaha ka 'Io Zinfandel performed its usual magic. No one could feel bad after tasting it.

I nodded for John to pour a glass for Keiko. I tipped my glass against hers. "Love you," I said.

"And I you," she whispered.

While we ate dinner, I talked about how I'd never known my father who had been killed in the Korean War while I was a toddler. Without a father, I became a timid, momma's boy who led a sheltered life. As a result, I'd made Quincy into the father figure I never had. I'd always believed Quincy felt fatherly towards me because he told me his plans depended on me. I set my half-eaten burger back on the plate. "I can accept that I'm no longer at the firm, but I'll never be able to accept that I let him down."

Keiko's eyes locked into mine. "Hobie, stop blaming yourself. I doubt that even Quincy Lott could've retained control of the firm in today's world. I'm certain he'd understand how circumstances change beyond anyone's ability to manage them. No matter how much one wants to, no one can predict the future, let alone control it."

She blinked back a tear. "I came to San Francisco to find my way home, but some times, no matter how much you want, you can't return home. We have to accept the unexpected turns in our paths. My tortured path turned out better. I fell in love with the most honorable man I ever met - you."

"I'm so lucky," I said. "Thanks for being here for me."

John cleared our plates. "Excuse me," I said to Keiko. "I need to wash my hands. Do you want to freshen up?" I hopped off the barstool.

"I'll wait here," she replied. "Talk to John. Apologize for snapping at him earlier."

I walked across the hall into the rest room. It was empty and I stepped to the urinal. The door creaked opened while I relieved myself. Footsteps approached. Without warning, a pair of thick arms encircled me from behind and squeezed. Broad shoulders pressed my face into the wall above the urinal. I struggled, but couldn't break free against such a mass. My first thought was incredulity. On top of all that had happened the last few days, I was going to be mugged in the bathroom of an exclusive club while I was taking a pee.

"Don't do something foolish," a thick, strangely-accented voice growled in my ear. "He knows you have it and what you plan to do with it. Breathe one word about it to them and you'll wish you never lived."

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I didn't think he intended to rob me. He intended to hurt me. In desperation, I tried to kick his knee and knock him off balance. My foot glanced of his shin.

"No one tries to hurt me. Especially pencil-neck scum like you." He jerked his clasped fists into my stomach and knocked the breath out of me.

I doubled over, sucking for air. I shouldn't have fought back; he's going to kill me for sure. I closed my eyes and braced for another blow. Nothing happened. I steadied myself on the counter and sneaked a glance at the attacker. Quant. My knees buckled and I thought my world had gone insane.

He bared his teeth in a blood-chilling snarl. "Ever cross me or him again and I'll kick your sorry ass a thousand ways. Then, I'll smash your face to a pulp." He turned and lumbered out the door.

What the hell was he talking about? Who did he think I was? He must have mistaken me for someone else. Shit, my mind screamed, he might assault Keiko.

I ran out the door and into the bar. I frantically looked at the bar. Keiko sat on her stool. John was walking to the other end of the bar.

I rushed to her. "Did he threaten you?"

Keiko tilted her head, her eyes wide. "Why would you say something like that? John wouldn't threaten me."

I looked around the room. "Not John. The goon who just attacked me in the rest room."

"What are you talking about? Who attacked you?"

I looked around the room. "He's not here."

I sat next to her, slumped on the bar. "You're going to think I'm crazy. I was assaulted in the restroom by someone who's been in my dreams. A real goon. He seems to have mistaken me for someone else. He threatened to kill me."

Keiko's eyes flicked around the room as if searching. "Do you think you should call the police?"

I shook my head. "For what? I saw how they reacted when one of my clients was mugged. They'll act concerned. Dutifully take the report. And then file it away and forget about it. I'd have to be murdered before they'd investigate."

Keiko's fingers tightened around her pendant. "Hobie, I'm worried. Too much has happened to you the last few days. You shouldn't be alone tonight. I want you to spend the night with me. We need to figure out what's really going on."

She didn't have to ask twice. I didn't want to be alone either.

-13-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

" _Excusez-moi_ , _Monsieur_ Burrows," Avril says.

Why is he stopping me in the middle of what occurred?

"This man assault you in the water closet and he threaten to kill you, and you do not telephone the police?"

"No."

"And then the man you say assault you, the man later dies, as do _Monsieur_ Hale and _Monsieur_ Morgado?"

"Yeah." He's thinking the same thing as the other shrinks. That I'm making this up in an effort to claim self-defense.

" _Mon dieu_ ," Avril says shaking his head. "This affair has no interest for me. You desire the revenge for the termination from the law firm and fabricate the story of the aliens."

I'm about to lose any chance of convincing him I'm telling the truth. "That's not true. If I wanted to concoct a story, I wouldn't be so foolish as to think I could convince anyone that Keiko, Hale, and the others were extraterrestrials. I couldn't possibly have imagined the things I've told you about extraterrestrial space flight. No one could make that up."

He tilts his head and rubs his mustache. "Perhaps, _oui_. Perhaps, _non_."

"Please. Let me continue. Listen to the whole story before you make up your mind. Everything I've told you is true."

Avril looks at his watch. He's probably checking to see how much longer he has until the next train leaves Avignon for Paris. I've lost him. I wait for him to leave.

He stares at me and shakes his head. "I will listen a while longer. But I must warn you. Your credibility is _si petite_ that I may depart at any moment."

That was too close. I wonder if he'd really walk out. I can't worry about that. I have to continue to tell the truth and hope he starts to believe me.

-14-

San Francisco, California

Keiko lived nearby in a condo on the Embarcadero, so we walked. The fog had lifted and only a few wispy clouds floated in the night sky. The salty fragrance of the Bay permeated the air. I remained jumpy and constantly turned around to see if Quant followed us. Two blocks from Keiko's condo a black cat darted out of a doorway and I jumped at least two feet in the air.

"Who said white men can't jump?" I asked. "It just takes a whole lot of fear."

"This is no time for jokes," Keiko said. She grabbed my hand and pulled me along as fast as she could. We reached the condo and rode the elevator to her floor. Keiko quickly unlocked the door and we scooted inside. She slammed the door shut and bolted the locks.

"Aren't you being a tad over dramatic?" I asked jokingly.

She glared at me. "Sit down. We need to talk."

Keiko forbid the wearing of shoes on the tatami mats covering the apartment's floors, so out of habit I removed my shoes. I headed for the red ikat futon that served as a couch, comforted by all the things that made the apartment a haven in the middle of the Embarcadero: The framed van Gogh and Cézanne prints hanging on the walls, the black-lacquered Japanese table in front of the futon, the antique tansu chest pushed against the wall opposite the futon, the antique French-writing desk with the funky-looking gray notebook computer. I needed the solace offered by Keiko's haven tonight more than ever.

I collapsed on the futon. Keiko opened the doors of her tansu chest and retrieved a bottle of Ficklin Port and two tumblers. She poured some port in each and handed me one. She snuggled next to me on the futon. "Now, tell me everything."

I did. I started with the dinner at Roy's, and how when I blacked out at the Lana'i Lookout, I saw Quincy's face. I described the dream encounter with Bhradvin and Mhorg, how the firm dumped me, and finally about Quant assaulting me. I don't know why, but I couldn't tell her about Mhorg being Zhun'Mar and Mirae's son. Something seemed to tell me that Tarnlot didn't want that secret revealed to anyone but me.

"The strangest thing of all," I said, "is that normally my dreams are unrelated to each other. Not these. The second dream picked up where the first one left off. They're so realistic. It's as if they're memories bubbling to the surface."

I kissed her hair and inhaled her perfume. "Caykondra even wore your pendant and smelled of your perfume."

She lowered her head and rocked her body back and forth. "I was Caykondra, you were Tarnlot, Brad Hale was Bhradvin, Jack Morgado was Mhorg, and your attacker was Quant. Were the others anyone you know?"

"No. I'd never forget meeting someone with cobalt-blue eyes like Mirae's. I've never seen eyes so intense. They could bore through steel. Even Quant would have to think twice before messing with her."

Keiko put her arms around my neck. "What do Brad Hale and Jack Morgado look like?"

"You've met them."

"Where? I don't remember that."

"They were together at last year's Black and White Ball at the Opera House."

"I met so many people." She paused, shook her head. "Not them."

"Brad acted as if you'd met. The next day at the office he asked me how long I'd known you; where I'd met you. I assumed he talked to you."

Keiko frowned. "Well, I didn't."

"If only I hadn't ever met him. The frigging liar," I mumbled. Liar resounded in my mind. "That's it. He's behind Quant's threat."

Keiko mouth fell open. "What?"

"Quant said that 'he knows you have it' and not 'to breathe one word about it.' I've figured out what he meant."

Keiko's eyes widened, almost as if in fear. "And?"

"A few years ago Brad and I were working on a case together. He filed a sworn affidavit of facts with the trial court. Later when I was working on the appeal, I discovered that he'd perjured himself. I confronted him. He wasn't at all contrite. He just laughed, said it was good lawyering. I told him that if he ever did that again, I wouldn't hesitate to turn him into the bar for disciplinary action. He went berserk. Said I'd only be hurting the whole firm if I turned him in. It'd sully the firm's reputation."

"I don't understand," Keiko said. "Why would he threaten you now?"

"This afternoon I told him I'd make sure he personally regretted firing me. He must think it was a threat and that I've got a copy of his affidavit. He wants to make sure I don't report him to the bar since I'm no longer at L&P. His last words to me at the office were to watch my step. I didn't realize it until now, but it was a warning. He wants me to know he'd hired a goon to scare me."

I shuddered again at the thought of Quant's snarl. "And it worked."

"Will you turn him in?" Keiko asked.

I thought for a moment. "No. Brad's a scumbag and an asshole, but I'm the one who let him get away with it when I should have acted. I'm not going to risk my life over that. Hopefully, it'll blow over when he realizes I'm not going to report him to the bar. If there's any justice in this world, though, he'll do himself in eventually. Morgado too."

"I hope so too," Keiko said with a vehemence that surprised me.

She rubbed the back of my neck. "I can feel the knots. You need to sit in the furo for a few minutes. The warm water will relax you, help you forget about Brad Hale." She grabbed my hand and pulled me up with her.

I followed her into the bedroom. I'd spent enough nights in it so that its Japanese simplicity no longer startled me. The only items in the room were an unfolded futon with a black goose down quilt centered on a tatami covered wooden floor and a television set next to the closet. Sparse, but somehow comforting even on the most depressing day of my life.

Keiko grabbed two towels out of the bathroom. We undressed and wrapped the towels around us. Keiko turned off the bedroom lights and opened the sliding glass door to the balcony. The Bay Bridge, outlined in white lights, loomed nearby and in times past, foghorns would have cascaded on the Bay. Without hesitating, she dropped her towel on the floor and submerged her body in the hot water. As always, the sight of Keiko's nude body sent a lustful urge through me. I was so lucky someone so exquisite in both body and mind loved me. She was the one good thing that remained in my life and I intended never to lose her.

I dropped my towel and dipped a toe in the water. The water was too hot to plunge into and the air too cold to stand around naked. "I'll never understand how you can get in so fast." I eased myself into the wooden tub.

She looked at me with her eyes wide and her forehead wrinkled. "You know my secret now," she said in a deep husky voice. "I'm an alien with a body specially designed to enjoy scalding water."

For several minutes we watched the stars and the puffy clouds float overhead. "Hobie, do you ever dream of visiting all those pinholes of light in the sky? There have to be so many worlds to see. If a space ship came tonight and asked us to journey with it throughout the galaxies, would you go?"

"Only if the ship's replicators could produce 1984 Lytton Springs Zinfandel. I drank my last bottle a few years ago. The best wine I've ever had. I'd go anywhere for another bottle."

Keiko laughed and inched her body next to mine. "I don't know of a ship that could do that, so I guess I'll have to stay on Earth with you."

She massaged my neck and shoulders, her fingers kneading into the muscles. Her touch tingled through me. I lifted her onto my lap to face me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and lifted her mouth to mine. Her tongue parted my lips and our tongues intertwined. My fingers traced down her spine and caressed the dimple at the base of her spine. She moaned and tilted her head back. I kissed her velvet neck and pressed her hips closer. "You taste so good," I said.

"I could never love anyone else," she whispered.

"Me neither."

She pressed against me. My whole body quivered. I closed my eyes. Stars exploded. Keiko gasped and dug her fingers into my back. We were locked together as one. I wished we could remain so forever in our exploding supernova.

We held each other for minutes afterwards, neither saying a word. The massage, the hot water, and our lovemaking had drained all my energy. "If I don't get out, I may fall asleep sitting here," I whispered in her ear.

Keiko continued to cling to me. "You've dreamt too much lately. You need some restful sleep. I'll fix you my soporific tea."

She released her embrace and stepped out of the furo. She wrapped a towel around her before she walked through the bedroom toward the kitchen. I stood. The cold breeze off the Bay caused me to shiver. I toweled myself dry as fast as I could and hustled into the bedroom to escape the cold air.

I picked my suit off the futon and hung it in the closet. I stared at it hanging there. Not even our lovemaking could change what had happened. I'd wake up in the morning and for the first time I wouldn't have an office to go to. There would be no projects to research, memos to draft, partners to discuss issues with. I didn't have any idea where to go or what to do. I didn't want to see anyone I knew. I couldn't bear the thought of having to face their oh-so polite questions about what had happened and false concerns about what was I going to do.

The whistle of the teakettle sounded. A moment later, Keiko entered the room carrying a steaming white porcelain cup on a black-lacquered tray. I sniffed the air. "What's the fragrance? I've never smelled tea like it."

She winked as she handed me the cup and the tray. "My secret ingredient, a sleep inducer."

"Be right back. Need to check my e-mail." She walked out of the bedroom.

I set the tray on the futon and lifted the cup to my mouth. Heat stung my lips. I sat the hot cup on the tray and grabbed the remote control off the television. I flicked on the news and watched for a few minutes while the tea cooled.

After the sports report, I picked up the cup, blew on it to make sure it was cool, and tasted a little of the tea. It tasted the same as the fragrance. Not disagreeable, but not something I'd drink on a regular basis. I finished and sat the empty cup back on the tray. In a few seconds my eyelids became heavy. I stretched out on the futon, fluffed up a pillow, and closed my eyes.

When I awoke the next morning, the sun already hung above the Berkeley hills. Keiko lay snuggled against me. When she saw my eyes open, she laid her hand on my cheek. "No matter what happens, remember I'll always love you."

She kissed me and rolled off the futon. "I'll fix breakfast. After you fell asleep, I came up with an idea you'll like. Tell you about it over coffee." She grabbed her crimson silk kimono robe off the hook on the bathroom door and walked out.

She was trying to prevent this morning from being depressing, but that was impossible. After thirty years of my life had been ripped away, nothing could console me. At least I'd slept soundly, no dreams. I might have gone crazy if I'd had another one of those dreams. And the mere thought of Quant gave me the heebie-jeebies. I never wanted to see him again, in a dream or in real life.

I rolled out of bed and slipped on the white cotton robe Keiko kept for me in the closet. I joined her at the kitchen table. She sat silhouetted by the morning sunlight streaming through the window behind her. She looked like a delicate porcelain doll created just for me.

I settled into the chair next to her. The sunlight warmed my back. She poured me a cup of black coffee. "Hobie, you need to do something to take your mind off what's happened. I've got a great idea. Last night I received an e-mail from an old acquaintance who lives in Provence: Jean-Marie Courtois. He wanted to know if I'd be interested in a private collection of Rhône wines he has for sale.

"I can't leave my store now. You know Rhône wines as well as anyone. You love the south of France. Go for me."

She cast a conspiratorial grin. "You can stay for a few days in the apartment of one of my Parisian friends. Then take the TGV to Avignon. The message said I could stay with Jean-Marie and his wife, Mireille, at their home in Bonnieux." She was talking so fast I couldn't get a word in even if I wanted. "I'm sure they'd welcome you to stay there too. You'd like him. He's a retired history professor. Taught for decades at Cité Universitaire in Aix-en-Provence. You'd have time to relax, think, put all of this in perspective."

I didn't know if she contrived this trip or not, but the prospect of going to France seemed like a perfect solution. If I stayed in San Francisco, I'd only be miserable. Plus if I slipped out of the country, Quant wouldn't be able to find me. After a few days, Brad would realize I wasn't going to report him to the bar and decide to call off this nonsense before I returned.

"And, if you enjoy scouting out wines, we could form a business to import Rhône wines. We'd have fun together," she said.

My spirits rose. I hadn't been to Paris or Provence for years. Work had always seemed too pressing to take time for a vacation. Now that I didn't have to worry about work, I could immerse myself in French food and wine and take as much time as I needed to gain some perspective on my situation and decide what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. If I enjoyed this excursion scouting out wines, I could start a business with the woman I loved.

Keiko tilted her head and waited for me to agree. I couldn't refuse. I put my arm around her shoulders, pulled her close. "Thanks," I said. "You always know what's best for me."

I spent the rest of the day preparing to leave. I bought an airplane ticket to Paris, drove to Mill Valley to pack my bags and then back to Keiko's apartment. I checked constantly to make sure that Quant wasn't following me. Keiko drove me to the airport and I caught the 9:00 p.m. flight to Paris. For the second time in three days, I took a red-eye flight and fell asleep before take-off.

-15-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"I'm sure you know what happened when I fell asleep on the plane."

" _Oui_. _Une rêve_ , one dream. And before you commence, I am certain you know I have some questions."

He flashes a condescending smile. I wonder if he intends for that smile to remind me of Brad Hale and thinks it'll unnerve me. But it's a good sign. He hasn't walked out.

"Yeah." I steel myself for the inevitable psychobabble. How it must have been devastating to lose my job after thirty years. How I must have blamed Brad Hale and craved revenge. Talk about obvious. What'd they think? That I'd send Brad a thank you note? Of course I wanted revenge. Who wouldn't? Not that I'd kill him. The best revenge I could've imagined was to steal all of his precious clients, except Morgado.

"You say _Mademoiselle_ Nidara had a notebook computer on her desk. You called it funky. Do you know the brand?"

He must think I'll make up some brand that doesn't exist. I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know. Keiko was the computer nerd, not me. She was always joking that even though it was ancient by today's standards, it was still better than any of the new models."

He taps the corner of his mouth with his forefinger. "Did it look the same as the computer in the attic of _Monsieur_ Lott?"

Another of Avril's off-the-wall questions. What do a couple of computers have to do with the veracity of my story? "Similar. Both were ivory colored. Quincy's might have been smaller. But then, all computers look alike to me."

"Did they have the logo on them?"

I roll my eyes. "Nope. No logo. No name."

"I suppose not. Without the doubt, not a brand with the large distribution." He chuckles.

I shrug. His French sense of humor escapes me.

"When _Mademoiselle_ Nidara mention Jean-Marie and Mireille Courtois, did you recognize the names?"

"No. She'd lived in France before she moved to San Francisco and had a lot of French friends. But she never mentioned Jean-Marie or Mireille Courtois."

He glances at his watch. "Tell to me the next dream."

I feel some relief; he's staying. But the way he keeps looking at his watch makes me think he's more interested at this point in catching a train back to Paris than hearing about aliens in a damaged space ship.

-16-

Royal Cruiser Dhanus II

Location Unknown

I stood next to Mirae and peered at the Dhanus' control terminal. Zhun'Mar and Caykondra sat at the command table. No one spoke as we waited for the recon probe to emerge from behind the third planet of the solar system and transmit the data it had gathered. We would soon learn whether the planet was habitable.

I returned to my chair at the table and poured myself a glass of white simulator wine. Mirae had managed somehow to clean up the debris from the fall through the Cavities and rerouted the computers so that most of the ship functioned normally. With talent and single-minded like determination like Mirae's available, I refused to accept that there could be no return to Tirano. Even with the damage to the Dhanus' sails, I wouldn't give up. I'd promised father on his deathbed that I'd do everything humanly possible to keep Zhun'Mar on the Golden Vine Throne. There had to be a way to return. I'd find it, even if I had to search the rest of my life.

Zhun'Mar stroked his beard and frowned at me. "Tarnlot, don't you think you've had enough sim-wine? You've been guzzling it for deci. I need you thinking clearly so you can analyze what the probe finds. You've always found a solution in the past."

Found a solution. The words only served to increase my guilt. I swallowed another mouthful of sim-wine. It tasted bitter. If I'd let Zhun'Mar keep the child, we wouldn't be stranded in this unknown galaxy. With a solution like that, who wants to be sober?

Without looking up from the terminal, Mirae began to speak. "The probe confirms that the planet meets our requirements. Oxygen levels sufficient for breathing, livable temperatures, abundance of water and vegetation. Most surprisingly, even in this unknown galaxy, humanoids inhabit the planet. With the help of our neuros, we should be able to blend in without difficulty."

Zhun'Mar wrinkled his forehead. "That's strange. I've never read anything in the archives about any humanoid attempts to colonize outside our galaxy."

Mirae pulled on her ear lobe. "I don't know how they got here. They haven't developed space flight. But given the advanced stage of industrialization, they must be very intelligent. It appears to be a promising planet."

I lifted the glass of sim-wine. "I hope it's more promising than this verjuice." I gulped down its contents. My thoughts hated the idea of being stranded on a world with only sim-wine to help me keep my sanity. "Before I die I'd give anything to taste a glass of red wine fermented from grapes grown on a hillside vineyard."

"You may get your wish. The probe detected extensive planting of the vine on the planet's surface," Mirae replied without emotion. She turned on the chamber's holocom and projected a view from the probe of a blue-and-white streaked planet.

My adrenalin surged at the news of the vine, and at the sight of the planet. It resembled Tirano without the Encircling Belts. "How can you be so emotionless, Mirae? This is a miracle." I clapped Zhun'Mar on the back. "Humans in a different galaxy with the vine. Ghaeah is watching out for us. When we figure out how to return to Tirano, we'll take back some rootstock to replant the vineyards. If it works, all of Tirano will celebrate. Wine from the fruit of the vine will again grace every table. We can maintain bubo immunity."

Mirae turned back to the terminal screen. "I see no good news in any of this, Lord Chancellor. We may survive, but no one returns from the Black Cavities. We must face reality. The King will be stranded on this world while Tirano must defend against the Radani without his leadership."

Caykondra snorted. "His leadership? Because of his leadership we're about to be stranded on a backward planet in some unknown galaxy. If the Radani try anything, the admirals will do fine on their own."

I wasn't in a mood to endure another shouting match between Caykondra and Mirae. Not with my head throbbing from sim-wine. I needed to think of something that would calm Caykondra. Before I could speak, the concussion of an explosion shook the command chamber. The ship pitched forward. I grabbed the edge of the table to keep from tumbling out of my chair. The empty glass slipped out of my hand. It crashed onto the floor and shattered.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mirae knocked off her feet. Caykondra and Zhun'Mar grasped the edge of the table and held tight until the ship stabilized. Mirae sprang to her feet and stared at the terminal. Zhun'Mar turned to her, his face ashen. "Did the nuke boosters fail too?" he asked.

I didn't think so. The concussion sounded like an exterior explosion. I watched Mirae enter commands on the terminal and read the results. She clenched her fists. "A Tamok inter-galactic chaser approaches from our rear and is closing fast," she said. "It must have fired as soon as it was in range."

"Fire a warning missile before they get any closer," Zhun'Mar shouted. For the first time I saw anger blaze in his eyes. "Let them know that no quarter will be given."

Mirae pushed a launcher on the weapons panel. She pushed a second time, harder. Nothing. She tried another control, clenched her fists. "Their missile must have damaged the launch controls. Number one won't respond. Number two won't fire automatically. I think I can reroute a command around the damaged circuits and launch an imploder rocket. Gain me some time."

Zhun'Mar turned to me. "Any suggestions?"

I rubbed my forehead in hopes it'd wipe away the buzzing from the sim-wine. "If they wanted to destroy our cruiser, they would have fired more than one missile. It's as though they only wanted to get our attention.

"I bet Mhorg forced one of his mine prisoners to chase us through the Cavities. Poor man probably knows he and his crew can't return and wants an ally in this universe. He must want to talk to us. Open a communication channel. See what happens."

Caykondra nodded in agreement. Zhun'Mar looked at the ceiling. I hoped he wasn't entering one of his self-debating, indecisive moods. As if he heard my thoughts, he lowered his gaze and looked at me. "I hope you're right, we can use some help."

He turned towards Mirae. "Make contact. But continue to repair the launch controls in case we're opening ourselves up for another volley."

Zhun'Mar walked around the table to stand in front of the holocom projector. He motioned for Caykondra and me to sit at the table. Zhun'Mar stood tall and erect, his arms at his side to display the Royal Golden Vines embroidered on his robe. My heart beat increased as I wondered who would appear: a rational person who would listen to a King or a blood-thirsty Tamok goon who would try to kill a King?

"Contact," Mirae said.

Zhun'Mar stared into the projector. "Commence vid transmission." The green transmission light flashed in the projector.

"I am Zhun'Mar Arvor, King of Tirano. Identify yourself."

No holo projected for several lacti. My thoughts questioned whether I'd miscalculated again and had entered another trap. A projection swirled and three holo images appeared. A bottomless pit formed in my stomach. Mhorg sat at the cruiser's control panel, stroking his goatee with his forefinger and thumb. Bhradvin, his square jaw covered with unshaven stubble, sat beside Mhorg. Quant stood behind them, his uniform wrinkled and his hair uncombed.

Mhorg's blue eyes moved up and down examining Zhun'Mar for a moment before he spoke. "Don't look so shocked," Mhorg said in a masculine version of Mirae's raspy voice. "Your collision with the grav-field dragged us into the Cavities too."

Mhorg paused, drew back his lips into a mocking smile that bared his white teeth. "Luckily for us, your ship bore the brunt of the fall through the Cavities. It shot you so far out that it took some time to locate you and chase you down."

As Mhorg spoke, I tried to analyze what was happening. Mhorg was sitting openly at the table and not hidden behind a grav-field terminal. He must have scanned our cruiser and detected the launcher malfunction. He thinks he's in no danger and doesn't need to engage the grav-field or shroud. Hopefully, Mhorg miscalculated and Mirae will reroute the launcher circuits.

Mhorg folded his arms and sat back in his chair. He nodded at Bhradvin. "Now that we're here, we have some business to conclude."

Bhradvin slowly lifted his forefinger and dramatically lowered it to a launch control on his terminal. "That first missile was a little reminder that you can't escape this time," he said with his ever-present smirk. "And if you don't get off that ship soon, the nuke boosters' are going to explode. So, I'll explain your two options a second time, just in case you've forgotten.

"Option one. Zhun'Mar surrenders the Butcher Tarnlot to us for delivery to the Radani, and then delivers the Golden Vine Ring and abdicates his throne in favor of Mhorg. Option two. Refuse and die. Accept the first option, and as soon as Zhun'Mar hands over the Golden Vine Ring, we'll permit Zhun'Mar, the Vhirko, and the witch to launch a pinnace to the planet. Looks like an archaic place compared to Arvor Castel, but at least they'll have a chance to live."

I glaced at Mirae. She continued to work on the weapons panel. I had to do something to gain more time, and see if I could get Bhradvin to reveal how they were going to return to our galaxy.

I sprung out of the chair and fixed my eyes on Bhradvin. "As a Lord Chancellor, Bhradvin, surely you are aware of Article 23(bb)(2)(iii) of the Vharsa Convention. It specifically provides that any abdication of a head of state must be pursuant to written terms. Subitem (F)(1) of Article 23(bb)(2)(iii) goes on to specify that the abdicating head of state, through his Lord Chancellor, must be provided time to draft such written terms. Subitem (F)(2) requires that the Lord Chancellor drafting the written terms be provided no less than four deci to do so. I demand the four deci." I knew this argument was absurd, but it already had bought a few lacti.

Bhradvin exploded in disdainful laughter. "The great Tarnlot. So you can quote galactic law, verse by boring verse. I have news for you. You're in no position to hide behind the niceties of law. No pompous recitation of that meaningless garbage can save you."

Mhorg held up his hand to stop Bhradvin and spoke to me through clenched teeth. "Damn your unremitting arrogance." Mhorg's eyes exuded hatred. Acid surged in my stomach. His hatred wanted to consume my being, and I didn't blame him. If anyone had a right to hate me, Mhorg did.

"Tell them. Tell them who I am. Why I hate you so much. Why since the day I was born I've plotted my revenge. Why I would turn you over to the Radani," he stated without inflection. His blood flowed with the same ice as his mother's.

I stared at Mhorg. His black hair matched Zhun'Mar's; his short, wiry build inherited from Mirae. How could anyone miss the resemblances? What I had strived to keep secret since Mhorg's birth was about to explode in my face. My only hope was to delay long enough for Mirae to launch the imploder.

"You are Mhorg Lok, Overlord of the Tamok Mining." I paused. "And son of Ghorn Lok."

Mhorg pulled on his goatee. His eyes narrowed. "The truth. Tell them who my real father is."

I swallowed back the bile that rose up my throat, unable to utter a word. The vicious smile on Mhorg's face told me how much he enjoyed my agony and that he intended to stretch out my torture as long as possible.

Mhorg kept his eyes riveted on me. "When I was a small child, my wet nurse would rock me to sleep at nights. She'd tell me the story of how she had traveled with her master to a compound in the jagged Rwohn Mountains of Tirano. Late one night her master summoned her to accompany him to the compound's main residence where she saw the handsomest man she ever laid eyes on." Mhorg paused, the corner of his lip curled. "Tarnlot Arvor, the Radani Vanquisher. She stood there watching when milli after my birth you gave me to Ghorn Lok."

My knees buckled and I collapsed into my chair. My secret was exposed. Mhorg's eyes seemed to pin me in the chair. I could only imagine how long he'd had waited to confront me.

"Eventually," Mhorg's voice hardened. "I gained the courage to confront Ghorn. He claimed it didn't matter who my biological father was. That what was important was the person I was and what I did with my opportunities. I laughed in his face and told him he was a fool. What would he know about what it was like to know how it felt to be denied my rightful place at Arvor Castel? He was the only son of a Mhargrava and had all the advantages of such a high station. I'd been denied my proper station in life.

"He put his arm around my shoulder and told me I needed to talk to grandmother." He eyes narrowed with a pure hate that he fixed on Zhun'Mar. "I was not the first Arvor son to be abandoned."

"Damn you, Tarnlot." Zhun'Mar said in a cold undertone. His eyes filled with compassion as he turned to look at Mhorg. He extended a hand, palm up, toward Mhorg.

"If only I had known, if you had contacted me. I would have righted your situation," Zhun'Mar said softly. "Please let the hatred end here. No one needs to die."

The corner of Mhorg's lip twitched. "You're a pompous old fogy." He paused. "Uncle Zhun'Mar. Any idiot with half a brain would've known what you Arvors do with your unwanted bastards. You send them to the most desolate mining world you can find. Well, now that you know, hand my father over to me and I'll let you, the Vhirko, and the witch live."

It took a moment before my thoughts registered Mhorg's words. Not even Mhorg knew the truth.

Zhun'Mar turned a cold glare to me. "You had a son," Zhun'Mar's voice shook. "No wonder you knew what to do." He glanced over his shoulder at Mirae. The muscle along his jaw rippled.

I followed Zhun'Mar's glance at Mirae. She appeared absorbed in her effort to bring the missile launcher on-line and oblivious to what Mhorg had said. She turned her head toward the command table and nodded slightly. I hoped the nod meant she had completed her reroute, and not that she knew the truth.

She glanced at the holos, did a double take. Her eyes squinted at Mhorg as if she was analyzing his every feature, searching for resemblances. She stepped to the table and laid her hand on Zhun'Mar's shoulder. I had to act fast, before she pieced it all together and spoke. I sprang out of the chair and leaped to the control terminal. I punched the launch button. The missile whooshed out its tube.

I turned to watch the holos. Bhradvin's eyes widened and his jaw dropped as he realized what had happened. In less than a myria an explosion resounded. The holos of Mhorg, Bhradvin, and Quant recoiled. Mhorg grabbed the table and managed to remain in his seat, his eyes narrowed to slits as he continued to watch me. Quant crumpled to his knees. Bhradvin was flung out of his chair and crashed to the floor, landing on his hip and leg. He slowly raised himself to a sitting position, his right leg twisted unnaturally with bone piercing the skin. Flames erupted behind them. The control terminal thudded to the floor, barely missed the prone Bhradvin. Bhradvin's eyes darted back and forth and he grimaced in pain. He had to be in shock to keep from screaming in agony.

"Help him, Quant," Mhorg ordered. "Carry him to the escape pod, before it's too late."

Quant's stubby muscular arms lifted Bhradvin off the floor. Mhorg glared in my direction. The smoke blurred the holos and the audio crackled with interference. "You've never cared about me or the birthright you denied me. All I ever wanted was to live in Arvor Castel as the son of the Radani Vanquisher. Have you ever wondered how what you did affected me? How I felt knowing my father rejected me and sent me to the outer corner of the universe?" His upper lip curled. "I doubt you ever have, but I have thought of nothing else."

He pointed a finger at me. "May your soul be damned for eternity," he said stressing every word. He continued to glare at me. Quant reached out a hand and grasped his arm. Mhorg turned and followed Quant. They disappeared behind the smoke and flames.

The holo of flames sizzled and sparked for a few myria before it vanished. I realized Mirae stood beside me, her eyes raked my face.

"I had to," I said. "I couldn't permit Zhun'Mar to release the Golden Vine Ring."

Her cobalt-blue eyes seemed to reach into the depths of my soul. Her lips quivered and I knew it took all of her self-control to keep from strangling me. She turned her back on the others. "You broke your word," she whispered. "You pledged to do all in your power to see that no harm would ever come to him."

"I had to choose as I did," I said in a consoling tone. "I promised Father I would never let anyone take the Golden Vine Throne from Zhun'Mar. I couldn't break that promise anymore than you can break your oath to protect the King?"

Without responding, she turned to the control terminal. Her shoulders moved up and down. "We've lost contact with their ship," she said to Zhun'Mar. "It'll implode at any moment." She studied the terminal. "An escape pod's ejected toward the planet below."

Zhun'Mar stared at where the holos had been. Tears rolled down his face. "What kind of monster are you? How many innocent people will die because of what you did to your own child?"

I didn't speak. No reply could justify my actions or make things better. Nor could I tell Zhun'Mar the truth. It would destroy him. I was indeed a monster who should be damned for eternity.

Mirae pounded the control terminal with her fist. I took a step back, afraid that her self-control had snapped and that she intended to kill me. Even if I tried to defend myself, I'd be no match for her Vhirko rage. Only Zhun'Mar could order her to stop, and for the first time in my life, I didn't know if he would.

"The concussion from their missile accelerated the deterioration of the boosters' coolant tank," Mirae said in her dispassionate monotone. She had resumed her duty mode, protecting the King. "The core's superheating. The ship's going to explode. We've only got five milli to evacuate. Pray to Ghaeah that it's enough time to launch the pinnace."

She dashed to Zhun'Mar, grabbed his arm, and pulled him toward the chamber's door. Caykondra followed. I didn't. I knew what I must do. A final atonement. I ran to the control panel.

"You need every myria," I yelled at their backs. "I'll start the depressurization of the landing bay from here. As soon as you're in the pinnace, signal. I'll complete the depressurization and open the landing bay doors. That should save you at least a milli. I'll follow in the escape pod."

My hand shook as I touched the terminal. "Hurry," I shouted. I knew it would take a miracle for enough time to remain for me to re-pressurize the landing bay, then depressurize and eject in the escape pod.

Mirae shoved Zhun'Mar and Caykondra through the door and down the hall. She turned her head toward me. "None of this would ever have happened if you'd permitted him to keep the child. Instead, you made sure his life on Tirano was tortured by guilt. Every time he looked at the Golden Vine Ring he knew he'd abandoned his son because you would not let him abdicate. Yet, you were always there so others could see his inadequacies compared to the great Radani Vanquisher. Now, you've made sure he can never return. Thanks to you, his legacy will be as the king who cost Tirano the Golden Vine Ring."

Her eyes exuded the same hatred that Mhorg's had. "I never want to see you again. If I do, I will strangle you with my bare hands. As far as Zhun'Mar ever needs to know, Tarnlot Arvor dies when this ship explodes. Without you around, I may be able to help him find the happiness you always found a way to deny him."

I watched her disappear. She spoke true. I'd forfeited my right to live. I'd failed to keep my two most sacred promises: my promise to father to keep Zhun'Mar on the Golden Vine Throne and my promise to see that Zhun'Mar and Mirae's child was fostered where he could flourish as his own person. I'd failed and Zhun'Mar was the one who suffered the consequences.

Mirae and Mhorg were both correct. I deserved to be banished for eternity in the blackest pit of the Cavities. I would make my peace with the Ghaeah and wait for the ship to explode.

I turned to the control panel and punched in instructions to begin depressurization of the landing bay.

"Security access denied. Palm verification and personal password required," the computer flashed.

"Damn computer," I shouted. With all of the force I could muster, I pressed my hand flat on the terminal. "Tarnlot Arvor, Lord Chancellor, code red wine."

"Access granted. Enter command," the computer screen responded.

I reentered the command to commence depressurization. As the pressure gradient for the landing bay fell, I tried to pray to the Ghaeah. No words reached my lips. Praying amounted to a waste of my and Ghaeah's time. Not even She could grant peace for my soul. I was damned for eternity to the blackest pit of the Cavities.

In frustration I pounded my fingers on the terminal until the pressure reached the minimum survivable level. When it did, I stopped the depressurization and waited for the signal that Zhun'Mar had reached the pinnace. At last it came.

I punched the commands to complete depressurization and to open the landing bay doors. The monitor displayed the oval-shaped pinnace emerge out of the landing bay. It accelerated out of sight. "They're safe," I whispered, glad that I had aided their escape. Out of habit, I closed the landing bay doors and recommenced pressurization.

The ship would explode in myria. I closed my eyes to prepare for death. Visions of my Rwohn vineyard before poxxra devastation popped into my mind. The vine grew on the planet. It beckoned. The desire to taste the fruit of the vine again before I died consumed my being. Eternal damnation can wait. It's a big world down there, my thoughts screamed. They'll never have to see me. With luck I can steal a brief time of happiness before facing damnation.

I opened my eyes and scrambled toward the chamber door. I skidded to stop halfway there and ran back to the command terminal. I ejected the archive with the flight data, unlatched the palmputer, and stuffed them in the pocket of my robe. Something told me they might be useful.

I turned for the door. The floor buckled under my legs and my legs slipped out from under me. I crashed on my knees. Pain erupted on my knee caps and sped up my legs and spine. I slumped to the floor. Pieces of the ceiling crashed around me. Scalding smoke poured in. The chamber blackened. Hot, smoky air rushed into my lungs. Death was near, eagerly searching for my soul.

I pictured the vine on the planet. No way would I die without a fight, not with the vine within reach. I coughed to force the burning air out of my lungs and held my breath to keep from inhaling any more of the smoke. Black spots formed in my eyes. I knew I couldn't take a breath or I'd suffocate. I'd pass out in myria unless I could make it to the hallway.

I willed my legs to stand. One slogging step followed another until I bumped against the door. I lowered my shoulder and rammed the door. It swung open and I fell into the hall. I kicked the door shut with my foot and greedily gulped fresh air.

The ship's emergency lights flickered on and off, on and off, down the length of the hall. The warning klaxon's computer voice blared: "Nuclear core explosion imminent. Abandon ship. Abandon ship. One hundred myria. Ninety-nine myria."

I ignored the klaxon's countdown. Despite the aching of my lungs and legs, I sprinted through the hall until I reached the landing bay door. My hands grasped the handle of the door and I hoped the bay had re-pressurized. If not, the instant I opened the door I'd be sucked into the void of space.

Without hesitating, I spun the handle. The latch cracked open and I charged into the landing bay. My feet hit solid floor. I'd survived so far, but knew that only a few myria remained. The lights flashed and I glimpsed the escape pod. I sprinted to it, yanked open its door.

"Fifty myria," blared the klaxon. I vaulted into the pod and latched the door. I didn't waste time to strap myself into the back facing seat. Instead, the instant I landed in the seat, I fired the emergency eject command.

The blast of the landing bay doors blowing pierced my eardrums, followed by the suck of the vacuum of space. The pod catapulted out of the landing bay.

The pressure of ejection clamped my body like a vise and pinned me in the seat. My ribs threatened to snap at any moment. Through the accelerating pod's rear window I watched the ship erupt into a molten ball. Enormous chunks of metallic debris hurtled in all directions. Before the debris reached the speeding pod, the explosion's shock wave rammed into the pod and knocked it into a headlong tumble.

The spin slung me forward. I strained to raise an arm toward the flight controls. With out-stretched fingers I entered commands to stabilize the pod. The planet's gravitational field grasped the pod and slammed me back against the seat before I could complete the commands. Gravity tugged the pod into an uncontrolled plummet through the planet's outer atmosphere. Sweat dripped into my eyes and fear roiled my thoughts. Death continued to stalk me. If I couldn't stabilize the pod, it would crash on the planet's surface and eternal damnation would seize my soul.

-17-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

My pulse is pounding and my lower back is screaming for relief. I'm not sure if I'm reacting from recalling the dream or from sitting for so many hours every day on this unpadded steel chair. "Is it okay if I stand and stretch?"

Avril's head is lowered and he's writing on his notepad. " _Oui_ ," he says without looking up.

My knees pop as I stand. I lean on the table and roll my head back and forth. I stretch my arms and wait for his questions. He's probably doodling while he desperately tries to think of an insightful question.

He looks up at me, wrinkles his forehead. "Mhorg is the son of Zhun'Mar and Mirae, but they do not know. _Mais_ , _Monsieur_ Mhorg, he thinks he is your son. You know he is not. Ah, but you refuse to speak of it. _D'accord_?"

I nod. "That's the gist of it. Mirae knew, but she'd never say so to anyone but me."

Avril rubs his mustache. "Oh, la, la. This is one soap opera _américain_."

I swallow my reaction to tell him what he can do to himself. I won't respond to his baiting about Americans, or the truth of my story. I try, probably unsuccessfully, to keep my irritation from showing in the squint of my eyes.

"Do you know what the landing pinnace look like?"

I close my eyes. Not to picture the pinnace, but to hide my annoyance at his continual sophomoric jumps between unrelated subjects. "Yeah. I saw a picture of it on the control terminal as it exited the landing bay. It was the same shape as the mother ship, but without any of the sail paraphernalia. Its only power source was nuclear."

Dr. Avril writes something on his notepad. "Do you know the nucleon number of the fuel?"

"It's what?"

"The sum of the number of the neutrons and the protons in the atomic nucleus. It permits one to identify the source."

I roll my eyes. "What do you think I am, a nuclear physicist?"

He grits his teeth and glares at me. "Perhaps, the memories Tarnlot, they know."

I shouldn't have been so flippant. He might walk out. I quickly shake my head in response. "Sorry, nothing," I say contritely and hope it'll keep him from leaving.

He looks at his notes, frowns. "Continue, _s'il vous plaît_ ," he says.

I let out a breath of relief and focus on Paris.

-18-

Paris

"Wake up, monsieur," a female voice squawked in my ear. "We have arrived at Charles de Gaulle Airport. You must deplane."

I opened my eyes, rubbed the tingling itch on the back of my head. A blue uniformed stewardess stood in the aisle giving me an exasperated look that indicated I no longer flew the friendly skies. My whole body ached from sleeping the entire flight stuffed into a cramped airplane seat. I yawned and stretched my arms and legs. It didn't help that I'd had another weird dream. Every joint in my body screamed with pain as though I'd been the one ejected out of a space ship in a little metal pod.

Despite my aches and pains, I managed to stand and yanked my two blue-cloth carryons from the overhead compartment. I thought I'd packed lightly and that cloth carryons couldn't weigh much. I'd forgotten that after eleven hours on a plane a bag always feels as though its weight has doubled. I should've borrowed Keiko's bags with wheels.

In a daze, I passed through the terminal, thankful for the escalator tubes that carried me to baggage claim. After clearing customs, I walked outside to morning sunshine filtered through gray clouds and pleasant sixty degrees temperature. A good omen: a perfect fall day to start my French sojourn.

For a moment I contemplated taking the train to Gare du Nord and a subway from there to the Left Bank. Every particle of my body rejected the idea. Instead, I joined the swarm of people at the taxi stand. I waited diligently in a ragged line while people constantly cut in front and hogged the taxis. After five minutes of being a patsy, exasperation overcame politeness and I pushed my way through several people who had crowded in front of me. I hopped into a taxi and slammed the door. One of the cutters, a gray-haired matron dressed in a fur coat and high heels, banged on the window. She screamed " _merde_ " and made a rude gesture at me as the taxi pulled away from the curb. I chuckled. Compared to Quant, her threats seemed comical. He would've torn the door off its hinges and yanked me out by the throat.

" _Où_?" the driver asked.

It took me a moment to stop thinking of Quant and realize the driver wanted to know where to take me. "Rue St. Dominique, _s'il vous plaît_ ," I said in my best French.

" _D'accord_ ," the driver responded. " _Américain, oui_?"

" _Oui_ ," I said. A wolfish grin on the driver's face told me the American would pay for the long and scenic route to rue St. Dominique. I should have viewed a map of the route from the airport to the apartment so that my eidetic memory would know if he was taking a direct route. I doubt that he did. The taxi's meter registered several hundred francs by the time it pulled up to the address Keiko gave me for the apartment building.

As the taxi drove off I gazed west down rue St. Dominique. Four and five story buildings with gray slate mansard roofs lined the narrow, curving street. The top three-quarters of the steely-gray Eiffel Tower soared above the buildings. My adrenaline surged at the sight, and magically, I didn't feel sore or tired. I promised myself I wouldn't think about my problems. I was in the City of Light and no one could keep me from enjoying its grandeur.

I sat my two bags on the sidewalk and reached into my pocket for the door key. Keiko told me the building's metal entry doors were heavy. So, following her instructions, I stuck the key in the lock, turned the key with one hand, and simultaneously pushed the button for the door buzzer with my other hand. The lock released and with my shoulder I pushed the door open.

I stepped into a passageway of worn cobblestones that led to a sunlit courtyard surrounded by five stories of a tan-stucco building. How could such a plain, almost ugly, entry hide such a jewel? Flower boxes teeming with red geraniums decorated the windowsills overlooking the courtyard. In the middle of the courtyard, water sparkled in a rectangular wading pool. I basked in the courtyard's serenity. I'd found an oasis far away from Brad Hale and his goon Quant.

Keiko warned me that I'd be staying on the third floor and the building didn't have an elevator. Even with her warning, I wasn't prepared for the ordeal of carrying my bags up the steep and narrow staircase. Judging by the black streaks and dings on the walls, I wasn't the first to struggle up these stairs.

By the time I reached the third floor, I gasped for air and drops of sweat trickled down my nose. If the apartment was on the other side of the building, I'd collapse from exertion and someone would find two carryon bags and a body sprawled on the hallway linoleum. Each door had silver metal numbers tacked on it, and with relief, I spotted the number for my apartment two doors from the stairs. I lugged the suitcases to the door and unlocked it.

The door opened to the flat's living room. Despite a sparse appearance, the apartment appeared functional. A white wooden table with two chairs sat under a mullioned window that overlooked the courtyard. On the opposite side of the room, a single black futon was pushed against the interior wall. At the end of the futon closest to the door, a black push-button telephone set on the floor on two phone books: one, white pages, and the other, yellow pages. There were no end tables or lamps, only a single ceiling light. I flicked a switch next to the door to check if the light worked. It cast a dim pool of light on the futon.

I dropped my suitcases on the uncarpeted wooden floor and stared out the living room window. There would be no privacy if I left the drapes open. The window provided an easy view into all of the apartments on the opposite side of the courtyard. Most of the drapes in the other apartment windows were open. I couldn't see any activity even though they all showed signs of being lived in: unmade beds, dirty dishes in sinks or on kitchen tables, vases filled with fresh cut flowers.

Even with its lack of amenities, especially an elevator, I'd fallen in love with the idea of spending at least a week in the apartment. Its picturesque cobblestone courtyard, mullioned windows, and flower-filled window boxes evoked eighteenth century Paris. Plus, it had an ideal Left Bank location near the Eiffel Tower and some of the best bistros in Paris.

The thought of French food caused my stomach to growl and reminded me that I'd slept through the meals on the plane. I wouldn't enjoy anything unless I had some food in my stomach and a cup of coffee to reinvigorate me.

The taxi had driven by a _pâtisserie_ , Millet, a few buildings down the street. Keiko had recommended Millet as one of the best pastry shops on the Left Bank. An espresso and a _pain au chocolat_ would be a perfect way to celebrate my arrival.

Under the cloudy sky, I headed down rue St. Dominique. In the short distance to the _pâtisserie_ I had to avoid several messes left by dogs on the sidewalk and understood why the French say " _merde_ " so frequently. With unstained feet I entered Millet. A glass display case stretched the length of the spotless shop. The display case teemed with flaky croissants and _pain au chocolat_ , puffy _éclairs_ , and a bounty of other tantalizing pastries. I bent over for a closer view and the seductive aromas of butter and chocolate rose from the case.

A waitress approached. " _Vous choissez, monsieur_?"

" _Oui_." I pointed to the tray filled with _pain au chocolat_. " _Une_ , and, uh, _une café_."

" _Merci, monsieur_." She pointed to a row of silver-plated tables and chairs along the opposite wall. "Please have the seat. I weel bring to you," she said pleasantly. My American accent must have been noticeable even in those few words.

No one sat in the salon area so I took a table that faced the door. The waitress brought my espresso and pastry and I tasted France: deliciously strong, burnt-flavored espresso and a delicate, buttery pastry stuffed with creamy chocolate.

I was on my last bite of _pain au chocolat_ when a wiry old man with a black beret perched atop shoulder-length white hair walked into the shop. In his black shirt and pants he stood straight-backed in front of the counter, his head held high. Except for the stroking of his white beard, he stood as if at attention. I figured he must be a retired military officer, probably navy, given the long hair and scraggly beard.

I finished the last sip of my coffee, and despite the temptation, decided not to have another pastry. I promised myself, though, that I'd return in the morning for breakfast. I walked to the cash register, paid the waitress, and headed for the door.

" _Au revoir, monsieur_ ," the waitress said as I opened the door.

Keiko stressed that the French consider it discourteous not to say good-by whenever leaving a shop, so I turned to the waitress. " _Au revoir, madame_." I glanced at the old man to say good-by to him, but he had his back turned to me.

Late morning shadows covered rue St. Dominique. I didn't want to return to the apartment and remembered that I could walk to the open-air market at rue Cler in less than five minutes. The market would remain open all morning, so I'd have plenty of time to browse.

The market remained exactly as I remembered. Merchant stalls lined both sides of the street and the smells of fresh produce and flowers permeated the air. I perused the butchers' stalls filled with fresh rabbits, Bresse chickens, legs of lamb; the vegetable stands with white and purple eggplants, wild mushrooms, white asparagus; the _fromage_ stalls with exotic goat and sheep milk cheeses. Each vendor hawked his or her products as " _le meilleur_ ," the freshest and finest in all of Paris.

Something new caught my eye, a wine store in a brick building behind the stalls. I wondered what treasures a wine store in the midst of the market might offer. When I entered, a clerk asked if he could help me locate anything. I asked where the Rhône wines were. He pointed to the back of the store. For a small store, it had an extensive selection of Rhône and Provençal wines. A label with a drawing of an old Provençal white stone _mas_ with a red tile roof caught my eye. I picked up the bottle and examined the label. I'd never heard of the winery, Château La Canorgue. It had a Bonnieux address so I decided to buy a bottle to drink later. If I enjoyed it, I'd visit the winery while I stayed in Bonnieux.

I exited the wine shop carrying the bagged bottle of wine. The old man I'd seen in Millet stood behind a vegetable stand on the other side of the street. He stared at me for a moment as if he recognized me. He turned and engaged a clerk in conversation, and I figured he must have remembered me from Millet. I chuckled to myself. The French are famous for sitting for hours over a single cup of espresso, but the old man must have chugged his to be at the market so soon.

I continued to browse the enticing stalls. Everything looked so fresh, I decided to prepare a list and return the next morning to buy the ingredients for a lamb daube. Before I'd had a chance to reach the last few stalls, the church bells rang noon and the market vendors began removing their goods and closing their stalls. I'd been so engrossed that I hadn't noticed that the gray clouds had evaporated and the sun shone directly overhead in a blue sky. I didn't want to waste such a beautiful day, so I decided to walk the few blocks to the Eiffel Tower. The views would be stunning, and for the next couple of hours, the hordes of Japanese and German tourists with their ubiquitous Nikons would be eating lunch. The Tower's observation platforms would be deserted.

I entered Champs-de-Mar near the École Militaire. I'd forgotten the stunning beauty of Champ-de-Mars. Its green fields stretched from the classical facade of the École Militaire at one end to the gray eminence of Paris on the other end, the Eiffel Tower.

Inspired by the sight, I hurried down the gravel pathway to the Tower. Office workers sat on green benches along the path and ate their baguette sandwiches. I could almost taste a crusty loaf filled with brie. Several weeks of reveling in French cuisine would definitely lift my spirits.

When I reached the Tower, I realized that if I didn't exercise while I gorged on French food, I'd probably gain twenty pounds. As a result, I impulsively purchased a ticket to walk the open stairway to the first observation platform. I thought I'd enjoy the fresh air and the views from the stairs. By the time I reached the lookout on the first platform, I had to sag onto the metal railing to catch my breath. Sweat dripped down my arms and hands. I hoped the plastic sack with the wine wouldn't slip out of my hand and fall off the side of the Tower. I could see the headlines: American Bombs Unsuspecting Couple With Bottle of Côtes-du-Luberon. They'd never let me out of jail. Not because I hurt anyone, but because I wasted a good bottle of wine.

I tightened my grip and leaned against the railing to catch my breath. The view of the Right Bank made up for the strenuous trek. A panorama extended from the white cathedral domes of Sacré-Coeur shining on the peak of Montmartre to Pont d'Iena crossing the Seine in front of the Eiffel Tower. The view remained the same as the first time I'd seen it nineteen years earlier. Despite the breathtaking beauty of the view, the sad memories associated with that trip surfaced.

For the twelve months prior to that trip I'd lived a dream come true. I'd become Quincy's right hand man and worked with him on all of the firm's important matters. He made a big point out of telling me that I had exceeded his expectations as the firm's key researcher and draftsman. I savored every moment we worked together and I couldn't dream of practicing law without his guidance and knowledge.

Quincy talked me into to celebrating the first anniversary of my attaining partnership at L&P by taking a trip to Paris. While I traveled to Paris, Quincy took time off from the office to work the harvest at his Napa Valley vineyard. One evening when I returned to my room at the Crillon, a message from Robert Beresford awaited me. The Napa County sheriff had found Quincy's Mercedes on a seldom used lane high on Mount Saint Helena. Quincy's body lay in a nearby ravine. He was dead. Apparently, he'd had a stroke and was unable to get help.

I clutched the sack closer to my chest. Quincy must have appreciated my love of wine because in his will he bequeathed me his wine collection. What a treasure. On certain labels he even scrawled "open" and a date. With my photographic memory each of those labels and dates will never be forgotten. Another of his label notes would bring only bitter memories. On a bottle of his private zinfandel he wrote: "For Hobie's 25th Anniversary of Partnership." There would be no twenty-fifth anniversary to celebrate. Not even Quincy could ordain the future.

I reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and snatched my business cards. I didn't have any further need for them, or what they represented. I ripped them into shreds and flung them into a trash bin. Just as one dream ended nineteen years ago, I had to accept the end of my dream of continuing Quincy's legacy at Lott & Pembroke. I couldn't bring Quincy back to life, nor could I resuscitate the Lott & Pembroke that had drowned in Brad's greed. Neither was a phoenix waiting for me to raise it from its ashes.

For the first time I realized what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. Even though I loved Keiko, I'd never be intellectually fulfilled as a wine merchant. I was a lawyer, a damn good one. I wouldn't waste my talent because of Brad Hale and Jack Morgado. I'd start my own firm based on Quincy's principles. I'd show L&P, and especially Brad Hale, that law could still be practiced as a profession and not as a business interested only acquiring vast amounts of fees.

I also wouldn't let Brad intimidate me. If his goon continued to stalk me, I'd call Brad and threaten him with an injunction. I knew Brad well enough to know that he'd back off. He wouldn't want any bad publicity that might scare off some his fat-cat clients.

Nikons clicked behind me and chased me out of my thoughts. A flood of Japanese businessmen streamed out of the Jules Verne restaurant to pose for the obligatory pictures to record their visit. I pushed my way through the nearest pack and fled down the stairs. When I reached the ground, I needed something cold to drink. I bought an Orangina at a concession stand and plopped down on a green metal bench under the inviting shade of a tree. I took a big gulp of the Orangina and the fizz refreshed my parched throat. The setting was so relaxing that I was tempted to spend the rest of the afternoon sitting on the bench and watching people enjoy a normal life. A life I could partake of when I returned to San Francisco freed of the strife involving partners and clients that I couldn't respect.

I finished the Orangina and looked around for a trash bin. My head pivoted in a quick double take. The white haired old man sat at the end of a nearby bench and holding a copy of La Monde. When he saw me staring at him he squirmed and glanced back at the newspaper.

My first reaction was that he'd been following me. Perhaps he was a pickpocket, waiting for an opportunity to steal a wealthy American's wallet. I reached for my pocket to make sure that my wallet was there. I drew my hand back. I wouldn't permit my paranoia about people following me run rampant and ruin my enjoyment of Paris. He was only a harmless old man doing what he probably did every day. It'd only been a coincidence to see him so many times. In fact, there were undoubtedly other people I'd seen more that once already. I just remembered the little old man because of his distinctive appearance.

Satisfied that I didn't need to worry about being followed, I started up Champ-de-Mars to return to rue St. Dominique. I was hungry and decided I'd buy a baguette and some goat cheese and return to the apartment for a light lunch of bread and cheese. I'd even open the bottle of Château La Canorgue to celebrate my decision to open my own firm. I couldn't wait to tell Keiko.

When I reached the apartment, the door was partially open. I thought I'd pulled it shut and wondered if there was some special technique to latch it. I pushed the door open. "Oh shit," I said out loud. The futon was turned over, the table and chairs were shoved into the middle of the room, and my carryons opened and emptied. My clothes were strewn over the floor.

Four hours in Paris and someone had already broken in to rip me off. I was thankful that I kept my credit cards in my wallet, but the frigging thief had probably found my traveler's checks and passport in the suitcase and stolen them. Even though they could be replaced, all I could think of was how long it would take. At least a whole day in Paris ruined chasing around banks and the U.S. Embassy.

I decided to determine exactly what had been stolen before calling the police. I bent over the suitcase. To my surprise the checks and passport were laying next to the suitcase. I picked up the checks and flipped through them. They were all there. I let out a long sigh, relieved that I hadn't lost any thing of value while at the same time perplexed. The thief had found the only things of value and then left them behind. Maybe he was searching for jewelry, or maybe he just liked to trash apartments.

The telephone rang and my neck tensed. I wondered who'd be calling. Maybe someone from across the courtyard who'd seen the thief was calling to help. I picked up the phone. "Hello," I said anxiously.

" _Bonjour_ ," my favorite voice said. " _Je t'aime_."

Despite the mess in the apartment, I smiled. "I love you too, Keiko. Where are you? You sound like you're almost next door."

She giggled. "No, no. Guess it's a good connection."

I looked at my watch. It was almost two o'clock so it was five in the morning in San Francisco. Keiko never gets up that early. My heart beat faster. "Is something wrong? Has Brad or that goon threatened you?"

"No, everything's fine. I couldn't sleep and thought I'd call to make sure you arrived safely."

"Oh, I got here safely," I said. "Went out for a walk and some jerk broke into the apartment while I was gone. From what I can tell, he didn't take anything. It's strange, he found my traveler's checks and passport in suitcase, and then left them lying on the floor next to the suitcase."

"Thank goodness you're okay," Keiko said. I heard the buzz of another call on her phone. "Just a second. Let me get rid of whoever's calling." I heard the click of her taking the other call.

While I waited I looked out the window and across the courtyard. I thought my eyes would pop out of their sockets. The old man was standing in the apartment directly across from me talking on the phone. His head bobbed up and down as if he was shouting. At least there was an easy explanation why I'd seen him so much. He lived in the same building, and I'd undoubtedly see a lot more of him.

I heard a click and assumed Keiko was back on the line. She didn't speak. "Are you there?" I asked. "Keiko?"

"Something's gone terribly wrong." Her voice trembled. "Get out of there, Hobie. It's not safe in Paris. I'm afraid something will happen to you. Go to Bonnieux. Make sure no one follows you."

I'd never heard Keiko sound so terrified. She was overreacting. I had to calm her down. "Don't be silly. It's only a break in. The same thing could happen in Mill Valley."
"Just do it. Now," she said crossly.

I wasn't sure if she was mad at me or what had happened. When Keiko's upset, she can be so bull-headed that I decided not to argue. I'd just tell a little fib. "Oh, all right," I said. "I'll go to Bonnieux." I just didn't say when I'd go.

"Damn it, Hobie. Don't try to humor me. This isn't the time. You're going to have to trust me. You'll understand when you get to Bonnieux."

Keiko never cussed. I couldn't understand why she did now. Probably because she got out of bed too early. "I don't want to fight, Keiko. I promise I'll make reservations to go first thing in the morning."

I heard her breathing into the phone. I glanced across the courtyard. The old man was headed out his door. "Promise me you won't wonder around Paris alone," she said finally. "Stay in the apartment. And keep the door bolted. You'll be safe there."

This paranoia wasn't like Keiko. "Sure," I said. "I promise I won't take any chances."

"I'll call Bonnieux tomorrow to make sure you get there safely."

Before I could respond, she hung up. I shook my head. Not only was she the paranoid one now, I didn't have a chance to tell of my decision to start my own firm. Hopefully, she'd be in a better mood tomorrow.

Because nothing had been stolen, I decided not to call the police. I didn't think it'd be worth all of the hassle, especially with my rudimentary French. Instead, I picked up all of my clothes, refolded the pants and shirts, and re-packed them in the suitcase. When I finished, I pushed the table and chairs back and opened the window. Flecks of sunlight sparkled in the pool and the scent of the geraniums in the window's flower box drifted into the room. The tranquility beckoned me to sit at the table and unwind with a glass or two of wine and some bread and cheese.

A foray into the kitchen resulted in the retrieval of a corkscrew, a glass, and a knife. I returned to the table, pulled the cork, and poured a glass of the red wine. Wild Provençal thyme tinged its bouquet. I didn't need to take a small sip to know how it'd taste. It'd be spectacular.

After a drinking half the bottle of wine and eating most of the baguette and goat cheese, I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. An afternoon nap seemed too inviting to pass up. I stretched out on the futon. As soon as I closed my eyes, I began dreaming.

-19-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

Avril isn't taking any notes. " _Mon dieu, Monsieur_ Burrows. The apartment, it is broken into and ransacked. Your girl friend, she tells you it is not safe in Paris. _Et vous_? You lay down to sleep." He shakes his head slowly. "You are either very brave or extremely stupid."

His soft tone seems almost sympathetic rather than dubious. "Believe me. If I'd known what Keiko knew, I would've hightailed the hell out of there. But I was convinced she overreacted because she talked me into going to Paris and staying in the apartment. I thought she wanted to make sure nothing else would go wrong; that I'd have a better time in Bonnieux with Mr. and Mrs. Courtois showing me the sights."

" _Oui. C'est possible_. I can understand why one might think such. You did not see the Quant or some other alien from the dreams."

His understanding surprises me. Could I have finally found someone who believes my story? Time to find out how he reacts to some more of the truth. "But I did. It should have been in the other shrinks' reports."

The crease between his eyebrows deepens. "I told you. I had only the time to skim the summaries, most of which were the garbage for my purposes," he says gruffly. "Do not waste the time with this. Proceed with the next dream."

"No questions about what happened?" I ask in disbelief.

" _Pourquoi_. For my purpose, no thing significant occurred. Except for the break-in, it was the typical day in Paris for an American tourist."

Nothing significant? I bite my lip to keep from screaming in exasperation. I can't believe the French would grant this lightweight a license to practice psychiatry. And I'm the one who's going to rot in jail because they did.

" _Le rêve, s'il vous plaît_ ," he says with an expectant look in his eyes.

He's always more interested in the dreams and is fascinated with the technology. He must believe that the technology will reveal the source of my psychological pathologies. He's wrong. Before he gets exasperated and decides to leave for Paris, I've got to figure out how to convince him that the dreams are memories, not the deluded nightmares of a homicidal maniac.

I take a deep breath and begin where the last dream ended, in an escape pod that was plunging out-of-control.

-20-

Escape Pod

Location Unknown

The escape pod bounced through the turbulence of the planet's outer atmosphere. Flames enveloped the pod's window. Sweat streaked down my forehead and dripped into my eyes. The gritty salt in my eyes stung. I didn't know which would kill me first: the bone-pounding battering or the scorching temperature.

The pull of planet's gravity intensified. I tightened my grip on the flight control terminal. None of the flight controls responded. Panic knotted my gut and twisted up my throat. Only one option remained. I entered the command to jettison the pod's engines. The pod would never fly again; but if the engines continued at full throttle, I'd crash nose first into the planet's surface.

Even in the screeching din of the plummet, the engines tore loose with an audible rip. The emergency decelerators roared in response. I set them at maximum deflection, uncertain whether they'd deployed in time to attain a safe cant for landing. The pod's nose jerked up. The decelerators groaned. The pod's velocity slowed and the turbulence reduced to a few bumps. Before I could even think of relaxing, the control panel flashed a warning: _Proper landing speed and cant: NOT ATTAINED. Unstable landing imminent. BRACE. BRACE. BRACE._

I squeezed the sides of my seat and waited, my jaw clenched and my teeth grating. Why hadn't I accepted dying when the cruiser exploded? It would have been a quick, sure death compared to the current torture.

The pod slammed into the planet's surface, ricocheted. My head recoiled and white spots flashed in my eyes. The tips of my fingers clung to the chair. The pod caromed a second time. My fingers lost their grip. A new jolt threw me out of the seat. I landed on my side and instinctively rolled to cushion the impact. The pod bumped and skidded along the terrain. The screech from the ripping of the pod's outer metal skin pierced my eardrums. I closed my eyes and prayed that I'd smash headfirst into the bulkhead and die quickly. I didn't want to lay injured and in agony waiting for death.

The skid halted. The pod lay motionless for a milli before I opened my eyes. I flexed my arms and my legs, twisted my torso back and forth. Despite the pounding I'd absorbed, I couldn't detect any broken bones. Surprised, and thankful that I survived the crash unscathed, I oriented myself. The pod lay on its side with the exit hatch overhead. I needed to get outside and determine what to do next.

I grabbed my chair and pulled myself up. When my legs stopped shaking, I raised my arm and stood on my toes. I extended my fingers. No matter how hard I stretched, the handle to open the hatch eluded my reach. I jumped and grasped the handle. I swung my feet against the wall for support and strained my upper body to turn the handle. The handle clicked loose. That was the easy part. The difficult part awaited: to shove upward to open a heavy door designed to drop down with the aid of gravity. I took a deep breath to summon, grunted, and thrust my arms up. The door sprung open with unexpected ease.

Cool air surged into the pod. I pulled myself out the hatch and stood on top of the pod. In gray twilight I could see that a patch of flat ground littered with fieldstones surrounded the pod. I jumped. To my surprise I landed several meters further from the pod than anticipated.

I circled the pod. The outer shell bore a wide gash from tail to nose and the decelerators had been torn off their mountings. Fuel leaked from the gash where the decelerators had hung and burst into white flames that emitted a dense black smoke. The flames flared along the rear of the pod.

I needed to retrieve a communicator before the flames destroyed the pod's interior. I climbed back into the pod. Flames penetrated the opposite end of the pod. Smoke flooded the interior and I couldn't see beyond the length of my arms. With one arm extended, I crept toward the control terminal. I stumbled over an object. I bent over and picked it up. I recognized the base of the communicator's transmitter. Its wires were frayed and ripped, damaged beyond repair. I threw the broken piece down. It cracked into three chunks. I'd lost the only means of ever being able to contact Caykondra.

The realization that I was now truly stranded sank into me. I stood motionless until heat from the flames singed my face. I tried to take a deep breath. Acrid smoke entered my lungs. My eyes began to water. I reached for the control panel and groped for the pod's emergency neuroserver. My fingers fumbled along the panel until they encircled the palm-sized server. It remained in its socket connection to the pod's main computer. To the touch, it felt undamaged. I yanked the unit from its connection and shoved it in my robe's hip pocket. If it worked, it would contain the back-up of the Dhanus' flight path that I could access with my implant.

An explosion reverberated the length of the pod. A chunk of wall crashed behind me. If I didn't abandon ship immediately, I'd either be asphyxiated by the smoke or burned by the spreading flames. I didn't hesitate. In two strides I reached the exit hatch and jumped. I grabbed the opening and scrambled on top of the pod. Flames circled the pod's outer shell and flared to eye level. My life depended on whether I could leap over the rising flames. With all of the power I could muster in my legs, I vaulted.

I couldn't believe how easily I cleared the flames. I landed four body lengths beyond the pod. I'd never jumped so high and so far in my life. I turned and stared as the flames devoured the pod. I'd survived, but had lost the communications equipment and the pod's emergency supply of food and water.

I reached into my pocket for the neuroserver and turned it in my hands. I hoped it wasn't broken. It represented my only remaining lifeline. I shoved it back into my pocket.

The heat of the fire continued to intensify. I retreated a few steps into cooler air and gazed at the stars. From their position, I estimated that I'd landed on the opposite side of the planet from the others. I lowered my eyes and watched the pod burn. To my surprise, the flames died out as quickly as they had spread. Only a thin pillar of gray smoke rose from the smoldering ruins of the pod. The fire had burnt so fast and intense that most of the pod had disintegrated. No one would ever recognize the ashes that remained as a space pod.

I took in a deep breath of air, then another. Rich oxygen filled my lungs. The pod had burned so rapidly because the planet's atmosphere contained more oxygen than Tirano's. Something else differed too. My leap off the burning pod. I jumped twice, my feet rising more than a half-body length off the ground. The planet's air contained more oxygen than Tirano and the pull of its gravity was less. My physical capacities would be enhanced. Plus, if the theory that one's overall health benefits from breathing higher concentrations of oxygen proves accurate, I should live a long time even without any further nano treatments.

Morning twilight crept skyward and I surveyed the surroundings. I'd landed in a boulder-strewn clearing in a forested mountain range. A valley of verdant vineyards spread from the base of the forest across a broad valley to a mountain range on the other side. The mountains on the other side rose to sheer granite palisades towering above hillsides with green splotches of randomly scattered pines among tan grasses and rusty chaparral. My luck hadn't been all bad. I'd managed to crash in as beautiful a place as I'd ever seen, and the valley floor teemed with the vine. Surely, there had to be a reason why fate sent me to this place.

I couldn't resist getting closer to the vine, touching it once again. The only way there was to head into the forest, so I did. I'd never seen a forest like this. I stopped and gazed in awe at the immense trees, the width of many exceeded my height. I looked skyward. The trees rose hundreds of hands, the pinnacles of many impossible to see. The only similarity to Tirano's stubby forests being the resin odor and the seed cones littering the ground. Small, gray-furred animals with white bushy tails and tall, slender ears bounded in the underbrush. Overhead large black birds with broad wingspans circled on the air currents.

I walked until I came to a massive fallen trunk that spanned a rocky creek bed. I plopped down on the red trunk and watched a stream of clear water ripple across the rocks. Perhaps I could quench my thirst. I reached down, cupped my hands, caught some of the frigid water. Cautiously, I lifted the water to my face. The clear water smelled potable. I sipped some. It tasted like water from my Rwohn vineyard cistern. I drank the rest of the water in my hands.

I reached down for another handful of water when a blue-feathered bird landed on a branch on the opposite end of the fallen trunk, stared at me, and let out a crisp chirp. I whistled back, mimicking the blue ahndov bird of the Rwohn Mountains. The bird cocked its head and then flew away. I started to reach down for more water, stopped. Human voices drifted through the forest.

I cocked my ear and listened for several seconds. Even though the voices were too faint to understand any words, they sounded as if they were engaged in friendly conversation, interspersed with frequent laughter. I hopped to my feet and headed in the direction of the voices. I saw a clearing on the side of the mountain. As I drew closer I noticed that the trunks of the trees at the edge of the clearing had been hacked down. The clearing was man made. I wondered why. Had I stumbled onto an isolated native settlement? It might be useful if I did. I'd quickly learn if the natives were civilized or savage.

I crept forward, trying to avoid stepping on any twigs and leaves. As I neared the clearing, the voices became louder and the sounds more distinct. I decided to stay at the edge of the forest to avoid being seen until I could determine if it was safe to make contact with the natives. I stepped lightly to a towering tree closer to the clearing. From behind its broad trunk, I peered into the clearing.

The clearing contained a terraced hillside vineyard ripe with clusters of purple grapes hanging from head-pruned vines. I broke into a broad smile. I crawled to a fallen tree trunk at the edge of the clearing and peeked over it. Four men sat around a small wood fire at the bottom of the vineyard. Spicy aromas floated to me. It might be a different world, but my stomach growled to remind me that it still recognized the smell of food.

The men did not appear to carry any weapons and jovially talked to each other. Stacks of empty wicker baskets were piled on a wooden wagon parked near the men. I assumed that they'd arrived at sunrise to prepare for an early morning grape harvest. Fond memories of harvest prior to the Radani poxrra devastation flooded my thoughts: The firm grapes plucked from the vine, the taste of the first juice crushed, the excitement of initial fermentation. I decided to enter the clearing and face the men. I hoped that the Tiranoan tradition of harvest friendship would be universal. If not, my life in this world could be brief.

Although I could hear the men clearly, I couldn't understand the language they spoke with its rapid-fire speech and the heavy rolling of r's. I reached into my pocket and turned on the neuroserver's universal translator chip. If it could translate the language, its cellular transmission to my neural implant would permit me to converse with the men.

I strode into the clearing and stopped in plain view of the men. I raised my hands, palms out to show I bore no weapons. "Ghaeah's harvest blessings," I said.

One of the men looked up, a startled look on his swarthy face. He said something to the others that I couldn't hear. They nodded.

The man stood and craned his head to look up at me. " _Buenos días, señor_ ," he said.

I had no idea what the man had said. I waited for the server's translation. In a couple lacti, "Good day, sir," sounded in my ear. I smiled with relief.

" _Buenos días_ ," I replied. In my mind the server flashed that the language appeared to be related to an archaic Esaphno dialect.

"Would you like a burrito? We have mucho." He held out a plate with a white flour shell rolled around a filling of eggs, peppers, and green leafy herbs and a cup of water. His broad smile flashed two gold-rimmed front teeth. I sensed no danger.

I smiled back. The man wore a broad-brimmed straw hat, a long-sleeved tan shirt, and pants made from coarse blue cloth. He must have thought I was the one strangely dressed the way he stared at my robe and sandals.

" _Graçias_ ," I said as I accepted the plate with one hand. With my other hand, I pointed to my chest and spoke slowly. "My, name, Tarn . . . lot."

" _De nada, Señor_ Lot. I am Pedro Lopez," the man responded in his rapid-paced speech. "These _hombres_ be Romero Munoz, Sebastian Rodriguez, and Juan Guiterriez." Each man nodded at his name. Each resembled a younger version of Pedro Lopez, short and slim with a swarthy complexion, and each dressed in the same manner.

I pulled my robe to my knees and sat on the grass next to the men. I bit into the burrito. A burning heat exploded in my mouth, as though the flames of the burning escape pod consumed my tongue. I reached for the cup of water and gulped its contents. The soils of Tirano never produced such pungent spices.

Pedro Lopez tilted his head. " _Señor Lot, los chiles, muy caliente, sí_?"

The server couldn't translate Lopez's words, but with numb lips and watering eyes, I understood. I didn't want to insult his generosity and forced myself to eat the rest of the burrito. Thankfully, the burrito didn't contain any more of _los chiles_.

Pedro Lopez turned to me. " _Señor_ Lot, are you looking for work? We can use another man today. You can be picker or porter."

I couldn't restrain my grin. I jumped to my feet and held out my hand. "I don't have any shears. If you'd loan me a pair, I'd be happy to pick."

_Señor_ Lopez reached to his belt and pulled a set of shears out of a holster. "I sharpened these myself. Take good care of them."

He set the shears in my hand. The feel and balance were perfect. "I will."

Without being told, I walked to the top row of the vineyard. The yellow sun peered over the mountain peaks and small milky-white clouds floated in a fresh blue sky. Long rows of vines stretched in straight lines below me. With a scene so reminiscent of the Rwohn Mountains, I couldn't think of a better way to begin life in this new world.

I cut cluster after cluster of ripe grapes. After filling my basket, I sat it on the ground at the end of a row of vines so the porter could carry it and unload the grapes on the flatbed wagon at the foot of the vineyard. I plucked several of the small firm grapes from the ripest clusters in the basket and tasted them. A concentrated brambly spiciness exploded in my mouth, the taste unlike any grapes grown on Tirano. I imagined the heady wine these grapes would produce.

Lopez stared at me. I thought I must have done something wrong. Perhaps on this world pickers weren't allowed to taste the grapes. A crooked grin spread across Lopez's face. " _Señor_ Lot, do you like these zinfandel grapes? The best in Napa, _sí_? I planted the St. George rootstock and grafted the zinfandel clone myself. It saved this vineyard from the phylloxera bug when no chemicals could. If there were no St. George, these grapes _magníífico_ would not be."

"You are lucky, _Señor_ Lopez. I am from far away where I owned a vineyard. It was destroyed by a mutated bug in the soil. My people could find no way to stop the destruction. Now we have no vineyards."

"It was not luck, _Señor_ Lot. It was _la madre naturaleza_. She would not permit the phylloxera bug to eat these native roots. She teach the St. George how to resist the pest. Even the French mens planted St. George to save their vineyards."

I returned to picking and thought about what Lopez had said. Was Tirano attempting the impossible by trying to eradicate Radani poxxra by finding a chemical treatment that would selectively kill it without harming unmutated poxxra? Even if that was possible, how could we ever treat all of Tirano's soil? Radani poxxra could always find a protected area to hide and then return to destroy again.

Even though the source of the mutation was unknown, most scientists believed it was a bio-engineered weapon released by a Radani agent. Similar to Radani hordes in battle, it destroys every vine in its path and there are too many of the bugs to ever hope to kill all of them. And like the Radani, even when we think we've found a way to repel them in a vineyard, they return with a vengeance and destroy the new vines before they can mature and bear fruit.

But what other option do we have? Tirano's original settlers bought our rootstock and the unmutated poxxra on the original ship to provide us with the sulfphenols of wine our blood requires to develop bubo-plague antibodies. Tirano has no indigenous rootstock like this St. George that would be naturally resistant to the mutated poxxra. We have no choice but to find a chemical that will kill only the Radani poxxra before the Radani discover a plague biologic weapon and a method to deliver it.

Immersed in my thoughts, I didn't notice the time pass. I crouched at the end of a row cutting the clusters on the last vine of the row when Lopez shouted that the field was harvested and the day's work finished.

Sweat dripped from my brow, my fingers were stained purple and my robe was soiled with dirt and juice. I'd never enjoyed a day more than this one. It had been too long since I'd enjoyed the exhilaration of harvest. I'd not only cheated death, I'd found paradise where the vine still existed.

I followed Lopez to the wagon and emptied my basket of grapes onto the grapes piled on the flatbed. He untied two four-legged animals from a tree. With their long necks and powerful torsos and legs, the animals looked like the draft animals I'd seen in holos of ancient Tirano.

Lopez watched me gaping at the animals. "This pair may be old, _Señor_ Lot, but they are the best work horses I've ever owned."

He harnessed the horses to the wagon and jumped on a seat on the front of the wagon. He grabbed the reins. The other men were walking on a dusty path down the wooded hillside. I didn't move. In my joy I'd forgotten that I had no idea what I would do at the end of the day.

Lopez looked at me as if he were trying to make up his mind. After a brief moment he spoke. " _Señor_ Lot, do you need a place to stay? There is a spare bed in the bunkhouse behind _mi casa_. You can join Roberto, Sebastian, and Juan there. Work the rest of the harvest with us. We will share our pay with you."

Relief surged in every part of me. I hoped I could express my gratitude. " _Graçias, Señor_ Lopez. I'm new to this land and I have no place to stay. I'll try not to be a burden to you."

"You're a good worker for a gringo." Lopez grinned, his gold-rimmed teeth glittering. His eyes slid over me. "You're big, but maybe I find some clean clothes for you. Clothes for a worker, shirts and pants. Not tatters thrown out by a _padre_." He looked at my feet. "And boots."

Lopez laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. Even though I had no idea what he was talking about, I welcomed the camaraderie he offered.

I turned and started down the dusty hillside. I patted my pocket and felt the neuroserver. I knew why fate had permitted my survival. A chance at redemption if I could use the neuroserver's data and discover the way for Zhun'Mar to return to Tirano. Perhaps I could assure redemption if I helped him return with a vine that could withstand the bite of Radani poxrra.

I vowed that I would, and when I did, I'd search until I found Caykondra. She was High Sibyl. She could tell Zhun'Mar that she'd discovered the way back and he'd believe her. Perhaps, if I could find the way for Zhun'Mar and the Golden Vine Ring to return to Tirano, my soul would not be damned for eternity.

-21-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"Is that the end of the dream?" Dr. Avril asks with that annoying expectant gleam in his eyes.

"Yeah."

He leans forward. "Do you know where the escape pod crashed?"

I shrug my shoulders. "Not the exact spot."

His eyes widen. "Ah, you have the idea. _Oui_?"

"Sure. In the Mayacamas Mountains overlooking the northern end of Napa Valley."

He nods. " _Bon_. Please, spell the name of the mountains?"

"It's a Spanish word. M-a-y-a-c-a-m-a-s."

He stares at his note pad. "M-a-y-a-c-a-m-a-s."

"Right."

He looks at me and leans forward. "Could you recognize the precise location if you saw it?"

I wonder why he's so interested in where the pod crashed. "Doubt it. But I think it was somewhere on Diamond Mountain."

"Diamond Mountain. I can spell that." He laughs as he writes another note on his pad. "Why Diamond Mountain?"

"When Tarnlot surveyed the scene from the crash site, I recognized the rocky palisades on the mountains on the eastern horizon. They were the palisades in the Vacas above Calistoga. Given the angle of the view, Diamond Mountain would be a logical place." I expect he'll ask me to spell Calistoga.

"You mention the palm computer with the flight path."

"Neuroserver," I say.

He smiles. " _Bien sûr_ , the neuroserver. Do you know where it is?"

I start to grimace and try to stop before Avril notices. I feel sorry for him. He's trying his best. Evidently, he just doesn't have the ability to think like a shrink and ask anything other than factual questions. "I didn't see it again. In a dream or while awake."

" _Tant pis_."

His disappointment sounds sincere. Why? Was he so naive as to think that I was hiding it somewhere? He doesn't understand human nature. If I had it, I'd have told the police to buttress my story.

He drums his fingers on his note pad. "Please continue with the occurrences when you woke," he says.

I guess it's a good sign that he's not threatening to leave. But will it do any good? Even if he believes me, the other shrinks will probably laugh at any report he writes.

-22-

Paris

The telephone rang. Without opening my eyes, I stretched my arm for the phone. My hand struck a cold wall instead of the night stand next to my bed. Instantly, I realized I was in Paris, not Mill Valley. The phone rang a second time and I opened my eyes. Late afternoon sunlight angled through the windows. I spotted the telephone sitting on top of two phone books on the floor. I hopped out of bed and grabbed the receiver as it began its third ring. "Hello."

There was no response. I wondered who could be calling. Maybe Keiko wanted to apologize. "Keiko, is that you." I heard the click of someone hanging up. The caller must have heard my English and realized he'd dialed a wrong number.

I looked at my watch, almost six o'clock. I was starved. On my walk back from the Eiffel Tower, I'd noticed a bistro a couple of blocks away, La Fontaine de Mars. I'd slip out for a quick dinner and then come back for a good night's sleep. I'd call Keiko tomorrow after she'd had a chance to cool off and tell her I'd decided to stay in Paris a few days. She couldn't do a thing (except to yell at me) since she was 5,000 miles away.

I tossed my suitcases on the futon and donned the outfit of a lawyer on vacation: blue blazer, white dress shirt, blue and red striped tie, gray pants, and burgundy penny loafers. Under the twilight sky, I poked down rue St. Dominique to check out the store front windows for something special to buy Keiko. A perfume shop displayed a heart-shaped bottle filled with a new fragrance of designer perfume.

Even though she might not think so in her current state of mind, Keiko deserved something special for making this trip possible. It had already improved my mental outlook by helping me resolve my future. It would be exciting to establish a law firm dedicated to Quincy's principles and expose Brad's version of L&P for what it was: a hollow shell with no moral core.

I'd strolled a couple of blocks when I spotted the bistro's red awning hanging over the sidewalk. I reached the awning and a sign indicated the entrance was around the corner. I turned the corner, heard water splashing, and discovered why the bistro's name was La Fontaine de Mars . Opposite the bistro's entrance, a vest pocket courtyard contained an ornate bas relief fountain with figures of Mars and Venus spouting water into a large stone basin.

Despite the temptation to remain outside and enjoy the courtyard, I entered the bistro. The interior setting exceeded the exterior's. A long zinc bar stretched behind the entrance and tables covered with red and white checked-gingham table clothes filled the interior. One whiff of the smell of grilled veal chops a waiter carried past me told me the food would be outstanding.

A twenty-something lady waited at the front counter. " _Bon soir, monsieur_ ," she said with a smile.

" _Bon soir, mademoiselle_. _Une table pour une_." I hesitantly lifted one finger. "And, uh, _a côte de la fenêtre, s'il vous plaît_."

She ran her finger down the reservation booklet. I couldn't believe it. She understood my French, that I'd wanted a table next to the window. Communicating in French wasn't so difficult after all.

" _C'est possible, a côte de la fenêtre_. _Mais, vous devez partir par huit heures moins le quart_." She spoke so rapidly that it sounded like one long word.

I just stared at her.

"Ah," she smiled. "I have one table next to the window. It is reserved for eight o'clock. You must finish by 7:45."

I wasn't so fluent after all. "Oh, okay. No problem."

"This way, please."

She led me to a table with two sparkling white bistro plates set on a red and pink checkered tablecloth. I gazed out the window and watched people walking on rue St. Dominique. I didn't see one tourist, just locals carrying briefcases or groceries (and often, both). Rue St. Dominique had to be one of the least touristy streets on the Left Bank.

A large man in a gray suit and beret with his back to me entered a shop on the other side of the street. From the back he looked like Quant in a French outfit. Stop being paranoid, I thought. I'd left San Francisco so abruptly that Quant couldn't have followed, and if he had, I would've noticed him on the airplane. His Neanderthal body would have stuck out in a tiny airplane seat.

" _Excusez-moi, monsieur_."

I craned my neck. A black mustached waiter wore a long-sleeved white shirt, a three button black vest, and a starched _rondeau_ apron. He held his head erect and peered down his long aquiline nose at me as he handed me a menu.

"Zer menu eez en Français. Eef you 'av zer questions, I retourne een a few minutes." He stepped over to the table next to me where two gray-haired French matrons waited.

I studied the menu. Even though it was in French, I had no trouble understanding it. When the waiter returned to my table, I was debating between grilled veal chop with wild mushrooms or boudin with fried apples. "You have chosen, monsieur?" he asked.

The enticing smell of the grilled chops when I had walked in the door won out. "I'd like the veal chop with wild mushrooms. What wine would you recommend with it?"

He pointed to a chalkboard on a pillar in the middle of the dining room. "Ze house wine ez a _rouge de_ Cahors. Very good _avec_ ze veal."

Even I knew that bistros are famous for their house wines. "Fine. I'll try it."

" _Merci, monsieur_. I bring _tout de suite_."

He returned in a couple of minutes. He proudly showed me the bottle with a label that was a drawing of the fountain outside the bistro. I nodded and he poured a small amount in my glass. The Cahors was tasty: full of black cherry fruitiness. " _C'est bon_ ," I said.

He filled my glass. "Enjoy, _monsieur_."

While I waited for my veal chop, I thought about who at L&P I'd ask to join me at my new firm. The more I thought about it, I couldn't come up with one person. Not even an associate. Brad's greed had infected each and every one of them. I'd go solo. Solo. What a difference a couple of days make. At one time even the mere thought of being a sole practitioner would have terrified me. Now I looked forward to the challenge. It'd take a lot of hard work, but I'd survive on my own just fine. No more battles with partners about clients or money, and no shifty clients like Jack Morgado. Sure there would be difficult times getting started, but I could do it with Keiko by my side for emotional support.

An intense scent of woodsy morels reached my nostrils. "Your veal chop, _monsieur_." The waiter set a white plate on the table. The veal chop was covered with morels and accompanied by roasted baby potatoes. " _Bon appétit_."

I savored the veal chop, lingering over each bite. When I finished, I glanced at my watch. It was almost eight o'clock and I'd promised to leave. I turned in my chair and saw my waiter standing near the entrance. I signaled him to bring my bill. He nodded. I squinted to make sure my eyes weren't playing tricks. The white-haired old man sat at a table behind the entrance holding a glass of white wine. For a moment, he peered at me out of the corner of his eyes. He probably wondered how I had managed to visit all of his hangouts.

After I signed the charge slip, I walked to the entrance. I started to say "bon nuit, neighbor" to the old man, but decided against it given the scowl he directed at his glass of wine. He probably hoped he'd seen the last of me.

Scattered clouds covered the moon and a light breeze blew while water splashed in the courtyard's fountain. Satiated by the food and the ambience, I began what I expected to be a leisurely stroll leisurely up rue St. Dominique, surprised that it was deserted so early in the evening until I realized that all of the locals were probably eating dinner. I spotted a wine shop. Even though the sign in its window said _ferme_ , closed, I stepped into the shop's recessed doorway to view its display of wines. I had enjoyed the Cahors and wanted to see if by luck the shop had any. If it did, I'd buy a bottle in the morning.

In the window I saw the reflection of a man in a gray suit and beret hulking toward me. _Holy shit, Quant_ , my mind screamed in panic. _How had he found me?_ I turned, hoping to be able to scurry out of the confines of the doorway and run down the street. Despite his bulk, Quant darted forward and cornered me in the doorway. He clenched his fists. I put my arms up in front of me.

"Leave me alone." My voice quaked. With no way to escape, my only hope was to try to talk some sense into him.

"Tell Brad he doesn't have anything to worry about me if you stop stalking me. Otherwise, I'll haul him into court. Get an injunction. Tell him the bad publicity would ruin his reputation. L&P would toss him out too."

Quant squinted his eyes and curled his lip. "Where is it, scumbag? Where'd you hide it? He knows you're taking it to them."

His left hand shoved me against the door and pinned me against it. He clenched his right hand into an anvil fist and drew it back to his shoulder. If he hit me in the chest he'd break my ribs, and I didn't even want to think the pain if he hit me in the face. I cringed, afraid I couldn't survive more than a couple of blows.

"You don't understand. I don't have it. I didn't make a copy. He doesn't have a thing to worry about."

He hesitated and smiled as though to torture me with anticipation of excruciating pain. A woman's gravelly voice screamed, " _Gendarme, gendarme, c'est un type_. _Aidez monsieur_."

Quant's eyes widened and he swiveled his head in the direction of the voice. I jerked my head in the same direction and saw the old man slip back into a shadow under the awnings of the restaurant. When he saw us looking at him, he turned and sprinted down the alley.

"This will have to wait, scum bait. I've got more important matters," Quant growled. He pulled me forward and then shoved me against the door, a look of satisfaction in the curl of his lips. The back of my head bounced against the metal door frame. The flash of stars blinded me for a second. I blinked and saw Quant running toward the alley. He vanished behind the bistro.

I stood there breathing rapidly. I rubbed the itch on the back of my head and looked around for help. No one was in sight, not even the lady who'd screamed for help. Even though she must not want to be involved, I was thankful for her help. Otherwise, I had no doubt that I'd have been beaten senseless.

How could I have been so stupid? Those hadn't been coincidences with the old man. He'd been trailing me for Quant. One of them must have broken into the apartment looking for a copy of Brad's perjured affidavit, which proved what an idiot Brad is. Even if I had a copy, why would he think I'd carry it all the way to Paris? He must be so terrified that he stopped thinking rationally, if he ever had.

I didn't how long it would be safe on the street, so I jogged to the apartment. Before I unlocked the door to the courtyard, I scanned the street to see if anyone had followed me. No sign of Quant or the old man. When I entered the apartment, I immediately locked the dead bolt. I flipped the switch to turn on the ceiling light and leaned against the door. Quant represented a physical danger that I was helpless against.

Unable to stop envisioning the look in Quant's eyes, I began to pace. This wasn't some intellectual legal problem that I could rely on my photographic memory to find a precedent that solved the problem. Brad wouldn't call him off until I produced that affidavit. An affidavit I didn't have.

Suddenly, the stupidity of returning to the apartment wrenched my gut. That phone call that woke me earlier was probably Quant or the old man. They knew where I'd be. I froze with fear and stared out the window searching for an escape route. Perhaps the building had an exterior fire escape ladder. No luck. They'd trapped me where no one would be watching and could save me by calling for help. Quant would tear down the door any second.

The clouds shielding the moon drifted and moonlight shone over the roof of my apartment onto the window of the old man's apartment. Someone entered the apartment and turned on a light. The old man.

I jumped behind the curtains and switched off the ceiling light. I peeked out the window. My breath came in short gasps. The old man threw his beret on a couch and paced back and forth, smacking his left fist into his right palm.

I yanked the drapes shut. I pivoted and leaned my head against the wall. Think, damn it, think. There had to be a way out of this horror. The old man must be upset because I'd eluded him and Quant. Evidently he didn't have any idea that I was staying across the courtyard. Otherwise Quant would have ripped the door off its hinges by now.

Even though my heart continued to race, I was safe for the time being. With luck, I could still manage to get out of the apartment and Paris without being spotted. I debated whether to leave immediately. I decided against it. The old man might see me if I walked across in the courtyard. Even if he didn't, Quant would be scouring the streets searching for me. My best bet was to stay put for the time being.

Quant wouldn't continue forever. Eventually he'd realize I was hiding somewhere and decide to get some rest and resume his search tomorrow. That would leave a window of opportunity in which to flee. I could slip out before sunrise and go to Gare de Lyon to catch a TGV to Avignon. Quant and the old man should be asleep that early. I'd skip out of Paris and they wouldn't even know it. They could search all they wanted trying to find me again. And when I reached Bonnieux, I'd have time to figure out how to squash Brad. He'd pay dearly for this harassment. I'd find a way to make sure he never practiced law again.

I pulled the drapes tight before I turned on the ceiling light. I wanted to get everything ready for a quick escape so I unfolded the futon and shoved my suitcases next to it. I packed my clothes over the suitcases, grabbed some fresh clothes, set the alarm on my wristwatch for five o'clock, and placed it and the fresh clothes on the top of the fresh clothes. If I left that early, both the old man and Quant were likely to be sound asleep.

My plan was a good one. By tomorrow afternoon I'd be safely ensconced in Bonnieux. I'd revel in Provençal food and wine while Brad panicked about my disappearance. Brad would probably think I'd fled back to San Francisco and would order his goon Quant to return to renew the search there. Instead, I'd be in Bonnieux drafting my petition for his permanent disbarment from the practice of law.

I pulled a blanket and pillow off the bathroom shelf and stretched out on the futon. The pillow was thin and hard as a rock, the back of my head itched, and my nerves felt as though they'd been run through a shredder. None of which prevented the darkness of sleep from descending as soon as I closed my eyes.

-23-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

" _Mon dieu_ , _Monsieur_ Burrows." Avril presses his lips together and shakes his head. "The old man was in the room across the courtyard and you do not think he or the Quant know where you are hiding?"

Why do all the shrinks find this so difficult to comprehend? I hope Avril's more receptive to my explanation than the others. They refused to believe the truth. "With the benefit of hindsight, I agree. It was stupid. But, put yourself in my position. It seemed logical. I thought Quant and the old man were working together. If they knew where I was, the old man wouldn't have turned on his light so I could see him. Plus, Quant would've beaten the door down long before that. It seemed safer to stay in the apartment than to risk running into Quant on the streets."

Avril furrows his brow. I hope he's trying to see it from my point of view and not expressing disbelief.

" _Entendu_. Perhaps, I might conclude the same thing also." He shakes his head. " _Mais_ , I would have be too afraid to sleep."

His tone didn't seem skeptical, just matter of fact. "Oh, I was terrified. All I wanted was to get out of Paris without being beat to a pulp by Quant."

For once, Avril seems to be more interested in listening to me than in taking notes. I'll give him something to mull. "I think the implant was programmed with an anesthetic that put me under each time I laid down until a series of programmed dreams were completed."

"Hmm." He rubs his mustache. " _C'est possible_. If the aliens could miniaturize the laser and the maser propulsion for the single ship space, to program the implant chips would be the play of a child." The corner of his lips curl. "Agree?"

With that French smile of his, I'm not sure if he's serious or pulling my leg. The friendly tone of his voice, though, is a sharp contrast to the other shrinks' hostile skepticism. I decide to nod and not say anything and wait to see if he wants to pursue this topic.

"Tell the next dream," he says.

Good, a hint of anticipation in his tone. Have I somehow managed to convince him that I'm not a certifiable lunatic? I'll know soon enough. The next dream was the nail in my coffin with the other shrinks. The one yesterday kept muttering, " _Incroyable_. _Incroyable_."

Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

-24-

San Francisco, California

Twenty Years Ago

I sat on a stool in the Mahogany Bar of the Montgomery Street Exchange Club eating a grilled hamburger topped with blue cheese and drinking a glass of zinfandel. Not even my favorite lunch could help me resolve a longstanding dilemma: Hobart L. Burrows III.

I was running out of time. I twirled the hair on the back of my head with my finger. Today marked the tenth anniversary of Hobie's employment at Lott & Pembroke. I'd invited Hobie to dinner tonight at my Nob Hill home to tell him whether he'd be admitted to the partnership. I gulped the last of the wine and contemplated the pros and cons for the umpteenth time in the past hour. On the one hand, Hobie was loyal, hardworking, and smart; an excellent researcher and document drafter; and an honest and ethical lawyer. He also possessed the unique gift of a photographic memory. All traits that made him valuable to the firm.

On the other hand, the youngster was a disaster when it came to interacting with clients. He took my advice to analyze problems without permitting one's emotions to interfere to an extreme. Several clients had complained that when they dealt with Hobie he was so detached that they felt as though their problems represented nothing more than an intellectual exercise. If I hadn't agreed to handle their future work myself, they might have taken their business to another firm. Lott & Pembroke would survive if Hobie wasn't made a partner. We wouldn't survive if we lost our clients.

I pulled my gold watch out of my vest pocket and looked at the time, 1:30. I'd catch a cable car and spend the afternoon at home pondering what to tell Hobie. I walked through the Club's lobby and saw Ramon sitting at the reception desk. I raised my hand and waved to him.

"Good day, Mr. Lott," he replied. "Fog's rolled in. A bit nippy out there. Hope you'll be warm enough without a coat."

I glanced out the Club's double glass doors. Fog streamed down the street and blurred the view of a man on the other side of the street. A chill ran down my spine. Even though I couldn't see his face clearly because of the soupy fog, my skin tingled from emitted hate. I didn't need a clear day to recognize my nightmare. Even with the passage of decades, I'd never forgotten Colonel Quant's unique physique with its stubby arms, thick body, and huge head. Or the stench of hatred he exuded.

"You don't look too good, Mr. Lott. Is something wrong?" Ramon asked. "Should I hail a cab?"

I looked at Ramon and shook my head. "No. Just thought I recognized an old acquaintance." I hoped the terror didn't show in my eyes.

I opened the doors and stepped onto the sidewalk, the sudden chill of the damp fog bracing after the warmth of the Club. I glanced across the street. No Quant. I hoped his presence had been a mere coincidence and that the Tamok hadn't found me. Not so soon after I'd discovered how to return to our universe. But in my gut, I doubted it could be a coincidence.

With each step I took, the fog, and my fears, thickened. When I reached a cable car stop on California Street, I glanced over my shoulder. The fog limited visibility to a few feet. My fears sensed Quant's fetid penumbra. He was nearby, but where?

The clanging of cable car bells echoed off the skyscrapers and startled me. A cable car emerged out of the fog. It screeched to a stop and tourists piled on. I waited until the conductor released the brake and hopped on the front of the crowded car. The car lurched forward and I grabbed the nearest post. As the car crawled up the steep incline to the top of Nob Hill, I turned my head to search for Quant. Because of the fog and all of the people, I couldn't see beyond the middle of the cable car. I cursed under my breath. If Nob Hill was fogged in, I wouldn't be able to discover whether Quant in fact was following me. I needed to find out for certain. I couldn't let Mhorg get his hands on my maps.

The fog diminished to a mist as the cable car neared the peak of Nob Hill. When we crested the incline the fog bank hung below and covered the city like a milky lake. Nob Hill basked in the sun. The hunt was on, but I didn't know if I was the hunter or the quarry. Either way, I'd soon know if time remained for me to elude detection or if the Tamok had already snared me.

The cable car squealed to a stop in front of the Pacific Union Club's brownstone mansion and I jumped off. The sidewalk along California Street seemed unusually crowded, as if all of the tourists had fled the fog to enjoy the crystal blue sky over Nob Hill. Not exactly what I'd had in mind. If Quant followed, the crowd would provide him cover and make my task more difficult.

I began to stride along the crowded sidewalk, then realized I should slow down. If Quant was trailing me, I didn't want the crowd to prevent him from keeping pace with me. I stopped at the cement stairs leading to Huntington Park and turned as if to admire the flower border. For a few seconds I stared at the lavender spikes rocking in the breeze. I turned my head to peek toward the Pacific Union Club. Someone ducked into the alleyway between the park and the Pacific Union Club's mansion. I needed to confirm my suspicion.

I resumed my trek up California Street. As I crossed Taylor, my eyes were drawn to the Gothic turrets of Grace Cathedral. An idea sprang into my mind. I marched up the steep steps to the Cathedral's double golden doors that overlooked the park. I stopped in front of the doors and stared at the golden panels engraved with scenes depicting the Hebrews in captivity in Egypt striving to escape and return to their homeland. I knew how they felt.

I stared at the panels and counted to sixty. At sixty, I spun around and kneeled as if to tie my shoe laces. My eyes swept the street below. Across the street, Quant leaned against a lamppost and held a newspaper. When he realized I'd turned around, he lifted the newspaper in front of his face. A lump formed in my throat. My fears were confirmed. My years of happiness on this planet were at an end. My doom had arrived. The only question that remained was when Mhorg would exact his revenge.

My pulse refused to stop pounding. How long would Mhorg remain content just to follow me? He'd probably let me live as long as he thought I might lead him to Zhun'Mar and the others. When he tires of waiting, he'll torture me, thinking I'll eventually reveal where they are. He'll be so fixated on finding Zhun'Mar and the Golden Vine Ring that when he learns I don't have any idea where Zhun'Mar is, he'll go berserk. All he'll want to do then is torture me until I beg for the release of death and the black pit of damnation that awaits me.

I walked down the steps, my shoulders hunched, my mind in turmoil. As much as I dreaded even contemplating it, I knew I had no choice but to destroy the maps. I couldn't take the chance that the Tamok would get their hands on them. If Mhorg discovered how the passage between Earth and Caerwin functioned, he'd probably sell the knowledge to the Radani. They'd send a fleet to plunder Earth. I couldn't let that happen. Earth's bounty would provide the Radani with the resources they needed to obliterate Tirano and the rest of the galaxy.

I turned at the bottom of the steps and trudged up the street to my house. Even with the archive of the Dhanus' flight path, it had taken decades to the track the oscillation of the passage opening and plot its cycle. The contemplation that the maps must be destroyed cut me to the core. I couldn't bear going to my doom knowing I had destroyed the maps with my own hands. They were my one chance for some tiny slice of redemption. There had to be something I could do. Some alternative that would keep the maps from the Tamok, yet preserve them in case it became possible to pass them to Zhun'Mar.

With leaden legs I plodded the last few blocks to my house. With each step I grew more frustrated and depressed because I couldn't think of any way to save the maps. I reached the door to my house and fumbled in my pocket for the key. I remembered my dinner engagement, shook my head. With the future of the maps at stake, I didn't need the distraction of deciding Hobie Burrows' fate.

Hobie. The name stuck in my mind. Hobie! The safe repository for the maps became obvious. It had dominated my thoughts for days. Hobie Burrows. Hobie was young and should live a long time, and with his eidetic memory, he would never forget the maps if he saw them.

I tapped the key against my leg and worked out a plan. I'd show Hobie the maps after dinner. After he leaves, I'll destroy the maps and all of my equipment from the ship. I'd also program a neuroimplant to activate the week before a passage opened if Hobie ever had contact with the Zhun'Mar, Mirae, or Caykoandra. The implant would show him how we became stranded on Earth and help him understand why it's important that Zhun'Mar return. I'd also program the implant so that if anyone tried to remove it, it would erase all data.

Hobie loves wine. As a backup, I'd mark bottles in my wine collection with date and location codes. I'd leave Hobie the collection. He's so meticulous he'd inventory every bottle. After the neuro kicks in, he should be able to decipher the code.

That was if it worked at all. The moment of neuro activation would be painful. At a minimum, activation would knock Hobie unconscious. It shouldn't kill or permanently incapacitate him, but the risk existed. Nor could I be certain the neuro would work if the activation was delayed for more than a few years. Neuros were designed to function continually, so I had no idea the life span of an inactivated neuro.

I'd also code my locator signature into Hobie's neuro. If for some reason Zhun'Mar or Caykondra searched for my signature, they'd find Hobie. Of course, that would increase the risk to Hobie. If the Tamok were to learn how I'd passed the information onto Hobie, they'd know how to track where he was at all times. If they did, my plan would only worsen my torture in the pits of hell. Hobie would lead them to Zhun'Mar.

Luckily, Hobie's demeanor was so modest that I doubted he'd even be a dot on the Tamok's radar. Out of all of my partners at L&P, he'd draw the least amount of attention. To make sure it stays that way, before I'd show him the maps, I'd encourage him to work at the firm in a manner that would draw as little attention to himself as possible. I'd convince him to let others at L&P be the focus of the public spotlight while he remained in the "backrooms" of the firm immersed in research and drafting. I'd encourage Hobie to remain a legal technician so that even if Mhorg saw him, Mhorg would never give him a second look.

I let out a long breath. At best, the plan had minimal chance of success. Perhaps, I could increase its chances slightly. Earth had finally began to establish a worldwide web. I'd leave a coded note on it to Caykondra that if she'd come to San Francisco, she'd discover the way home. Hopefully, she'd be curious enough to come investigate. If she did, she might stumble across Hobie even if the neuro and its locator don't function.

They should hit it off. She'd respect his integrity, and Hobie could use her vitality in his life. They'd be perfect for each other if they're fortunate enough to realize it. Besides, Hobie deserves some happiness from my attempt to manipulate him, and she deserves more than a monastic existence on an alien world.

I faced a long afternoon of work if I was to pull the strands of the plan together in time. By the Belts, it was risky for everything to depend on Hobie. But I'd take that risk. I'd trained him and understood him. He lacks even a modicum of street smarts, but he's a man of high principles. I have no doubt that after he experiences the memories, he'll know what to do. And with his stiff-necked attitude about right and wrong, I can depend on him never to reveal the way back to the Tamok.

-25-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"That's when I woke." I decide to preempt Avril's first question. "And when I realized I wasn't Tarnlot. That Quincy was."

What will his first question be now? The other shrinks spent a lot of time searching for the meaning of me not being the protagonist in my own dreams. They refused to even consider that the dreams were Quincy's memories.

Avril rubs his hands together. "Did _Monsieur_ Lott display the maps that night?"

I feel sorry for Avril. He doesn't have any idea of what's relevant. I tilt my head and look at him. "Yeah."

If he notices my frustration, he doesn't acknowledge it. "Are the maps in another dream?" he asks in a serious tone.

"No. That was my final dream. But I told you about that night and the maps when we started."

"Oh?" He flips through his notes. He reads for a minute. "Ah, _ici_. I apologize. I was _trés_ nervous when we commence; I did not focus. I will ask now. Do you remember the maps _Monsieur_ Lott show to you?"

I wonder if he's understood anything I've told him. "Of course. How many times do I have to say it? I have an eidetic memory. I remember every single frigging little dot on every blasted map."

"And you remember the dates?"

"Of course."

He leans forward again, a gleam in his eyes. "Could you create for me some maps?"

So that's his game, again. He thinks that if I draw a map I'm bound to misplace some of the stars. He'll take the map to an astronomer to prove that I'm making all of this up. Didn't work when I drew Zhun'Mar's cruiser. Won't work this time either. "Sure. No problem."

He tears off two sheets of paper from his note pad and pushes a pencil and the sheets across the table to me. " _Bon_. Two maps, _s'il vous plaît_."

I pull the paper in front of me. "There were more than two maps."

"Commence with two."

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and focus on the first map Quincy showed me. In the blackness of my mind's eye, a cluster of white dots pop into focus. I open my eyes and place the dots exactly as Quincy had on the map, circle the star Quincy circled, and enter the date. I close my eyes again, concentrate, and draw the second map. I shove the maps across the table. "There. Exactly as Quincy drew them."

Avril stares at the maps. His eyes narrow and lines crease his forehead. Even though he can't have a clue as to whether they're accurate, he seems awfully interested in a bunch of dots on a piece of paper. Most likely, he's conducting some type of Rorschach analysis. After several minutes, he tears another sheet of paper and shoves it to me. "Another, _s'il vous plaît_."

I repeat the process and pass the sheet back. He chews on his mustache as he stares at it. " _Incroyable_ ," he says softly. "Your memory, it is eidetic."

His lifts his head and his eyes bore into me. "Please tell me the name of the book you used to memorize these maps."

That's the last crap I'm taking from the little twerp. I jump out of my seat. "None, damn it!" I start to scream that he's an incompetent idiot. I stop and stare at him. "How in hell would a psychiatrist know whether those stars were placed accurately?"

He clicks his tongue. "So typical of you, _Monsieur_ Burrows, to leap to the conclusions. I never said I am a psychiatrist."

In an effort to save my skin, have I missed something obvious? Is he another cop? "Then what the hell are you? Why the deception?"

He folds his hands on his lap. "That is not of the concern to you."

"The hell it isn't," I say through teeth clenched so tight I might break off a crown. "I'm through talking to cops who only want to trick me and lock me up for something I didn't do. Damn all of you and your tricks. I didn't kill anyone. Why won't anyone believe me?"

He shakes his head. "As you Americans say, chill out, dude. I never said you did. That is not my concern."

I fall back in my chair. "Bullshit. I'm not that stupid. Why else would you interrogate me?"

He stares at me. Not a stare intended to intimidate, a stare that says he's debating with himself. After a few seconds, he crosses his legs and leans back in his chair. "I am a cosmologist. It is necessary for me to determine if your story contain the scientific plausibility. Because of this importance, I refuse to respond to your attitude of the superior intelligence. I am not the psychiatrist, but any idiot could read your reactions as easily as a book for _les enfants_. And I've had sufficient of your arrogance today. I return tomorrow in the morning."

Before I can gather my thoughts together to speak, he stands and stomps to the door. He turns his head to look at me. "I want you to cooperate completely tomorrow. I am your final hope." He taps his chest with his forefinger. " _Moi_."

I watch him open the door and leave. My future depends on what I say tomorrow. Not to a shrink. To a cosmologist. Is there a chance the French believe my story or are they trying to drive me insane? Either way, I won't sleep tonight.

-26-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

" _Bonjour, Monsieur_ Burrows ," Avril says. Instead of a suit, he's wearing wrinkled burgundy golf shirt and his red-veined eyes look like mine feel. Neither of us must have slept last night. He points at the chair at the opposite end of the table. "Please have the seat."

I sit. I'd tossed and turned all night trying to determine why the French cops would ask a cosmologist to determine whether my story was "scientifically plausible." What happens if Avril tells the cops it is? Will that convince them that I didn't murder anyone? I don't know, but I'll cooperate with Avril. If I can convince him, it can only help. And I'll gladly accept any help he offers. I've had enough of being confined in a cubicle with an iron bed.

Avril reaches into a briefcase next to his chair and pulls out a manila file with a rubber band wrapped around it to hold all of the papers stuffed in it. A hell of a lot more papers than the notes he took yesterday. He sits the folder on the table and pulls his notepad out of the briefcase. He sees me staring at the file. " _Une peu recherche_. A little research I perform last night and some infrared satellite pictures of Diamond Mountain. _Très intéressant_."

From his neutral tone and bland expression I can't tell if that's good or bad. Why would he go to all the effort to find those satellite pictures and make a big deal of showing me all of his research papers? Probably to make me think that there's no way I can fool him.

"Do you wish to continue? To cooperate _complètement_ and not to try to outsmart me? To answer my questions and not react as though an idiot ask such things?"

"Yes." I hope I sound credible.

" _Bon_. I will hear the remainder of the story. Commence when you woke in Paris, _s'il vous plaît_."

I take a deep breath. That day was one of the longest days of my life. Something tells me today will be, too.

-27-

Paris

A high-pitched beep-beep, beep-beep hauled me out of my dream. The beep shrilled for several seconds before I realized it came from the alarm on my watch. I rolled over to the edge of the futon, and in pitch darkness, my fingers groped along the floor in search of the watch. I found the corner of my suitcase and poked around until I felt the watch's alarm button. Mercifully, the irritating beeping stopped. I picked up the watch and pushed the button for the illuminating light: 5:01.

I scratched the itching on the back of my neck. I wasn't even the star of my own dreams, Quincy was. I wondered what my subconscious was trying to tell me; that I'm a cold fish? How obvious. I didn't need a dream to tell me that.

I'd contemplate my screwed up dreams later, after I'd made it to Bonnieux without Quant following me. Once there, though, I'd call Keiko to tell her about this dream. With luck, it'll divert some of her anger at me for not leaving Paris when she told me to.

I rolled to the edge of the futon and sat up. The cold wooden floor shocked my feet and my body screamed that I should be going to bed, not trying to wake up before sunrise in Paris to undertake another five hour journey. I'd traveled too far, too fast. Paris is twelve hours ahead of Honolulu and nine hours ahead of San Francisco. The tentacles of jet lag had coiled themselves around my head and were squeezing. It didn't help that the only dream-free, restful sleep I'd enjoyed since Honolulu had been when Keiko prepared her soporific tea. Every other time I fell asleep, I woke physically and mentally exhausted. I felt as though I'd participated in real events. Add to that the real life stress of knowing Quant was in Paris searching for me. I needed a humongous dose of Provençal rest and relaxation, along with some tasty Rhône wines.

I levered myself off the futon, staggered to the window, and peeked out the drapes. A layer of clouds had rolled in overnight and blanketed the moon and stars. The courtyard was dark except for a small patch of light at the courtyard exit. The old man's drapes were closed and no light brightened the edges. He must be asleep. My plan had worked. If I slipped out right away, I'd be gone long before he was out of bed.

I didn't think that any taxis would be cruising this early, so I called for one. I flipped the switch for the flat's overhead light. Thankfully the light was dim; a flash of brightness would have demolished my tenuous hold on functioning eyes. I spotted the telephone directory underneath the phone and flipped through the yellow pages, searching for a taxi company that advertised English speaking drivers. I found a listing and called for a taxi to pick me up on rue Saint Dominique and take me to Gare de Lyon.

I donned my clothes and grabbed my suitcases. With my heart pounding, I crept down the hallway to the stairs. Despite banging my suitcases against the stairway walls, I managed to reach the door to the courtyard without the old man scrambling after me. I peered out its window to see if a light shone from the old man's apartment. It remained dark. I told my heart to slow down and relax; the worst would be over in a matter of minutes. As a precaution, though, I walked as close as possible along the building wall underneath his windows.

When I opened the door to the street, a taxi that looked like it'd participated in an all-night demolition derby waited at the curb. A dark complexioned man with greasy slick-backed hair leaned nonchalantly against the opened trunk, a stub of a cigarette hanging on his lower lip. " _Monsieur_ Burrows?" he mumbled without removing the cigarette.

I nodded.

He spat the cigarette on the street. Without saying a word, he snatched the suitcases out of my hands and tossed them on top of an unpressurized, thread-bare spare tire. He slammed the trunk shut and walked to the driver's-side door.

I reached for the handle to the rear passenger door, hesitated, and looked up and down the street. The infrequent lampposts provided sparse light with stretches of shadowy intervals. The buttery smells of croissants baking filled the air. Evidently, only bakers were at work this early.

By the time I'd maneuvered myself into the back seat, the driver waited behind the steering wheel. Without looking at me, he pulled a pack of Gitane cigarettes out of his shirt pocket with his right hand and drew a cigarette out of the pack with his left hand. He laid the pack on the seat and tapped the cigarette against the dash before plugging it into the corner of his mouth and lighting it. He blew a cloud of smoke out the window, then squinted at me. "Gare de Lyon, _n'est-ce pas_ ," he said.

" _Oui_ ," I responded. " _Parlez-vous anglais_?"

" _Non_. _Parlez-vous français_?" he said with the cigarette clenched between his lips.

I tried to remember how to say "a little." " _Un tout petit peu_." I hoped he would respond in English.

" _Tant pis pour vous_ ," he grunted. He started the car, flipped the meter on, and accelerated down rue Saint Dominique.

Too bad for me was right. So much for my request for an English speaking driver. It either went unheeded or this jerk wouldn't deign to make the effort so early in the morning. I was debating which had occurred when we came to the stop light at the intersection across from Esplanade des Invalides. In my mind's eye I pictured a map of Paris and expected that we'd turn left and head for the Seine. When the light changed, we hurtled ahead on rue Saint Dominique through the deserted park.

I leaned forward. "Shouldn't you turn?"

" _Ne comprend pas_ ," he mumbled. The cigarette dangled from his lips.

I sank back in my seat. I'd been such a fool. If Quant could follow me to Paris, he'd have no trouble discovering where I was staying. He probably tapped the phone and sent this creep to pick me up and deliver me to him. I glanced at the door next to me. It wasn't locked. I'd jump out of the car at the first opportunity. I wouldn't let Quant capture me this easily.

The taxi slowed at a traffic light. I reached for the door handle. As if aware of what I was about to attempt, the taxi accelerated. Its tires squealed across Boulevard Saint Germain. The driver turned his chin to his shoulder and gave me a long, hard look. He blew a puff of smoke and grinned. " _Peu des voitures, oui_?"

Few cars. I was a paranoid idiot. He'd been taking what he thought was a sparsely traveled route. I could relax. I'd soon be out of Paris. I settled in the seat and enjoyed the sights as the driver sped along the Seine and past Pont Neuf and Ile Saint-Louis. When he reached Pont d'Austerlitz, we crossed the Seine. We had to have made record time because in less than ten minutes we'd reached Gare de Lyon.

The driver pulled over to the curbside, hopped out, and retrieved my suitcases from the trunk. He dropped them on the curb, threw his cigarette in the gutter, and held out his hand. " _Soixante_ _euros_."

I reached in my pocket and pulled out my wallet, fumbling through the bills. I handed him fifty euros.

He shook his head and pointed to a sign in French on the passenger window. " _Non, monsieur_. Fifty euros for the ride and five euros for each suitcase: sixty francs."

He could count in English I chuckled to myself. I handed him another twenty euros. He deserved a ten euros tip for his chutzpah.

He stuck the bills in his shirt pocket. " _Bon voyage_. _Où_?" he asked.

This guy was something. Now that I'd given him a tip he wanted to know where I was going. "Provence," I responded as I grabbed my suitcases and headed into the station.

I took a few steps and heard tires squealing. I glanced over my shoulder. The taxi sped away, as if it couldn't wait to get away from the station. How stupid! I told him where I was going. He could tell anyone who asked him. Quant and the old man would find out I was fleeing to Provence.

I stopped dead in my tracks. I was an idiot. Not because I told the driver I was going to Provence. I was an idiot to permit Brad's lunacy infect me. Millions of people lived in Paris. All of them hadn't conspired with Quant. I'd enjoy the rest of this trip without feeling as though I was being pursued everywhere I went.

I purchased a first class ticket for the eight o'clock TGV to Avignon. I yawned as I walked to the platform. If I didn't get some coffee soon, I might fall asleep sitting on a bench and miss the train. I looked around for a coffee shop and remembered that one of my all-time favorite food writers, M.F.K. Fisher, would purposely arrive at Gare de Lyon hours before departure to Provence so that she could eat at its restaurant, Le Train Bleu. I had a couple of hours before the TGV to Avignon would depart and a good breakfast would start my Provence sojourn on a good note.

The restaurant was on the first level above the platforms. I climbed a flight of marble stairs and entered a cavernous room with tall graceful windows and a sculpted ceiling. I'd stepped into the past. The restaurant had been restored to its original la Belle Epoque splendor. No wonder Ms. Fisher came here.

A table was empty next to a window that overlooked the platforms and the electronic departure and arrival board. As soon as I sat down, a waiter who looked old enough to have worked at the restaurant when it originally opened appeared. I ordered cafe crème and a croissant.

While I ate, the first rays of sunlight illuminated the seemingly endless glass canopy that stretched high above the platforms. From my perch, I watched the crowds of people scurrying like ants to and from the trains that pulled in and out of the platforms of the giant station. I watched, fascinated, until a string of the distinctive orange coaches of a TGV pulled into the platform directly below me. The schedule board flashed that the 7:40 TGV nonstop to Marseille was ready for boarding. The 8:00 to Avignon couldn't be far behind, so I decided to gaze one last time at the panoramic view of the station.

I glanced at the platforms in front of the restaurant. The now familiar head of white hair topped by a black beret raced across the platform, sprinted half-way down the string of coaches, and boarded a coach on the TGV to Marseille. My breath stuck in my throat. Before I could breathe again, Quant tramped down the platform. He stopped, stared at the coach the old man had entered, and then boarded a different coach. At first, I couldn't imagine what they were doing. Then I remembered that I'd told the driver I was going to Provence. My gut feeling had been correct. I hadn't been stupid to regret that I'd told the driver where I was going! The TGV to Marseille was the first train to Provence and Quant and the old man must have raced to catch it, not knowing it was the wrong train.

For once, though, luck was with me. Bonnieux is at least fifty kilometers from Marseille, and there was no way in hell I'd go anywhere even close to Marseille. They'd never pick up my trail again.

Satisfied that I was safe, I began to breathe again. After a couple of breaths, my anger boiled over. I clenched my fists. If Brad had sat next to me, I would've punched out his lights. This had gone on too long. Brad had to be stopped, the sooner the better. As soon as I got to Bonnieux, I'd call the best litigator in San Francisco to commence an injunction proceeding. I'd remain ensconced in Bonnieux until the courts issued the injunction, and then I'd sue the S-O-B for every penny he had. He'll regret until the day he dies that he ever messed with Hobart L. Burrows, III.

Another TGV pulled into the platform next to the TGV that Quant and the old man had boarded. The board flashed that the Avignon express was ready for boarding. I waited for the Marseille TGV to pull out of the station and then hustled down the steps to the platform and boarded my coach. I tossed my suitcases onto the overhead luggage rack and pulled out my Provence guidebook out of the front pocket. I wanted to study its maps so that while I drove from Avignon I could picture the route to Bonnieux in my mind. Last thing I wanted to do was take a wrong turn and end up in Marseille.

A French speaking voice made an announcement on the coach's public address system. I'd just figured out that the conductor had announced departure when the TGV began its crawl out of Gare de Lyon. Once outside the terminal, the TGV's crawl increased into a slow glide through the gray industrial buildings of urban Paris. After we cleared Paris and its suburban sprawl, the TGV shifted into full throttle and accelerated to its cruising speed of more than 140 miles per hour. The train's velocity caused the countryside to melt into a blur. I opened the guidebook and unfolded the map. A few minutes of the soft rocking of the ride lulled me into closing my eyes. I dropped the guidebook on my lap and pushed the seat back. With Quant off my trail, I hoped I could take a refreshing nap.

I didn't know how much time had passed, but I woke when my head drooped forward and my chin fell to my chest. Reflexively, my shoulders snapped back and I opened my eyes to the gray interior of the TGV coach. The train was slowing down to enter a station. I must have slept all the way to Avignon. It felt good to wake up without my gut in knots from a wrenching dream.

I scratched the back of my neck. The itching seemed more intense than when I woke in the morning. If it didn't get any better, I'd probably have to visit a dermatologist when I got home. I looked out the window. A sign reading "Perrache Station" hung on a pillar. I hadn't slept as long as I'd thought. Perrache is on the south side of Lyon and it would take two more hours to reach Avignon.

After the train cleared the station, it accelerated along the eastern bank of the Rhône River and raced the fast swirling current of the Rhône to Avignon. I decided to read my guidebook. I studied the descriptions of the sights and bent the corner of pages describing places I wanted to see. I wasn't even halfway through the guidebook when the conductor announced on the public address system that the train would arrive " _presentment_ " in Avignon. He continued on, but spoke so fast that I couldn't understand most of what he said. He repeated " _panne de moteur_ " several times, which if I remembered correctly meant "engine trouble." I was glad I was getting off in Avignon and wouldn't have to worry about the train's engine problems.

As the train crept into the station, I snatched my bags off the luggage rack and stood at the top of the stairs waiting for the train to stop. I noticed another TGV parked on the tracks next to us and thought it might be a replacement for this train.

The door hissed opened and I hopped onto the station's platform. Bright rays of afternoon Provençal sun warmed my forehead. I squinted into the sun's glare and located the entrance to the terminal's lobby. When I entered the lobby the scene was reminiscent of SFO in the middle of a series of flight delays. Hundreds of people sprawled on the concrete floor and stared blankly at the high-ceiling of the lobby. Others stood and glared at the arrival and departure screen above the main doors facing the tracks. I heard " _merde_ " muttered frequently and wondered why the crowd was so upset.

I looked up at the screen and saw that the arrival and departure schedule had been replaced by an " _Avis au Public_." I could translate enough of the notice to understand that the Avignon Express that had arrived from Paris would continue to Marseille. Passengers who had been on the Marseille Express could begin boarding in ten minutes.

It took a moment to stop translating and for the meaning of the message to blast into my consciousness. Quant and the old man's TGV was the train with the engine problem. They'd disembarked and could be anywhere in the Avignon station. My eyes darted around the lobby. Because of the hoards of people, Quant and the old man would have to be right next to me before I could see them. Even though they'd have the same problem spotting me, my heart pounded against my rib cage. Destiny seemed determined to provide them every opportunity to stay on my trail. Brad always was lucky, and clearly, I was cursed.

I decided the best thing to do would be to clear out of the lobby. I pushed through the crowd and out the terminal's front entrance. The jagged stone walls and battle towers encircling the ancient papal city of Avignon rose across the street from the station. Any other time I would've stood and stared in awe at the sight. I didn't give it a second glance and instead searched for a car rental agency. I spotted a sign posted on a door along the station's exterior and bustled to it.

I entered the office, and surprisingly, there were no other customers. A wooden counter stretched across the middle of the room and behind it a lady in a satin scoop-necked blouse sat with her back toward the door. She shook her frizzed hennaed-tinted hair as she typed at a computer terminal on a desk against the back wall. A small window on the back wall looked into the terminal's lobby. I could keep an eye out for Quant and the old man.

I coughed and she spun in her chair and looked up at me. " _Bonjour, monsieur_ ," she said cheerfully. She stood and stepped to the counter.

" _Bonjour, mademoiselle_." I pulled my wallet out of my hip pocket and handed her my driver license.

She examined my license. "Oh, you are from the San Francisco area. San Francisco, my most favorite city in the States."

"I'd like to rent a car." I forced a polite smile. I didn't want to engage in small talk. I wanted to get a car as fast as possible and get out of Avignon.

"You have the reservation?"

"No."

She frowned. " _C'est dommage_. Such mess here today with the train breakdown. I think an old gentleman with a young lady," she winked," who was not his wife, just rented the last available car. But I will look."

She returned to her chair and punched the keys on her computer terminal. "I wish you could have seen that couple. I think they were having a lovers' quarrel. The young lady looked very mad."

I couldn't have cared less about a couple of French lovers. Quant and the old man were my concern. I glanced out the window and into the lobby. If I could look out, Quant or the old man could look in. I didn't want to stay in this office any longer. I started to ask if there were any other rental agencies when she said, " _Bon_ ," and spun around in her chair.

" _Quelle chance_. You have the luck today. One Renault, it is available."

Despite my nervousness about remaining exposed to the lobby in this office, I decided I'd better rent this car. I couldn't take the chance that all of the cars at the other agencies could be rented. I pulled out my credit card and handed it to her.

"For how long, ah, you want to rent the car?"

"At least one week, maybe two," I replied.

" _Bon_. I will prepare papers for open return date." She started typing again on the computer keyboard.

I stole a glance out the window. No sign of Quant or the old man, but I could only see a small portion of the lobby. I turned my back to the window. She was taking way too long. I started flexing my fingers as if to help her type faster. At any moment Quant or the old man could walk by the window and spot me. Worse, they could walk in here to rent a car. I wondered if I could lock the door and close the shade without the clerk noticing.

The tick-tack of a dot matrix printer pounded for a minute. The clerk smiled and retrieved several sheets of paper from the printer and collated them before stepping to the counter. She held the paper in front of me and pointed a ballpoint pen at the top sheet. "Sign here, and initial here, here, and here." She handed me papers and the pen.

The contract was in French, and even if I knew enough French, it would have taken me days to translate the small print. I just wanted to get as far away from the terminal as soon as possible. Even though I had no idea what I was agreeing to, I signed. When I finished, I handed the contract back to her. She separated the copies of the contract into triplicate. I rocked back and forth on my heels, wishing she'd hurry. She inspected each page of each copy thoroughly, twice, before placing one copy on top of her desk and one copy in a drawer in her desk. Finally, she turned to me and handed me the other copy. "The car is in the lot. Do you know where it is?"

I shook my head.

"Outside, turn left. Go fifty meters to the alley on the left. Take the alley. After one hundred meters, the lot is on the right. There is a sign on the fence." She handed me a key ring.

"The car is the red Renault hatchback." She pointed to the plastic tag on the key ring. "The plate number is on the ring."

" _Merci, mademoiselle_." I glanced out the window to the lobby one more time. On the far side of the lobby I thought I saw Quant exit a telephone booth. Before I could know for certain three people moved in front of the window and blocked my view. I wasn't about to wait for a second look. I grabbed my bags and scooted out the office. I was certain Quant hadn't seem me.

I trotted down the sidewalk. By the time I reached the alley I was out of breath, my arms ached, and sweat soaked my shirt and ran down my arms onto my palms. I trudged down the blacktopped alley, no longer able to jog, and spotted a sign on a steel chain link fence. When I finally reached the fence, my legs had turned to lead and my arms must have stretched a foot. I staggered to the gate, the only thing that impelled me forward was the thought of how refreshing the car's air conditioning would be.

I reached the gate and saw that my misery wasn't over. A narrow metal staircase plunged almost vertically to the lot ten feet below. My heart was pounding against my chest a couple hundred times a minute. I needed a rest before I dared to descend the stairs. I leaned against the chain-link fence and surveyed the lot for my car.

My eyes almost bulged out of their sockets and I thought my heart would explode. What the hell was going on? The old man was getting into a car, and Keiko sat in the passenger seat. How could that be? She was in San Francisco when I'd talked to her yesterday. What the hell was happening? Was she helping Brad and Quant?

Keiko's brown eyes were narrowed to slits and her lips were pressed tight. I knew that look. She was fuming and barely able to control her temper, and I realized what had happened. She must have been going to Marseille to rent a car and drive to Bonnieux to surprise me. Somehow Brad had found out and the S-O-B had kidnapped her and forced her to reveal where I was going. They must think they can use her as a hostage to make me to cooperate.

I had to get her free before they harmed her. I started to yell, stopped. That might only make things worse for Keiko. She didn't appear to be hurt and I didn't want to do anything foolish that could place her in any immediate danger. They evidently wanted to keep her safe and use her to convince me to keep quiet.

An idea sprung into my head. If Quant was in the terminal, the old man must be taking Keiko somewhere to guard her while Quant waited for me to appear in the terminal. I'd follow the old man. When he got to where he was going, I'd jump him and rescue Keiko. We'd find somewhere to hide until I could have Brad thrown in jail for kidnapping.

As soon as the old man backed out of the parking stall, I hurtled down the stairs. Halfway down the stairs, a bag slipped out of my sweaty palm and bounced down the metal stairs. It landed on the gravel of the lot with a thud and a cloud of dust. I swayed and grabbed the handrail to keep from toppling over. I dropped the other bag behind me. It struck my heel and I sagged.

I didn't wait to see how much it hurt. The old man's car stopped behind a line of cars exiting the lot. If I didn't get in my car fast, Keiko and the old man would be out of sight.

I picked up the bag on the stair behind me and bounded down the rest of the stairs. I grabbed the other bag off the ground and ran to the only red Renault on the lot. I opened the car door, threw the bags in the backseat, and slid into the driver's seat. With sweat dripping down my eyebrows, I stuck the key in the ignition and turned. The engine groaned, the car jerked forward a foot. The engine died. _Shit._ I'd expected an automatic and hadn't pushed in the clutch before turning the key. I hadn't driven a standard in years and wasn't sure I remembered how to shift gears. I'd have to rely on instinct because if I didn't get this car moving soon, I'd lose sight of the old man's car.

I pushed the clutch to the floor and started the engine. I forced the gearshift into reverse, lifted my foot off the clutch. The car jerked and the engine died. Damn. I'd popped the clutch too quickly. The old man might be out of the lot and I'd have no idea which way he turned. With a shaky hand, I started the engine again, let the clutch out slowly, and backed out of the parking stall. I shifted into first and at last rolled toward the street, barely in the nick of time. The old man's car turned right onto the street.

When I reached the street, I turned right and caught a glimpse of the old man's car turning right at the next intersection. I could visualize the guidebook's map in my mind's eye. He'd turned onto Nationale 7, the highway out of Avignon that led to the Lubéron Mountains. I followed and spotted the old man's car speeding away. I hoped this little Renault had enough horsepower to keep up.

The old man tore down the four-lane highway through the sprawl of modern Avignon. I struggled to keep him in sight. If he turned off the highway, I'd never find him in the maze of narrow streets.

I saw an intersection ahead and sped up. I didn't want him to get through the intersection before I could see which direction he went. Suddenly, the old man's brake lights flashed red and he stopped at the end of a line of cars. I slammed on the brakes to avoid ramming into his rear end. I squirmed lower in my seat to hide behind the steering wheel. I hoped he wouldn't glance in his rear view mirror.

Horns blared and I noticed that the traffic lights at the intersection were out. The line of traffic crawled forward one car length at a time and I was certain I'd be spotted. When I reached the intersection, no gendarmes directed traffic. Cars barreled through the intersection without regard to anyone else; no polite alternating of turns. The old man shot straight through the intersection. I hesitated before trying to cross the intersection and two cars on the corner to my right hurtled through the intersection. Then the car opposite from me turned in front of me.

Horns blasted me from behind. The veins in my neck pulsed. I had enough difficulty operating standard gears without the additional fear of being rammed in all four directions while I drove through an intersection. I had to do something. Otherwise they'd get out of sight and I might not spot them again. Panic overwhelmed good sense. I hit my horn, pressed the accelerator to the floor, let out the clutch. Without looking either left or right, I shot through the intersection.

I reached the other side, breathing heavily and with sweat trickling down the side of my face. Without thinking I hit the brakes to slow down. A horn honked behind me and I glanced in the rearview mirror. A large white Mercedes had followed me through the intersection and was closing on my rear. Evidently the driver hadn't expected me to brake. I didn't think it would be able to avoid ramming my car. I floored the gas pedal and spurted ahead. In the mirror, I saw the car swerve into the other lane and narrowly miss hitting me. It pulled up beside me. I couldn't see inside it because of its tinted windows, but I sensed the glare the driver gave me before he accelerated and pulled back into the lane in front of me.

If I didn't calm down, I wouldn't be able to keep my focus on the old man's car. I took a deep breath and counted to ten. My heart slowed a little as I drove through the outskirts of Avignon. The highway narrowed to two lanes and little traffic cluttered the highway. The white Mercedes stayed about twenty yards ahead of me and at every curve in the highway I spotted the old man's car ahead of the Mercedes. To keep up with the old man my speedometer stayed above 130 kilometers per hour. Evidently, the Mercedes driver decided that was fast enough for a two-lane highway because he stayed between me and the old man. That was fine with me. He'd keep me shielded from the old man's view.

After about thirty minutes our trio of cars reached the Lubéron area. I noticed that a storm had passed through recently. Huge puddles of water flooded unpicked vineyards. The thought popped into my head that the grape harvest would be ruined, which made me feel insensitive. How could I think about wine with Keiko kidnapped?

The drive continued on through the drenched countryside until the old man turned onto the road to Bonnieux. The Mercedes continued on the main highway and I turned towards Bonnieux. I knew what was happening. If Quant missed me at the station, they planned on setting a trap for me in Bonnieux.

I had an advantage. The old man didn't know I was following him. I'd be able to take him by surprise when the opportunity arose. That would foil their plans.

Any other time the scenic drive into Bonnieux would've taken my breath away. Bonnieux looked exactly like a postcard picture of a Provençal hill town. Bleached stone buildings perched on the steep slopes of a hill facing the Lubéron Mountains. Roof tiles baked by the intense Provençal sun into a symphony of colors -- red, purple, orange, yellow, cream. Cobblestone streets so steep, narrow, and crooked that most were better suited for mountain goats than for people. I couldn't enjoy the sight. I had to come up with some way to rescue Keiko, before Quant showed up.

Near the top of the hill the highway ran into the rue République. The old man turned right and I followed. Monsieur Courtois' house was on rue République. That must be where the old man and Quant intended to jump me.

Rue République narrowed to barely enough room for two-way traffic to pass. Fifty yards ahead a row of connected stone buildings snaked around a sharp curve. At the tightest arc in the curve, a cafe's terrace with umbrella covered green metal tables and chairs spilled out toward the street. Only four or five cement blocks cordoned the terrace from the street.

The old man zipped around the curve. I didn't want to hit any of the cement blocks and glanced at the terrace out of the corner of my eyes. Tires squealed. My eyes darted back to the road just in time to see a car skidding around the curve and barreling at me. Somehow it swerved and avoided colliding with me. I managed to lurch around the curve without ending up in the cafe terrace or smashing into any of the buildings.

The old man had pulled over and stopped in front of one of the connected stone houses. Shit. He must've heard the squealing tires and stopped to see what had happened. If I backed up, I'd collide with any traffic driving around the curve, and if I continued forward, the old man would be certain to see me.

Suddenly, the old man's head spun toward Keiko. They started yelling at each other. Good for her. They hadn't broken her spirit, and she was diverting the old man from paying any attention to the squealing tires. My good luck hadn't run out. If I hurried, I could get past them while Keiko kept the old man distracted.

As I drove by, his head remained turned towards Keiko. I shot a glance at the set of ivory numbers on green enameled tiles posted above the building's black wooden door. My guess had been correct. It was the Courtois' address. The old man had indeed expected me to come to this house. I needed to find some place to park and decide what to do next. I hoped Keiko would be safe until I could reach her.

About twenty-five yards past the Courtois house the solid row of buildings ended and where the next building would have stood was a parking area. I pulled into an empty spot and jumped out of the car. I crept to the adjoining building and peeked around the corner of the building to see what the old man was doing.

The old man's car was empty and I saw him enter the Courtois house. I had to restrain myself from racing down the street. Brad was out of control. He'd ordered Keiko kidnapped, and now the same thing would happen to Mr. and Mrs. Courtois. I couldn't conceive how Brad could be so desperate to keep me quiet about his perjury. Quincy always said, though, that desperate men do desperate things. I swore I'd make sure Brad ended up in prison, the longer the better.

I leaned against the corner of the building next to my car and watched to make sure the old man didn't drive off. The sun had set behind the mountains and the sky had turned deep gray. Rue République didn't have any sidewalks for foot traffic and only an occasional car zipped by. It'd be dark in a few minutes and I thought of a plan. I'd creep to the old man's car and let the air out of the passenger side tires. I'd ring the Courtois' doorbell and then hide in the shadows. When the old man came out, he'd immediately realize something was wrong with his tires. When he bent over to inspect them, I'd jump him. He'd never expect it. With the advantages of surprise and my size, I'd quickly subdue him. As soon as I made sure that Keiko and Mr. and Mrs. Courtois hadn't been harmed, I'd turn the old man over to the police. His statement to the police would be the first piece of evidence at the injunction hearing against Brad. It wouldn't be long thereafter that Brad, Quant, and the old man would end up in jail for kidnapping.

I smiled at the ingenuity of my plan. I'd always been able to out think Brad, to play chess like IBM's Big Blue computer while he played checkers. I pulled up the sleeve of my shirt to look at my watch. Someone grabbed me from behind and a hand covered my nose and mouth with a wet piece of cloth. A fragrance similar Keiko's tea filled my nostrils. Before I could struggle, my body went limp.

"Please, don't hurt Keiko," I mumbled. "I don't have." Before I could finish, unconsciousness descended.

-28-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

Dr. Avril places his elbows on the table and leans forward. " _Mon dieu_ , _Monsieur_ Burrows. It is not necessary to be a policeman to determine that the time line for this episode makes O.J. Simpson's alibi seem believable." He glances at his notes. "Where should I begin?"

I place my hands under the table and clench them in frustration. I don't want to get hung up on this.

He squints at me. " _Mademoiselle_ Nidara called from San Francisco. Hours later, you see her in Avignon. We work the math together. It takes at least eleven hours to fly from San Francisco to Paris and it is almost six hours from Paris to Avignon on the TGV. That is a minimum of seventeen hours in travel time. Even if she had flown from San Francisco immediately after calling you, she would not have had time to travel from Charles de Gaulle Airport to Gare de Lyon to catch the train. No. What you say is impossible."

I shake my head. He doesn't see the obvious explanation. "If she was in San Francisco when she called."

Dr. Avril snorts. "And where else could she have been?"

"Paris."

He rolls his eyes. "Even if I accept that, there's an even bigger discrepancy. You saw the old man and Quant board the TGV in Paris. Mademoiselle Nidara was not with them. How could she suddenly appear in Avignon with the old man?"

My fingernails bite into my palms. "If you'd let me complete my story, your questions will be answered." I realize I'd spoken louder and faster than I should have. He'll think I'm rattled.

He chuckles, casts that knowing smirk. " _S'il vous plaît, Monsieur_ Burrows. In your vernacular, I was not born yesterday. You're stalling to try to find more time to concoct the explanation. Even if I wish to believe your story, I can not with such holes in the basic facts."

I close my eyes and concentrate on not losing my temper. I promised to cooperate, and I will. "The explanation's obvious. After I left San Francisco, Keiko took the next flight to Paris. She called me from a hotel in Paris. She met the old man on the TGV. They were going to Marseille together."

"You expect me to believe she knew the old man," Dr. Avril says in a mocking tone.

"Yes." I hope my exasperation doesn't show. "They'd known each other for a long time."

He arches an eyebrow. "She was not abducted?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Oh, _très intéressant_ , Monsieur Burrows. You are good. I cannot wait to hear what happens next."

It hurts, but my only choice is to ignore his sarcasm.

-29-

Bonnieux

I couldn't open my eyes. I tried to move my arms. It felt like something restrained them.

A female voice spoke in a raspy monotone. Even though I couldn't understand what she said, I recognized that voice. I'd heard it many times in my dreams. I tried to turn my head in the direction of the voice. I couldn't move it either. Two cool fingers touched my eyelids and pulled them open.

With fish-lens vision, I stared at a wooden beamed ceiling and realized that I lay in a bed. A shadow passed over my face and then a pair of eyes hovered above me. Despite the distortion of the face caused by the fish-lens vision, the intense cobalt-blue eyes confirmed that the face belonged to Mirae. I tried to scream. Nothing came out of my mouth. The fingers released my eyelids. I prayed that this was another dream.

"Damn your Vhirko intemperance." Keiko's voice bristled in anger. "You were supposed to bring him in without a struggle. No one said anything about using inducer. You used so much you could've killed him."

The familiar touch of Keiko's fingers encircled my hand. "How could you do such a thing? It will be hours before he recovers." Anger flared in Keiko's voice. "And perhaps days before the inducer clears and he can recall the dreams."

"Enough needless hand wringing. It accomplishes nothing," Mirae said in her dispassionate monotone. "He stalked us from Avignon and was lurking outside like a alley cat waiting to pounce on a rat when I located him. He's a threat to the King and had to be subdued. Better harm comes to him than to the King."

"Do you have any compassion in that Vhirko soul of yours?" Keiko hissed. "All you care about is your precious duty. Protecting the King."

"She's just following her duty," a baritone voice said. Another voice from my dreams: Zhun'Mar. "Just as you must follow yours."

A silence tense with sparks of agitation and anger swirled around me. I couldn't move my lips to warn them that the old man represented the threat, not me. I wondered if he was in the room. The more I strained to move my lips, the more immobile they became. My heart pounded against my chest. I thought they could hear it and realize I could hear them.

Zhun-Mar's voice pierced the silence. "Caykondra, I am still your King. Now that you've examined him under the inducer, I command you to tell me what you have determined."

"I've always performed my duty to the King." Her voice seethed. I'd never heard her so pissed-off. "Even when he acts like an idiot. But this time, I don't know why I listened to you and sent Hobie here. I should have followed my own instincts." She inhaled deeply. "If anything happens to him . . ." Her voice broke.

"I'm sorry. I meant only to bring him in without a struggle," Zhun'Mar said softly. "I didn't know he'd react so adversely to the inducer. But this is important. Now that you've examined him under the inducer, what did you learn?"

"Someone inserted a VR neuroimplant," Keiko said in a monotone. "I could load information on it if I wanted, but it's not capable of downloading information to anyone. So I can't determine who inserted it, when it was inserted, or what it contains. But in light of the dreams, it must contain some of Tarnlot's memories. My guess is that the implant's programmed so that Hobie only accesses the memories during sleep."

"Could Tarnlot have inserted the implant for some reason?" Zhun'Mar asked.

"If Tarnlot's alive and knows where I am, he could have contacted me at any time over the past five years. He wouldn't have waited until a few days ago, and then only by means of such a subterfuge," Keiko said sarcastically. "But if he's dead, why would the implant not activate until now? Why not when I first met Hobie? Neither makes any sense."

"If you can't explain, I'll permit no risk to the King's safety," Mirae said sharply. "I fear the Tamok discovered that this man is your lover and used him to locate us. They could have created the implant and programmed him to kill the King. We must eliminate the risk."

"I doubt that Mhorg and Bhradvin would employ such subtlety," Zhun'Mar responded. "If they knew where we were, they'd have Quant kill us. Not some surrogate."

"You've misjudged them before," Keiko said without hiding her disdain. "But for once, we agree on something. Mhorg and Bhradvin would want us to know what was happening and why. Besides, Hobie wouldn't harm anyone. He's too gentle even to seek revenge against the man who fired him. No implant could change his basic nature."

"What if you're wrong?" Mirae countered, her tone biting. "Every moment we wait, the jeopardy to the King increases."

I wished I could open my mouth to speak. To tell Mirae she was correct. They were in jeopardy, but not from me. From the old man. He was the one helping Quant. How had he deceived them? Where was he? He must have gone back for Quant now that I was incapacitated.

Footsteps paced the floor. No one said a word. The familiar touch of Keiko's warm fingers stroked the back of my hand. With all my might I tried to tell her that she was in danger. My lips wouldn't move.

The pacing stopped. "I won't rush to a decision. Too much is at stake," Zhun'Mar said. "I'll reflect on what to do and decide tomorrow morning. I don't want to destroy what may be my last chance to learn of Tarnlot's fate."

"We can't risk the luxury of waiting," Mirae said. "He could attack before you decide. You must not take any chance with your safety."

Not me, my mind screamed. The old man.

"He can't harm me in his current state and I need time to think. To analyze what this means," Zhun'Mar said.

"Then I'll stand guard in case he regains consciousness," Mirae said. "He may try to escape so he can attack at another time."

"Don't bother," Keiko said in her sarcastic tone. "Thanks to the huge dose of inducer you used, he won't regain consciousness before afternoon."

"Enough bickering," Zhun'Mar said sharply. "This has been a long day for all of us. Let's go downstairs. We all could use some sleep."

I heard receding footsteps and the closing of a door, followed by the loud creaking of a staircase. For some reason, they had no idea that the old man worked for Quant. It wouldn't be long before he returned with Quant. I had to do something to warn Keiko.

Unconsciousness sucked on me. I tried to fight it. If I lost consciousness, I wouldn't be able to warn Keiko and escape before Quant arrived. My mind tried to order my body to sit up. The cold wave of unconsciousness broke over me and swept me back to a black void from which I feared I would never awaken.

-30-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

Avril frowns at the top of the table. " _Mon dieu_." He raises his head and squints at me. "Were all the dreams drug-induced hallucinations? Were the star maps subconscious recall by your photographic memory of a hallucination? "

I hold Avril's gaze. "No." I hope my sincerity shows as well as my disdain did yesterday. "I've never taken drugs. I didn't even smoke marijuana in college."

He chuckles. "I thought all American college students of your generation were pot-heads. I have heard beaucoup tales about your politicians. Even the President Clinton admit he puff." He chuckled. " _Mais_ , he not inhale."

Does he think I'd stretch the truth the way Clinton would? "I'm no Bill Clinton. I don't lie after I've given my word not to."

Avril chuckles again. "I think you do not like the Bedroom Bill."

I take a deep breath and shake my head. This is unreal. I'm trying to keep from going to jail and somehow the topic turns to Bill Clinton's peccadilloes. I force myself not to tell Avril exactly what I'm thinking. "We're not here for a tirade about Slick Willy."

Avril casts me that French smile of his, superior and all knowing. "You Americans are such prudes about the sex lives of the politicians. You prefer a gun slinging warmonger Bush to a peace-loving, sex-craving President. Ah, but we are not here to discuss American mores, _n'est-ce pas_?"

"No," I say. "May I continue with my story or do you have some more questions about what happened?"

Avril taps his mustache. "Non, non. I wish to hear the _finalé de l'histoire fantastique_."

-31-

Bonnieux

The alarm on my watch beeped. I pried open my eyes, groggy from being roused out of a deep sleep. I might as well have kept them shut because the room was black. I lifted my arms to my face and pushed the light on my watch: 5:01. I closed my eyes, irritated that I'd forgotten to reset the alarm after leaving Paris. My neck ached as if someone was boring a hole through it and my parched mouth tasted like a rat-infested sewer.

At least I'd had some restful sleep after another strange dream. Same characters, but this one on Earth with me . . . I sprung upright in bed, shot wide awake as it all flooded back into my memory. That hadn't been a dream. I'd been drugged. Keiko said memories had been implanted in my brain. Mirae wanted to kill me to keep me from harming Zhun'Mar. The old man had probably already contacted Quant, who'd enjoy killing me, too.

I rubbed my temples and tried to analyze what was happening. This wasn't a disagreement with Brad over perjury. Either I was crazy or all of my dreams were true and I was caught in the middle of an extraterrestrial grudge match. Neither was an appealing alternative. Either way, I had to find Keiko and get the hell out of this place. She was the only person I could trust to help me make sense of it all.

Or was she? She'd sent me here and she didn't seem concerned about the old man. If he'd kidnapped her, she should be terrified about him. She wasn't. Something didn't add up and I had to find out what it was.

In the pitch blackness, I couldn't see a thing. I ran my hands over my body to inventory what I was wearing. The back of my shirt and pants were damp from sweat, but otherwise in good shape. I wiggled my toes. No one had removed my shoes. I patted my pockets and felt the bulge of my wallet and car keys. Satisfied that I had everything I needed to make my escape, I rolled over to the side of the bed and stood up. My head began to spin; it wanted to lie back down. I couldn't. If I did, I might pass out again. I forced myself to stand motionless, closed my eyes, and hoped the vertigo would recede.

It seemed like minutes before the dizziness became bearable. When it did, I cautiously extended my arm as a guide. My hand struck a leg on a table and the table screeched along the floor. If Mirae stood guard outside the room, she'd know I was awake and moving around. I froze and waited. My legs shook, but I forced myself to stay erect and on guard. She wouldn't take me unaware this time.

After a few seconds of silence I became satisfied that no one had heard the screech. I extended my arm again and tip-toed in the direction I thought the door should be. After a few steps, my hand bumped into the cold plaster of a wall. I side stepped to my left until I felt a door frame. I groped to locate the doorknob and twisted. To my relief, it was unlocked.

Despite my desire to run as fast as I could, I knew I shouldn't barge into the hallway. Mirae seemed too professional, and too distrustful of me, not to have taken some precautions. If she wasn't in the hall, she probably had an alarm system to warn her if I left the room. I'd have to be careful to avoid setting off any alarm. The last thing I wanted was to confront Mirae before I could talk to Keiko to find out what was going on and what Keiko's role in it was.

I cracked the door open a few inches. A musty odor permeated the air. I pushed the door open enough to stick my head out. A full moon shone through a floor to ceiling window at the end of a hallway on my right. The moonlight illuminated a flight of stairs that led to a vestibule with a door to the outside, which I assumed opened onto rue République. I couldn't detect the presence of anyone and Zhun'Mar had said they should go downstairs to sleep, so I crept toward the stairs. Somehow I'd figure out which room Keiko was in. I didn't want to believe that she was helping the old man. There had to be another explanation; things couldn't be as bad as they appeared.

At the top of the staircase I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. I stepped onto the first stair. It responded with a tiny squeak. I froze, afraid even to breathe and prayed the squeak was too faint to be heard by anyone except me.

I remained motionless for a few seconds until satisfied that no one stirred. I'd need to be more careful though to avoid making any louder noise. I hunched my shoulders and stepped as lightly and softly as I could on the next stair. It creaked when I placed my foot on it and the first stair groaned as I lifted my foot off it. It'd be impossible to sneak down the stairs. They were Mirae's alarm system. She'd be in pursuit at any moment.

Panic knotted my stomach. If she caught me trying to sneak downstairs, she'd assume I was trying to kill Zhun'Mar and would "eliminate the risk." My only hope was to make it outside before she could get out of bed. I'd hide somewhere until I found a way to contact Keiko.

I dashed down the stairs as fast as I could, no longer worried about the racket. Each stair squeaked when I placed my weight on it and groaned when I shoved off. It sounded like a non-rhythmic discordant symphony guaranteed to wake the dead.

I reached the bottom of the stairs and dashed for the door. My shoes slapped a tiled floor. A door swung open on the lower level. I knew who it'd be. My hand swept along the wood until I found the door handle. I turned it and yanked. The door didn't budge. I pulled with all my strength. The door rattled on its hinges, but it wouldn't open. The knots in my stomach tightened. My fingers grabbled for a dead bolt knob. Instead, I touched an empty keyhole.

A light switch clicked. A flash of light forced me to blink. I pivoted to face the stairs. Mirae bounded up the stairs three at a time and darted toward me. She reached into the pocket of her black sweat pants. I thought she was reaching for a gun and raised my arms chest high with my palms facing her. "Don't shoot," I screamed.

She pulled a skeleton key out of her pocket and waved it in my face. "Told them you'd try to escape. To be safe I took this with me." She had a smug look on her face as she stuck the key back in her pocket.

Relieved that she didn't have a gun, I lowered my hands. Her arms moved in a blur and before I could even think of reacting, she shoved me against the door. She was a good head shorter than me, but she easily pinned my back and arms against the door. "Don't ever try that again. I hope your dreams have shown what a Vhirko can do. It's not pleasant."

She grabbed my right wrist and applied pressure with her thumb. Burning pain exploded in my wrist and I thought a red-hot iron nail must have pierced it. The fiery pain shot up the length of my arm and streaked down my spine. Tears formed in my eyes.

"To the kitchen. You even think of hurting the King and I'll do worse than this to you."

Every nerve ending in my arm and spinal cord screamed in agony. I didn't even want to think what could be worse than this. "Stop, damn it! It's not me. I'm not going to hurt anyone."

"One more word, little man, and I'll shatter every bone in your arm." She increased the pressure on my wrist. "Understand?"

The pain was too excruciating to speak. I nodded.

She pointed up the stairs. "Go."

I heard footsteps running up the stairs from the lower level. Keiko emerged at the top of the stairs, the belt on her red silk kimono haphazardly tied. Her brown eyes blazed. I couldn't endure the pain much longer. My legs sagged.

"Release that grip," Keiko screamed. "You were ordered not to hurt him."

"He attempted to escape. As I said he would. I secured his person, insured he posed no danger to the King," Mirae responded in a cold monotone.

She released her grip. "Don't worry. No permanent injury." Her cobalt-blue eyes mocked me. "This time."

As fast as the pain had shot through me, it receded. My left hand massaged my right wrist. I couldn't forget how excruciating the pain had been. I didn't care to experience what Mirae could do if she really wanted to hurt me.

Keiko reached for my hand. "Hobie, are you okay?"

I pulled my hand back. "Do you really care?"

Keiko shook her head back and forth slowly. "Oh, Hobie," she said gently. She ran her fingers through her uncombed hair. "I didn't think it would be like this. Mirae won't hurt you again. Come upstairs. Let me explain," she pleaded in a soft voice.

"No," I said. "I'm not moving until I know what the hell you're doing; what your role in all of this is."

A door creaked on the lower level followed by shoeless footsteps pounding the stairs. Keiko turned her head. No one had to tell me who it was. Zhun'Mar plodded up the stairs, his hands stuffed in the pockets of an ivory-colored terry cloth robe. Except for the gray streaks in his shoulder-length black hair, he looked exactly as he did in my dreams.

He stopped at the vestibule. Lines creased his forehead. "Mr. Burrows, do you know who I am?"

"I'm not playing your game. You tell me."

He sighed. "Have it your way. Mirae, bring Mr. Burrows to the kitchen. I need to introduce myself." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and squeaked his way up the stairs.

A gleam entered Mirae's eyes, daring me to resist. I didn't want her to show me any more of her techniques for inflicting pain. I'd have to go with them, and at the first opportunity, find a way to escape before the old man returned with Quant.

I shambled up the stairs with Keiko beside me. I didn't hear the staircase creak behind us and turned my head to see if Mirae had remained downstairs. Her eyes bore into my back. Her lips parted into a snarl and with feline-like steps she bounded soundlessly up the stairs. I had no doubt that she intended to warn me that I'd never know where she was unless she wanted me to know.

Zhun'Mar opened a door across the hall from the room I'd been in. He flipped on a light switch and Keiko led me into a room with an unglazed terra cotta tiled floor. Zhun'Mar pointed to a varnished pine farm table with six antique rush-seated chairs. He pulled a chair out from the table. "Please be seated, Mr. Burrows."

Mirae placed her hand on my back and I knew it was an invitation I wouldn't be permitted to refuse. I shrugged her hand off my back and glanced around the room as I stepped to the chair. Behind the table was a vaulted stone fireplace. A white-enameled gas stove set against a yellow wall on the opposite end of the room. Above the stove wrought iron racks hung with Provençal pottery casseroles and copper pots and pans. The room's tranquility contrasted to the desperation eating my gut.

"I'm surprised you're awake already," Zhun'Mar said in his soft baritone. "Your head must be throbbing. The inducer can be nasty stuff if you've never used it. Knocked you out cold. Some fresh coffee with steamed milk should help."

He acted as if nothing untoward had happened and that we were two old cronies discussing a drinking episode. I lifted my head and stared at him, puzzled by his nonchalance about Mirae's drugging me against my will. He must have assumed I agreed to his offer of coffee because he nodded to Mirae and she walked to the counter at the end of the room. Even though some strong coffee would taste good, I didn't want to waste the time. I squirmed in my chair, barely able to contain my desire to blurt out everything. I started to, realized that I had to wait until the right moment if I was to convince the harpy Mirae not to hurt me. Otherwise she'd think I was trying to save my skin.

Zhun'Mar walked around the table and sat in the chair directly across from me. Keiko took the chair to my right and laid her hands on my thigh, as if to assure me everything was all right. I stared at the top of the table. The whir of a coffee grinder was followed by the inviting smell of freshly ground coffee.

"I'm sorry about last night," Zhun'Mar said. He rubbed his temples. "I owe you an explanation."

I didn't even try to control my anger. "You owe me a hell of a lot more than an explanation about last night. I want to know what you're up to. Why all of you want to hurt me. And most of all, who the hell you really are."

Mirae must have detected the anger in my voice. In two leaping strides she was behind Zhun'Mar and glaring at me. My back pressed against the chair to get as much space between me and Mirae as possible. I didn't like or trust that woman.

"You know who I am, and I think you also know that I don't want to hurt you," Zhun'Mar said. "I'm the one who's trying to find out what's going on. That's why I ordered Caykondra to send you here and then to follow. So I could determine what's happening." He steepled his fingers to display the Golden Vine Ring on the ring finger of his right hand. "If I'm to do so, I need to hear your dreams."

I realize now might be my best shot to test him and find out what he intends to do to me. "It'd take hours to tell you all of the dreams. There's no time to waste. You're in too much danger. The old man who brought Keiko here works for Quant. We've got to get out of here before he returns with Quant."

Keiko looked at Mirae and arched an eyebrow. "You think the old man works for Quant," Mirae said, disbelief in her raspy monotone. "What ever gave you such an absurd idea?"

I hadn't expected sarcasm; it wasn't the reaction of someone who'd been caught with the bad guys. Either she was telling the truth or she was one fantastic liar. "The old man tailed me in Paris until Quant made his move. If some lady hadn't screamed for help, I think Quant would have killed me. He and the old man ran away and I managed to ditch both them in Paris. The next morning I saw them board the TGV to Marseille."

Mirae's eyes widened, their whites encircling the cobalt-blue corneas. "You saw Quant and the old man on the TGV. Impossible. You're making all of this up. I don't know why, but I've got ways to make you tell me."

I pointed my forefinger at her. "Bullshit, lady. I arrived at Gare de Lyon several hours before the TGV would depart for Avignon. I decided to eat breakfast at Le Train Bleu. My table was next to a window overlooking the station's platforms. I happened to glance at the platforms and saw the old man. Quant watched him board a coach and then boarded a different coach. They must have thought I was on the Marseille Express."

Mirae's face reddened. "That old man was me in disguise," she said, her voice rising. "Zhun'Mar sent me to Paris to learn what I could before you arrived in Bonnieux. Caykondra said you'd described me from your dreams, especially my eyes. I wore a disguise and some tinted contact lenses so you wouldn't recognize me."

My anger boiled over. "Then why in hell did you let Quant attack me?" I shouted. "He could've killed me."

"I didn't expect him to show up. Then you started talking to him. I assumed you were collaborating. When he shoved you against the building, I thought it was to maintain discipline. Make sure you'd follow his orders. I thought I'd toss a monkey wrench in his plans."

Some monkey wrench, I thought. "If you're so damn tough, why'd you hide behind the building and slink away? I thought a Vhirko's not supposed to be afraid of anything."

Her lip curled. "Fear was not involved. I couldn't risk being recognized. I knew he wouldn't want to confront the police, so I yelled for help. It worked. I ducked back inside the bistro. He ran by like a scared rabbit. I was certain he did not recognize my voice."

I stared in disbelief. "Then how the hell did he follow you to the TGV?"

She pulled on her ear lobe. "I've got to retrace what happened. I returned to the apartment. I'd tapped your phone. When you called for a taxi in the morning, I sent someone to drive you to the train station. I stayed behind to see if Quant followed you. There was no sign of him. The driver called after he dropped you off at Gare de Lyon and confirmed you were going to Provence.

"I called Caykondra at her hotel. Told her you were on your way to Avignon and to meet me in the restaurant coach of the first TGV to Marseille. We'd pick up my Peugeot at the Marseille station and drive back here as fast as possible. But then the TGV broke down. We rented a car at Avignon and thought we'd get to Bonnieux before you. Then I spotted you when you almost rear-ended us. That convinced me you were collaborating with the Tamok. Otherwise, you would've honked and tried to get Caykondra's attention."

She clenched her hands and slammed the table with two fists. A crack split the length of the table. "By the Belts. I'm the fool. I focused on you as the instrument to harm the King. But you were never meant for that. You were merely the lure to entice us to reveal our location. And I swallowed the bait. Hook, line, and sinker. I didn't see Quant when you left the apartment because he'd recognized my voice. He began following me, not you." Her fists pounded the table again. "How could I be so stupid?"

Even though I was mad as hell at Mirae, the tenseness in my neck and shoulders melted. "At least there's one good thing. If you're the old man, we don't have to worry about Quant. I'm sure I saw Quant in the terminal building when I left. The only other car on the road was a Mercedes, and it drove past Bonnieux. Quant's probably scouring Marseille looking for us."

"I pray you're right," Mirae said softly. She lowered her head to look at Zhun'Mar. "You must take no chances. Quant might trace the car rental. We must go to the _mas_. He'd never locate us there. That will give us time to decipher the dreams."

"Agreed," Zhun'Mar said. "Check the village. The sun won't rise for another hour. If there's no sign of Quant, get the car your rented in Avignon. We'll drive it to the _mas_."

Mirae nodded and hustled out of the room. I looked at Keiko. She stared at the table, not moving. Her faraway expression told me something bothered her; what had I done? "What is it?" I asked.

"This seems too easy," Keiko relied. "How could Quant have followed Mirae to the TGV and then lost us in Avignon Station? Quant looks stupid, but I can't believe he's that incompetent. We're missing something obvious."

A similar feeling sunk into me. Quant had too much confidence in Paris that he could find me whenever he wanted. As though he knew where I would go before I did. I looked at Zhun'Mar. "Where's this _mas_? Are you sure it's safe there? Maybe Quant knows where it is and expects you to go there. He may be waiting there."

"Impossible. It's a farm house an hour from here in the vineyards of Châteauneuf-du-Pape," Zhun'Mar said. "The title is held in one of my aliases. It's in the center of an open hectare of land surrounded by vineyards. No one can sneak up on us without being noticed. If they try, we have weapons from the pinnace. Quant wouldn't want to feel the blast of a Tiranoan maser blaster."

Keiko grabbed my hand and squeezed. "He's right. We'll be safe there and have plenty of time to analyze your dreams. I'm going to change into some clothes. I'll meet you downstairs."

Zhun'Mar glanced at Mirae. "I'll do the same," he said. He followed Keiko out of the kitchen.

The back of my neck began to throb as if I'd been shot with a new jolt of the inducer. A cup of coffee sounded great and I had a few minutes before Mirae would return and Keiko and Zhun'Mar would be dressed. I helped myself to a cup of coffee. The hot coffee soothed my throat and dulled the throbbing in the back of my head. I drank some more and hoped it would ward off any more jolts from the inducer.

When I finished the cup of coffee, I trotted down the stairs to the vestibule, not worried about the stairs squeaking and groaning. While I waited in the vestibule for Zhun'Mar and Keiko, I noticed a thin line of light shining on the wall. Mirae had left the door partially open. I could escape from this nightmare if I opened the door and ran. I could be in my car and miles out of here before anyone knew I'd left. I reached for the knob when it hurtled open and the knob smacked my hand. Mirae charged through and bumped into me. Her eyes sliced through me and she stuck her index finger in my chest. My sternum burned as if it'd been penetrated by a hot needle.

"One warning, little man. Stay out of my way. Try anything that endangers Zhun'Mar and not even the High Sibyl will be able to protect you. You'll answer to me." She whirled and ran down the stairs.

I leaned against the wall to compose myself. Even though Zhun'Mar didn't regard me as an enemy, at best Mirae viewed me as an unwanted hindrance. She wouldn't hesitate to hurt me at the first opportunity. If I opened the door and ran, I could be in my car and gone before Mirae returned. Mirae and Quant could fight each other and leave me alone.

I debated whether to abscond while Mirae was occupied. I was reaching for the door handle when a door opened downstairs and Keiko emerged carrying a small overnight suitcase. She walked up the stairs wearing a red turtleneck sweater. She broke into a broad smile when she saw me. A smile that had always entranced me, and still did. I couldn't abandon her.

When she reached the vestibule, she handed me her suitcase and wrapped her arms around me. "I'm sorry to put you through all this." She laid her head on my shoulder. "I'd hoped for a better way to let you know your dreams are true. But I didn't know how. I was afraid you'd leave me if you knew who I really am. I'd hoped if you saw Zhun'Mar, it would make it easier for me to tell you. To tell you that I love you no matter who or what I am."

I breathed in the scent of her perfume and wrapped my arms around her. Despite the temptation to flee, I could never desert Keiko. I pulled her closer. "I'll love you forever."

"And I, you."

The stairs squeaked and Zhun'Mar and Mirae walked up from the lower level. Zhun'Mar looked like a retired academic in his chambray work shirt, faded blue jeans, and ankle-high work boots. He grabbed an ivory jacket off a hook in the vestibule. In contrast, the athletic Mirae wore a skin-tight, black-polyester sweat suit and black aerobic shoes.

I spoke. "Why don't we take the Renault I rented? Quant might discover your name and address from the car rental. If he does, he'll see the car and think you're here. It'll keep him occupied for awhile."

Zhun'Mar nodded at Mirae. She turned to me and stuck out her hand. "Keys. I drive."

It made sense for her to drive since I didn't have any idea of where we were going. Even so, I resented her bullying tone. Keiko must have known what I was thinking because she squeezed my hand gently. "It'll be okay," she said.

I reached in my pocket and tossed Mirae the keys. "It's parked up the street," I said in an effort to appease Mirae.

Her cutting look indicated I'd told her something she already knew. She opened the door, and in the predawn twilight we hustled in her frigid wake to the Renault. When we reached the car, Zhun'Mar held the passenger side door open and Keiko and I squeezed into the back seat. Mirae hopped behind the steering wheel and Zhun'Mar sat in the front passenger seat. Despite wearing a jacket because of the early morning chill, he rolled down the window next to him. I suspected that in the enclosed space he'd caught a whiff of the stinky clothes I was wearing. When I whispered so to Keiko, she pinched her nose, giggled, and whispered in my ear that I really should shower as soon as we arrived at the _mas_.

Even though Mirae was looking in the rearview mirror, she either didn't notice, or refused to notice, our levity. Straight-faced, she threw the car into reverse and backed out. She shifted into first and coasted down rue République and around the curve where I'd almost crashed. After a quarter-mile, she slowed to turn to the road leading to the highway. A road closed sign in the middle of the road blocked the turn. She grimaced and looked at Zhun'Mar.

"Take the old road," he said. "Shouldn't be much traffic this early. We'll still make good time."

Mirae pushed the accelerator to the floor. My head snapped back and the tires squealed. She sped along for a half mile until she slowed down just enough to turn onto a narrow two-lane highway. The highway descended to vine covered plains of the countryside and Mirae used the incline to accelerate to more than 130 kilometers per hour.

We zoomed along for several minutes until we approached a tractor pulling a weaving cart. A sign on the back of the cart read Cave Cooperative Bonnieux. " _Merde_ ," Mirae said. "Pont Julien's just ahead. I can't pass before we reach it." We slowed to a crawl.

"No need to get upset, Mirae," Zhun'Mar said. "The grower has his problems too. Yesterday's storm probably destroyed much of his crop. He's got to get up early and harvest what's left, before mildew and rot ruin it. Poor guy. From the looks of the black clouds coming from the north, another storm's on the way. It'll likely ruin everything he doesn't harvest before it hits."

In front of the tractor a narrow bridge rose on stone arches. The tractor slowed and inched up the bridge. It reached the peak and stopped, blocking our way. Mirae stepped on the brakes and we jolted to a halt at the base of the bridge.

Mirae laid on the car's horn with both hands as if trying to blast the tractor off the bridge. The tractor didn't move. She rolled down her window. " _Imbécile_! _Allez_ ," she shouted.

The tractor didn't budge. Mirae glanced in her rear view mirror. "By the Belts. A huge Mercedes is driving down the middle of the road behind us. I don't like this at all. As soon as that Mercedes stops, I'm going to turn this damn car around and double back to a different route."

I looked out the back window. A white Mercedes was driving down the middle of the road, its lights on bright. It didn't stop until it rolled into our rear bumper and jolted the Renault. Despite the glare of its headlights, I realized it was the Mercedes that I'd followed to Bonnieux.

The driver opened the door, stepped out, and walked toward us. I recognized the cane immediately. Brad strutted next to the Renault and cast me his smirk.

"By Ghaeah!" Mirae shouted. "Quant's on the bridge with a blaster tube aimed at us."

My eyes darted toward the bridge. Quant squeezed between the side of the narrow bridge and the cart. Someone in black pants and a black knit golf shirt walked past the side window where I sat and yanked the passenger door open. Jack Morgado's face appeared in the opening and his sarcastic laughter burst forth.

Morgado stuck his face in Zhun'Mar's. "You make it too easy. Always the obvious." His finger pointed to the ground next to the car. "Now, get out or Quant will blast you while you're sitting there like the rutting dogs you are."

"Won't work," Mirae said. Her hands gripped the steering wheel with a strangle hold. "This is a busy road. Someone will drive up before you can do anything."

"Not so," Brad replied from his position beside Mirae's door. "Yours truly placed road closed signs in both directions leading to the bridge."

He lifted his cane to a horizontal position in front of his chest, his right hand on the ivory handle and his left hand holding the polished wooden stem. He twisted the handle forty-five degrees and pulled his right hand back. The handle was the butt of a pistol with the barrel concealed in the cane. He aimed the barrel at Mirae's head. "I've waited a long time for this."

He glanced at me with a sneer. "You're so pathetic, Burrows. I've played you like a puppet on a string. Everything you've done has been exactly as I choreographed it. You lead us to them." He snorted. "Guess your vaunted photographic memory didn't help you or your friends."

His head moved up and down as he explored Keiko's body. "Mhorg promised me the pretty little witch so that she can be my plaything." He kept that smirk on his face as if he knew how much it would irritate me. "I'll think of you every time I have my way with her."

The muscles along my jaw tightened. I wasn't so smart after all; I'd been outwitted by Brad Hale. I turned to Keiko. Her eyes narrowed in disdain at Brad.

"Enough of your bullshit," Morgado said to Brad in a crisp tone that bristled with anger. "You can satisfy your lust later. We have more important things to accomplish."

He lowered his face in front of Zhun'Mar's. "Tell me where the pinnace is or I'll rip it from you. Cooperate and," he paused and stared at Mirae, sneered, "your whore will be spared."

Zhun'Mar turned his face away, stared out the windshield. "Fool," Morgado said, his voice noxious with venom.

He stepped back from the door, looked from Brad to Quant. "Get'em out of the car. I'll scan them. Find out where it is." He half-smiled at Quant. "Then you can kill all of them. Slowly and painfully."

"Out of the car, now!" Brad yelled. He grabbed the door handle and opened Mirae's door. She sat motionless.

"Now, you cloned bitch!"

Mirae didn't move. Brad grabbed her by the hair and yanked. Mirae launched out of the car. Her arms struck with the speed of two lightning bolts. The palm of her right hand crashed into Brad's nose and her left hand encircled his right wrist. The sound of bones snapping like twigs was followed by a piteous howl. Brad's pistol fell to the pavement, blood spurted from his nose, his right hand dangled limply at his wrist. Without breaking her flow, Mirae grabbed the pistol off the pavement and rose to a crouching position with the pistol pointed over the hood of the Renault at Morgado. The whole thing had lasted less than a heartbeat.

"Tell your goon to drop the blaster or you'll be dead before he can pull the trigger," she said.

The chill in her monotone left no doubt she would do exactly that. Morgado, however, didn't say a word. He stared at her, almost as if he was looking at her features for the first time. I wondered if he knew, or at least, suspected.

"Don't tempt me." Mirae's eyes narrowed as she glared back at Morgado. "Tell him. Now!"

Morgado's eyes tightened, but remained locked with Mirae's. "Drop the blaster," he yelled without looking at Quant, "or the whore will kill us all." He spat on the ground.

Quant dropped the tube and raised his hands above his head. Without warning, Mirae spun and kicked Brad in the groin. He crumpled on the ground beside the pavement and uttered an agonized whimper.

Mirae plucked the stem of the cane from his left hand. "I'm not that stupid," she said between clenched teeth. "A poisoned tip. Perhaps you should feel its sting where you think."

She jabbed the stem downward and impaled its point in the ground between his legs, missing his groin by a quarter of an inch. A vicious smile crossed her face. "Next time I promise not to miss."

She turned and pointed the pistol at Quant. "Carry this pig to his brother."

Quant scurried to Brad, lifted him to his feet, and hauled him over to where Morgado stood. Zhun'Mar lifted himself out of the car and faced the shorter Morgado.

"It's safe for you to get out now," Mirae said with a touch of sarcasm directed at me.

Keiko stepped out the driver's side door and stood beside Mirae. I got out the passenger side door and stood to Zhun'Mar's left.

A frown creased Zhun'Mar's face as he watched Morgado. "Why these cat-and-mouse tactics? Can't we forget our past, at least on this world?"

Morgado's lip curled. "Unlike you, I will never forget." His eyes challenged Zhun'Mar.

Zhun'Mar averted his eyes. "I'd hoped you would listen to reason."

Morgado continued to stare without blinking at Zhun'Mar. Every particle of his being exuded an unquenchable hatred and derision. "You're so out of touch with reality. You still don't have the slightest idea why I despise you so much."

Morgado turned his head and the glare of his hatred oozed onto me. "Ask him. His dreams showed him why. Why I'll never stop until I find a way to take what's rightfully mine. Only death will stop me, mine or yours."

Zhun'Mar shook his head slowly. "I have no desire to kill you."

Thunderclouds rolled in and blotted out the morning twilight. The wind began to blow in gusts. The headlights of the Mercedes reflected off the Renault and provided a dim light on Zhun'Mar, Morgado, and Brad leaning on Quant for support. Mirae and Keiko walked around the front of the Renault. Keiko stood next to me and Mirae stood by Zhun'Mar.

"Enough talk," Mirae said in an emotionless monotone to Zhun'Mar. "I will do what must be done."

"How appropriate. To die at your hands, whore," Morgado said with a chill in his voice.

Mirae's face remained an expressionless mask as if she hadn't heard the words.

Lightning flashed above us and the concussion of thunder reverberated in the dark. Keiko grasped her pendant. Her body stiffened. A gust of wind blew her hair over her eyes. "I did not understand. But it is as Vision projected. One must die. Only then can the shackles be removed and the other return." Her knees buckled. I grabbed her by the waist to keep her from falling.

"You heard the witch," Morgado shouted in the intensifying wind.

Zhun'Mar inhaled deeply, exhaled. "Yes." He nodded to Mirae. "Remember my orders and do what you must to get us safely out of here."

I couldn't let this happen. Zhun'Mar and Mirae needed to know what they were about to do. I had to tell them. I couldn't watch them kill their own flesh and blood.

"No! Wait!" I shouted. I grabbed Zhun'Mar's shoulder. "You can't. You have to listen to me."

Zhun'Mar turned toward me, his back to Morgado. Mirae glanced in my direction, her eyebrow raised. The moment Mirae took her eyes off Morgado, he grabbed the medallion on the chain around his neck. He uttered a guttural sound.

"Stop him!" Keiko screamed.

Mirae's eyes darted in Morgado's direction. She jumped in front of Zhun'Mar. A dot of white transparent light spurted out of Morgado's medallion, striking Mirae in the chest. She didn't move, frozen in place with her eyes wide and her mouth open as if to scream. She teetered for an instant, then toppled forward.

Before Mirae's body reached the ground, Keiko grabbed her pendant and pointed it at Morgado. "Stop or I'll use it," she said in a shaky voice.

Quant shoved Brad to the ground and leaped in front of Mhorg. He raised himself to his full height, spread his arms, and rushed at Keiko. I dove for Quant's knees and hoped I could tackle him. I landed on my chest on the ground a step from Quant. He stopped, looked down, and cocked his leg. "You puny scum. I promised to show you a real kick, remember?" He curled his lip and held his leg cocked as if to savor the first kick.

"Run, Keiko! Get to the car and get outta here!" I yelled.

"Baku, bol, doohb," Keiko shrieked.

Intense heat singed the hairs on the back of my head. I looked up and a red circle of light struck Quant in the chest and burst into a white-hot glow that engulfed his body. It shimmered for a second then burst into a bright ball. My eyelids snapped shut. In an instant, the searing light subsided enough I could open my eyes. Quant was nowhere to be seen.

Mhorg staggered backward, his face and hands charred black, his hair curled and singed. He collapsed on the ground, blood flowing from his nostrils and mouth. He didn't move.

I heard Keiko moaning. I jumped to my feet to she if she was hurt. She held her pendant in the direction where Quant had been. She leaned against me, shaking. She smelled of sulfur. "I broke my oath. I used my pendant to kill them both," she sobbed.

I held her close while my body shook from the horror of seeing a man disintegrated and two other people killed.

Zhun'Mar fell to his knees and picked Mirae's inert body in his arms. He began to slowly rock back and forth. "I beg Gheaeh. Don't let it be so."

He turned to us. Tears rolled down his face. "Caykondra, check her signs."

Keiko moved from my side and still trembling, kneeled next to Zhun'Mar. She took Mirae's head and laid it in her lap. She closed her eyes and held Mirae's head in her hands. Her fingers probed the back of Mirae's neck. Seconds passed like minutes as what I'd caused sunk in. I'd distracted Zhun'Mar. Because of that, Mirae had sacrificed her life. I had caused her death as surely as if I'd pulled the trigger.

"Is she dead?" Zhun'Mar asked.

"No," Keiko said in a whisper. "She's in some type of unconscious state. I've never seen anything like it. Evidently, Mhorg's beam wasn't meant to kill, only suspend." Her lips quivered. "I don't know how to counter it."

Zhun'Mar looked at Keiko, tears continued to flow down his face. "You must."

"I've done all I can here. Take her to the _mas_. I'll do what I can there to make her comfortable."

Zhun'Mar stood up cradling Mirae's body in his arms like a broken doll. He carried her to the Mercedes and gently laid her body in the back seat. "I'll drive her to the _mas_. Take Hobie with you in the Renault."

He turned to me. "Drive the tractor off the bridge so we can get out of this cursed place." He headed for the Mercedes.

"Wait," I said. "What about Brad? Are you just going to leave him here?"

Zhun'Mar pivoted, his face drawn and haggard. "What would you have me do? What harm can he do now without Mhorg and Quant? If I kill him, I sink to his level. A vengeful, butchering barbarian. Let there be an end to the killing."

He pivoted and walked to where Brad remained writhing on the ground. Brad shook uncontrollably. Whether from fear or pain I couldn't tell, or care.

"Mhorg made me help him. It wasn't my idea. I won't harm anyone. Please, I beg you," Brad's voice cracked, "let me live. I promise you'll never see me again."

Zhun'Mar stared at Brad for a minute. "You're beneath contempt. I wouldn't have permitted Mirae to kill any of you. She knew my orders in such a situation were to do no more than stun you so we could escape. You will have to live the rest of your life with the unending pain of knowing that your brother died needlessly."

He whirled and walked toward the Mercedes. "Get that damn tractor off the bridge," he shouted at me.

As I walked for the tractor the clouds erupted with a cold rain. I hoped it would wash away the pain I felt from causing the needless deaths of two people, and whatever had happened to Mirae. Before it could, my mind's eye saw the hatred on Morgado's face when he looked at Zhun'Mar and Mirae. Zhun'Mar didn't realize it, but even if they had escaped this time, Morgado wouldn't have stopped pursuing him. It could only end as Keiko projected. Morgado's pursuit could only have ended with his or Zhun'Mar's death. Given Morgado's hatred, I had no doubt that if he had lived, he would try to kill Keiko too.

My pain subsided. I could live with what had happened knowing that Keiko's life was safe. With the worst over, we could begin to find a way to piece our lives back together.

-32-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

Dr. Avril rubs his mustache. "A pendant that shoots the beam of the light to disintegrate a man. I do not know if I should be impressed with the technology or if I should laugh at the absurdity."

I lean forward. "You're a scientist. Surely you can conceive of technology far beyond anything we have."

Avril shakes his head. "It sounds more like the fantasy than the science." He glances at his notepad. "Especially, the convenient computer projection that spurred the action."

I grip the edge of the table and squeeze until my fingers hurt. "If you'd been paying attention yesterday, you'd remember Vision is a computer that makes probability projections. Keiko remembered one of the projections. That's what Sibyl's do."

Avril rolls his eyes.

"Even if you don't believe that, how can you explain that Brad Hale told the police that Quant was killed at Pont Julien. The police have thoroughly searched the area. Don't you think they would have discovered some sign of the body? There's only one explanation. He was disintegrated."

Dr. Avril shakes his head. " _Non_. There is one other. Your words continually accuse _Monsieur_ Hale of being the liar. Perhaps, the Quant was not killed at that place. Perhaps, he was killed at the _mas_." Avril leans forward as if to stand.

He's going to walk out. My upper lip quivers. "Damn it. Why do you refuse to believe me? Everything I've told you is true. It all happened."

He stares at me for a moment as if measuring my words. " _Oui_ , so you continually allege." He leans back in his chair and crosses his legs. "I will listen to more of the story. Then, I will decide who is _le menteur_ , the liar."

The little Napoleon loves watching me squirm.

-33-

Highway in Provence

The rain stopped as we drove through L'Isle-sur-la-Sorgue, replaced by the onslaught of the mistral. The storm clouds scudded south to the Mediterranean Sea while we fled north to Châteauneuf-du-Pape and into the face of the raging wind.

We entered the appellation of Châteauneuf-du-Pape under the first rays of morning light. Keiko turned off the highway before we reached the village and drove down a blacktop country lane surrounded by vineyards. The car lights reflected off the blanketing layer of oval river rocks out of which stumpy vines sprouted. This lunar-like landscape seemed an appropriate destination for a group of people not of this world.

We continued down the lane for several miles until we reached two flagstone pillars marking the start of a private gravel lane. A row of cypresses lined each side of the lane. The mistral bent and tossed the trees as easily as if they were thin stems of pampas grass. The lane ended at a shuttered stone _mas_. Keiko pulled into a carport attached to the side of the _mas_. Zhun'Mar followed in the Mercedes.

Keiko turned to me. "Help him. I'll prepare the room," she said without inflection.

She stepped out of the car. The wind blew her black hair straight back and lifted her skirt above her knees. She leaned into the mistral and wobbled around the side of the _mas_.

Zhun'Mar opened my door. He grimaced and said something that I couldn't understand in the roar of the mistral. I shook my head and cupped my hand against my ear. He leaned close to my ear and shouted, "The wind's too strong. Help me carry her."

I slid out of the car. A gust of the mistral barreled into my back and shoved me toward the Mercedes. Zhun'Mar opened the door to the back seat and lifted Mirae's legs to me. Her body was rigid and cold, as though rigor mortis had set in.

He grasped her shoulders. "Gently," he mouthed.

Even though she looked so tiny and fragile in this condition, I struggled to carry the weight of her legs. She seemed so heavy that I wondered if her bones were made of steel. As we trudged to the _mas_ , the howling mistral numbed my fingers. Between the heavy load and the loss of feeling in my fingers, I was afraid I'd lose my grip. I'd let Mirae down once, I couldn't drop her now.

Keiko had left the door open and turned on the entry lights inside the house. We carried Mirae down a hallway to the far end of the house and entered a large room that was unfurnished, uncarpeted, and windowless. Flames from a row of fat candles flickered on the mantle of a stone fireplace on the outer wall of the room and provided the room's only light. Keiko sat in the lotus position in the center of the hardwood floor, her back to the fireplace. A fragrance of cinnamon incense filled the air.

Zhun'Mar instructed me to lay Mirae face up in front of Keiko. He knelt on the other side of Mirae's prone body and faced Keiko. "Hobie, kneel next to Caykondra. Say nothing."

I sank to my knees. The chill of the wooden floor penetrated my body. Keiko appeared oblivious to the chill and started to chant in an alien language. Even though I couldn't understand the words, I could comprehend the beseeching tones of her chant. Zhun'Mar would occasionally respond with a refrain in the same tongue. At times I couldn't hear Keiko's voice over the mistral's howl and the clanging of the wooden shutters covering the house's windows.

Keiko stopped chanting. She removed her necklace, cupped her pendant with both hands, and placed her cupped hands on the floor next to Mirae. She slowly lifted her hands over Mirae in an arc until she reached the opposite side of the floor, then reversed the motion. She paused, lifted the pendant a foot above the floor, and uttered a commanding grunting sound, "Bolh." A glowing orange cylinder formed around Mirae's body. The intensity of the color pulsated from solid to translucent. "Phau," Keiko commanded. The cylinder receded, disappeared.

Keiko and Zhun'Mar remained kneeling for several minutes. Keiko replaced the necklace over her head. Zhun'Mar stood and looked with pleading eyes at Keiko.

Keiko stared at Mirae, a tear formed in the corner of her eye. "I have given her the rites. Only Ghaeah knows if She will take her. All we can do is wait for the answer."

Keiko bit the inside of her cheek, tilted her head to look up at Zhun'Mar. "Mirae accepted the risks of being Vhirko. If she must meet Ghaeah, she will go happily knowing she fulfilled her duties. She saved your life."

Keiko raised herself off the floor and straightened her skirt. I rose to stand next to her, my knees screaming in pain from kneeling for so long on the cold, hard floor.

"We must leave now," she whispered to me. She reached for my hand and led me out of the room. Zhun'Mar remained, his head lowered as if in prayer. As we left the room, I wondered if his goddess answered the prayers of a king.

We walked hand-in-hand down the hallway and through a door next to the entrance to the house. Keiko flicked a switch and a ceiling light brightened a small kitchen, its walls painted a bright and airy yellow. A table covered by a yellow and red Provençal floral print tablecloth was surrounded by four wooden chairs. Dried herbs and flowers hung from beams in the ceiling and scented the air with a potpourri fragrance. Not even this calming atmosphere could sooth my inner turmoil.

"I could use a glass of wine," she said. "You?"

"After what I've seen tonight I need a bottle. I've never seen anyone killed before. And not in the way it happened. How much can you explain to me?"

Keiko opened a cupboard door and pulled out a bottle of white wine and two chimney shaped glasses. "Zhun'Mar made this white Châteauneuf from the gnarly old vines surrounding this _mas_." She swallowed back a sob. "It was the only wine I ever saw Mirae drink."

She uncorked the bottle and poured some into a glass for each of us. I sipped the steely-floral flavors of the wine. For once, the pleasure of wine failed to comfort me.

We sat at the table. Keiko cupped her pendant in her hand and stared blankly at it. "What is your pendant? Some magic mechanism?" I asked.

She shook her head. "Among other things, it's a voice activated and directed laser. The personal weapon of the High Sibyl." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I've defiled it. My vows require that I use it to protect myself and others. I reacted without thought and killed two people." The tear dripped down her chin. "I should have created a force shielded for you and Zhun'Mar instead of striking out at Quant."

I couldn't let her beat herself up like this. "You were true to your vows. You didn't have time to do anything but to react instinctively. I don't think either Zhun'Mar or I would be alive now if you hadn't fired. Quant would've squashed me and Mhorg would've killed Zhun'Mar. Besides, you don't even know if you could've shielded us. Morgado's laser may have been too powerful. No one, especially Mirae, would fault you. You did what was necessary to insure Zhun'Mar survived."

She cupped her hands around her glass of wine. "Thanks," she said with a weak smile. "That sounds like something Mirae would have said. Mirae and I had our differences, but she would've expected me to save Zhun'Mar if she couldn't."

I poured myself another glass of wine. I doubted if Mirae would have felt the same way about my actions. Despite her warning, I'd tried to intervene and created the opportunity for Morgado to strike. A strike that might kill her. "I don't understand about Mirae. Is she dead?"

"She's alive, but in some type of suspension. I've never heard of such a thing and I don't have Vision's processors to access for help. I have no idea how Mhorg produced it, or what to do to counter it. I can only pray that Mirae has the strength of will to break through. If not, I'm afraid she'll waste away and die while all I can do is watch."

I reached for the bottle and refilled our glasses. "If all of my dreams are true, all of you have been on Earth for more than 50 years. Quincy aged and died from a stroke, but you look exactly the same. How can that be?"

"We were all treated with anti-aging nanos on Tirano. Tarnlot wouldn't have aged. Like Zhun'Mar, he probably dyed his hair to make himself look older. I've moved around enough and never made any close friends, so I never worried about anyone noticing. Mirae didn't care."

"Then why'd he die of a stroke?" I asked.

Before Keiko could answer, Zhun'Mar walked into the kitchen carrying one of the burning candles. He sat it on the table and sagged into the chair next to me. The cinnamon incense odor drifted from the candle.

"She made me promise I wouldn't mourn if this ever happened. But I fear the gaping emptiness of losing her," he said. "Our time of happiness seems so brief."

Keiko handed him her glass and he gulped down its contents.

"I understand," I said. "My dreams have shown me."

He glanced at me and nodded. "I thought they might."

He turned to Keiko. "Hobie knows the secret I've hidden for so very long." He looked at the ceiling and steepled his fingers. "Only Tarnlot knew of my love for Mirae and the son she bore me. But he convinced me we couldn't marry and I couldn't acknowledge the birth of our son." He stopped and stared at the table.

Keiko's eyes widened. "Why would Tarnlot, of all people, do such a thing?" she said incredulously.

"Tarnlot knew firsthand the perils of being an illegitimate, half-KaNoa son of the King. If I hadn't been born first, he would never have survived. To protect Mirae and the child from assassination, Tarnlot took the child immediately after his birth. Fostered him on a distant world. Mirae made me promise to never ask where. Neither," his voice broke, "neither of us could have accepted the pain of knowing."

He blinked his watery eyes at Keiko. "What you thought was merely part of our guise on this planet was our long repressed desire. It was no guise behind our closed doors. We have lived happily as Jean-Marie and Mireille Courtois, husband and wife. Our only regret being that our son could not join us to complete our happiness."

He joined you, I thought. I started to say so, decided against it. Morgado was dead and Mirae might die. Nothing could be gained by telling Zhun'Mar. It would only add to his misery by causing new regrets and guilt.

Keiko stared open-mouthed at Zhun'Mar. Her eyes filled with sympathy and compassion. "I never suspected. Why didn't you tell me?"

Zhun'Mar shrugged his shoulders. "Fear that you wouldn't understand. Just as I have refused to understand so many things, including your love for Hobie."

A brief smile crossed his face. "I hope Ghaeah grants you and Hobie the happiness She granted so briefly to Mirae and me."

A blast of the mistral whistled through the roof tiles and rattled the shutters. My head jerked involuntarily and an intense pain shot through the back of my skull. Keiko stiffened and clutched her pendant in her hand. The color drained from her face. "He lives."

"Who?" I asked. The back of my neck throbbed. I kneaded it with my fingers.

"Mhorg. His pendant manipulated a massive surge of power to flaunt his survival. He wants me to know that I wasn't powerful enough to kill him."

I took her hand. "How can you be certain it's not just your nerves? You're bound to be jumpy after all that's happened."

"He couldn't have survived," Zhun'Mar added. "He was too badly burnt. He never moved or breathed."

Keiko's fingers tightened around her pendant. "I should have known. Quant disintegrated because he absorbed the energy of the white heat. In the instant Quant gained for him, Mhorg's pendant projected enough of a body ward to deflect the lethal force back into Quant. I should have recognized what happened, but I was too shaken. When I saw Mhorg collapse, I thought he had to be dead. I should've checked his life signs. I underestimated his abilities. Again."

Lines of concern etched Zhun'Mar's face. "Does he know where we are now? It wouldn't be safe to move Mirae now."

"We'll be secure here," Keiko replied. "His surge was undirected. A 360 degrees burst. An arrogant act intended to unsettle me."

Keiko stood and took my hand. "I need a nap. I didn't sleep at all last night. And I don't even want to think about what today has done to all of us." She lifted the candle off the table.

"Do you want me to keep you company?" I asked Zhun'Mar.

He poured another glass of wine and stared at it. "Let me be. I wish to pray to Ghaeah."

Keiko tugged my hand. We walked across the cold hallway from the kitchen and entered a small bedroom with shuttered windows. In the dim light of the candle flickered on a bed covered by a quilted down comforter. Keiko placed the candle on the night stand next to the bed and sat on the edge of the bed. I stood next to the bed. She took my hands into hers. "Can you still love me after all of this?"

I stared at the floor. "I could never stop loving you."

"Yet, something's wrong," she said softly. "What?"

I'd tried to act normal, but she sensed my anxiety. "I'm an ordinary man. You're so much more. You have powers that I thought only existed in fantasy stories. You're from another planet. One of its leaders, its High Sibyl. I'm afraid that someday you'll find the way to return to your world and leave me far behind."

She rose from the bed and wrapped her arms around me. "Never." She rested her head on my shoulder. "Even if we knew how to return, I wouldn't leave without you, or our son."

"You know I've always wanted a son, but I don't know if it would be the right thing to do. Especially not now. I need time to digest everything."

She held me tight and tilted her face up to mine. "You don't have a choice. My womb holds our son."

"When, h-how?"

She smiled mischievously. "Oh, I think we both know how babies are made. It happened when we made love in the hot tub. I was so upset with all you told me that I didn't take my normal precautions."

Anger flashed through me. "Precautions? You don't really want a child, my child. Do you? It would never have happened if you hadn't forgotten your precautions."

A tear formed in the corner of her eye. "If you think I don't want this child, maybe you don't know who I really am."

I pulled away from her. "Maybe I don't. You knew you were pregnant with my child and you nonetheless sent me into this mess. The Keiko I loved would have told me before all of this, and of the danger we were in. We would have decided together what to do. How to protect our son from the danger."

"I couldn't. I didn't realize I was pregnant until after you'd left for Paris. Then everything spiraled out of control and I never had an opportunity to tell you until now. Please, try to understand."

"Oh, I understand. I know now where your ultimate loyalties and your sworn duties lie. Zhun'Mar made that clear in Bonnieux. And it's not with me."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. "You couldn't be more wrong. I may be Tirano's High Sibyl, but I'm also a woman who needs the only man she could ever love to hold her, to share my joy that we will have a son."

She pulled my face to hers. Her lips touched mine. "Sometimes the greatest joys in life are the unexpected ones. Just like my falling in love with you and now having our son. Please, accept how lucky we are to have found each other. Just love me as me."

Her brown eyes held no deception, only an invitation of unceasing love. How could I be so stupid to risk losing her at what should be one of the happiest moments of our lives.

"You know I could never refuse you," I whispered. "I want you and our son with me forever."

The mistral whined. The candle flame flickered and went out. In the darkness, we undressed and crawled under the down comforter. I slipped my arms around Keiko and pulled her close. The warmth of her silky skin next to mine beckoned me once again. I rolled on top of her. We might be from different worlds, but when the ecstasy of our passion flowed, we united as one. I wanted to remain like this forever.

-34-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

I wipe away a tear. "I should've known that fate would deny me what I desired most."

Avril stares at his notes. "A space ship. That I comprehend. _Mais_ , the opal pendant. _Fantastique_. A voice activated laser to disintegrate people. The ultimate weapon." He lifts his head and smirks. " _Incroyable, non_?"

What an insensitive S-O-B. I spill my guts out about my most intimate moments with Keiko and all he does is ridicule her pendant, call it unbelievable. If I had her pendant, I'd show him its burn. He'd believe it then.

"Do you comprehend the physics of the operation of the pendant?" he asks in a sarcastic tone.

I force myself not to tell him to go to hell. I shake my head. "I can't describe the physics of an airplane either, but that doesn't mean it can't fly."

" _C'est dommage_." He glances at his watch. "Continue." He flicks his hand impatiently.

The last iota of hope drains out of me. His impatience says it all. Not scientifically plausible!

-35-

Châteauneuf-du-Pape

The mistral blew itself out while Keiko and I slept. I lounged in a slatted wooden chair next to a bistro table on the graveled courtyard at the front of the _mas_. Two creamy clouds floated in a translucent-lapis sky. I enjoyed the fresh Provençal air and the serene view of a courtyard surrounded on three sides by an expanse of grass. The grass was ringed by a row of gray-leafed olive trees, and in the background, rocky vineyards stretched to the village of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

I drank my bowl of cafe au lait and basked in the warmth of the midday sunshine. The combination of the coffee and warmth soothed the itching pinpricks on the back of my neck.

Zhun'Mar sat next to me in an ivory robe and slippers. Faint shadows under his eyes indicated he hadn't slept. He stared blankly to the horizon in the direction of the stark ruins of Château des Papes, the fourteenth century papal castle that sits atop the hill in the center of the village of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. He hadn't spoken other than to say that Mirae's condition had not changed. Despite my excitement, it wasn't the appropriate time to tell him that I was going to be a father.

Keiko had slipped out of bed before I woke. She left a note on her pillow saying that she was driving to the village to buy a leg of lamb for dinner. She wanted to make a dinner to celebrate.

I heard the whine of the Renault driving up the gravel lane. A car door slammed and in a few seconds Keiko walked through the double wooden doors that opened onto the courtyard. She headed toward the table. Her crimson sundress brushed the yellow geraniums cascading from a terra cotta pot next to the doors. She looked more beautiful than ever with an aura of contentment that only a woman with child can project.

She handed me a brown paper bag. "I bought you a snack. Your favorite: _pain au chocolat_." She laid a copy of Le Provençale on the table.

I grabbed the newspaper off the table. "Any news about last night?" I asked.

"Didn't take time to glance at it."

I unfolded the newspaper. The headline that ran across the top of the page proclaimed: _Le Meurtre à Pont Julien_.

"What the hell?" I handed the paper to Zhun'Mar. "I can translate the headline. You'd better read the article to me."

Zhun'Mar's eyes scanned the page. Keiko moved behind him and bit her lip while she read the article. "Come on, tell me. What's it say," I demanded.

Zhun'Mar shook his head. "Something I never anticipated. I'll read it to you."

Retired university professor Jean-Marie Courtois and his wife, Mireille, Bonnieux residents, and their American houseguests are suspects in an alleged murder at Pont Julien. Two American tourists, Brad V.N. Hale of San Francisco, California and Jack Morgado of Oakland, California, told police that they were involved in a minor traffic accident near Pont Julien. The driver of the car they rode in, identified only as Q. Kent of Santa Fe, New Mexico, bumped into the rear of a car driven by Mireille Courtois. Monsieur Hale stated that neither car appeared to suffer any damage.

Monsieur Kent exited his car and walked to the Courtois' car to apologize. Madame Courtois became abusive, calling him a "foreign pig." By that time, Messrs. Hale and Morgado had come to Kent's side. Monsieur Hale recognized an American acquaintance, Hobart L. Burrows, III, sitting in the back seat of the Courtois vehicle.

When Burrows saw Hale, Burrows cursed Hale. According to a source with knowledge of the investigation, Hale informed police that last week he had terminated Burrows employment at a San Francisco law firm.

All of the occupants of the Courtois vehicle got out, including Mademoiselle Keiko Nidara, also of San Francisco and a friend of Burrows, and confronted Morgado, Hale, and Kent. The American trio turned to leave when Burrows attacked Hale from behind, knocking Hale face first to the ground and fracturing Hale's nose and wrist. When Kent came to Hale's aid, Nidara pulled a pistol from her purse and shot Kent several times. Hale and Morgado escaped into the darkened fields and hid until the others left the scene.

Our sources indicate that Madame Courtois, who was standing near Monsieur Kent, may have been shot by a stray bullet.

A search for the body of Monsieur Kent has commenced.

"It goes on to describe each of us, the Renault, the Mercedes. Says we may be armed and dangerous. Anyone who sees us should contact the police." Zhun'Mar threw the paper on the gravel. "You were right, Caykondra. Mhorg did ward himself. He wasn't even hurt. How he must love to mock us."

"What's going to happen now? How . . . how long until the police find this place and arrest us?" I stammered.

"We'll be safe here," Zhun'Mar replied in a placid tone. "No one can trace the _mas_ to Jean-Marie Courtois. The cars can't be seen from the road. Plus the pinnace's cloaked here. We could fly anywhere we want if need be."

"But the police won't stop searching. They'll hunt us down eventually," I said.

Zhun'Mar shrugged. "Doubtful. They won't find any evidence of a murder. Remember, they'll never find a body. They'll lose interest in a few days. Think that Mhorg and Bhradvin made the whole story up."

"Maybe not," I said. "There's some evidence. My fingerprints are all over the tractor I drove off the bridge."

Zhun'Mar shook his head. "Bhradvin and Mhorg probably drove it to the police station and wiped out any of your prints. But even if your prints are found, it doesn't prove anything."

I didn't feel comforted and turned to Keiko. Her head was lowered and she rubbed her pendant. I realized I'd focused only on myself. She must be panicked. Brad and Morgado had accused her of being the shooter. "Keiko," I said softly.

She raised her head and looked at Zhun'Mar. "Why would they report us to the police? It makes no sense." She clenched her pendant tighter.

Zhun'Mar's fingers tapped his coffee cup. "It's as though they want us to go into hiding. And they'd have to assume that by now we'd have weapons from the pinnace for protection. You can bet they don't want to feel the sting of a Tiranoan maser beam." He pulled on his beard. "By the Belts, what's Mhorg up to this time?"

Zhun'Mar turned to me. "You've got to be the key. You're the link to Tarnlot and to Mhorg."

I gritted my teeth in anger. "Don't you think that I'd have attacked by now if I was a danger to you."

"Calm down. It's not that. I know you wouldn't harm me," he replied. "But Mhorg must be attempting to force our hand. Maneuver us into another one of his traps. You've got to tell me everything. Maybe I can sort it all out."

I sat in the chair. Zhun'Mar pulled two chairs in front of me, one for Keiko and one for himself. "Go ahead," he said.

I started with the events at Lana'i Lookout and continued through my arrival in Bonnieux. The only breaks occurred when Keiko checked on Mirae. Evidently, the inducer's effects remained in my system because I floundered every time I tried to recount my dreams. No matter how much I concentrated, my memory faltered. I could recall broad outlines of events. Details were fuzzy or nonexistent. Then the biggest frustration. The last dream stopped with Quincy seeing Quant at the Exchange Club. I knew there had to be more, but my recollection of the dream froze with the sight of Quant.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I know there's more, but no matter how hard I try I can't recall any more."

The frustration had drained me mentally. I tilted my head back and scratched the itching at the base of my skull. The sun had fallen behind the western horizon and the sky was on its last gasp of intense blue prior to turning black. One lonely star pulsated in the southern sky. A light breeze blew the fragrance of evening meals cooking in the ovens and fireplaces of the village.

Keiko looked at Zhun'Mar, shook her head. "It's what I feared. Until the inducer clears he won't be able to remember everything. Unfortunately, I have no idea how long it'll take. It could be a matter of minutes, or weeks, or it may never clear."

"I think the best thing is to remain here where we're safe," Zhun'Mar said. "Not do something foolish just because we know Mhorg's up to something. Besides, it's still too soon to move Mirae."

"I agree," Keiko replied.

Zhun'Mar glanced at his watch. "It's 1800."

I gave Zhun'Mar a questioning look.

"Can't you smell the odors from the ovens in the village?" he said, shaking his head. "You Americans. 1800 is six o'clock. Time for dinner. I need to do something to keep busy, so I'll cook. How does leg of lamb roasted on a bed of thyme and a bottle of old-vine red from the vineyard sound?"

After all of my fretting about Brad, Morgado, the French police, and my dreams, I was starved. "Great," I said.

Zhun'Mar headed for the door of the _mas_. Keiko leaned next to me. "I'd better go check on Mirae," she whispered. "I didn't tell Zhun'Mar, didn't want to get his hopes up. She seemed to be getting better last time I looked. I think she'll be conscious soon. That woman's will must be made of iron."

She headed toward the door. With the sinking of the warm Provençal sun, the air had turned chilly. I decided to go inside, too. I stood and a sharp pain penetrated the base of my skull. I grabbed the back of my head and screamed in agony. My knees buckled and I started to crumple to the ground. I don't how she got there so fast, but Keiko wrapped her arms around my chest and propped me on her shoulder to keep me on my feet.

"What is it? What's happening?" she screamed.

I closed my eyes and gasped for air. I couldn't speak. I was afraid the implant was going to explode in my head and rip my brain apart.

"Zhun'Mar, help!" Keiko yelled.

Footsteps raced across the gravel. A pair of strong hands grabbed my arms and led me back to the chair.

Just when I thought I would pass out, the pain subsided. "The back of my neck has been itching and throbbing for the past few days and a couple of times an intense stabbing pain has shot through my skull. I realize now it's from the implant, but this was the worst pain yet. I thought it was going to explode in my head."

I massaged the base of my skull, glad that I was still alive. "Why does it do that?" I asked sheepishly.

Keiko and Zhun'Mar looked blankly at each other. I closed my eyes. Quincy's last dream exploded in my consciousness. Locator! my mind screamed. Please don't let it be too late.

"Hurry! Get out of here. Leave me here and get as far from me as you can," I shouted. "Quincy inserted a locator in my implant. Hale and Morgado can track me wherever I go. They must be probing from nearby for the pain to be this bad."

"Too late," a gravelly voice said.

Even though I already knew my worst fear had materialized, my eyes darted in the direction of the voice. Morgado stood at the corner of the _mas_ with his pendant in his hand. He showed no signs of injury.

Keiko's eyes widened, but before she could turn around, Morgado uttered a deep guttural sound. A piercing transparent light flared toward us. I opened my mouth to yell a warning at the same instant the light struck Keiko and Zhun'Mar. They never knew what hit them. They collapsed at my feet.

To my surprise, I didn't black out. Instead, a tingling sensation surrounded my body. Morgado loomed over me. I tried to stand. I couldn't move.

Brad limped around the corner of the _mas_. A sling held his right arm, a gauze bandage covered his nose, and large bruises circled his eyes. He walked over to me, leaned on his cane, and managed a grotesque smirk. "I wanted you to see this. I've always taken what I wanted from you. Now, I'm taking the little witch. She'll make a tasty pleasure wench. Enjoy your last look. You'll never see her again."

My eyes flashed my distress. Brad laughed. "And don't bother trying to find us. We're not as stupid as that dumb ass Tarnlot. There's no locator implanted in our neuros. Wouldn't matter anyway. You'll never be able to follow us. This phase is so near Earth's outer atmosphere that we'll be out of here in the blink of an eye." He laughed. "We'll be back, though. Even dense old Hobie will know when we return with our Radani friends."

He turned and hobbled to where Keiko lay sprawled on the ground. Morgado joined Brad. Morgado reached down and rolled Keiko onto her back. He grasped her pendant and pulled it and her gold chain necklace over her head. His lips curled up in a half-smile. "Defanged."

He lifted her and flung her over Brad's left shoulder. "Take her out front to the pinnace. Get the rootstock out of the trunk."

Keiko sprawled like a limp rag doll draped over Brad's shoulder. Brad staggered toward me and Keiko nearly slipped off his shoulder. He wrapped his good arm around her thighs; his cane braced her outer leg. When he reached me, he stuck his face in mine. His breath was tinged with breath freshener.

"Thanks for leading us to the pinnace. When we discovered Tarnlot didn't know where it was, we were afraid we'd never get our hands on it. Luckily, Mhorg figured out how to download the implant's memory function before he overloaded Tarnlot's neuro. You should have heard his death scream. Even Quant pitied him." His eyes gleamed the same as when he'd forced me out of the firm.

"It took years, but when we finally worked our way through the downloaded scan, we discovered that Tarnlot used you as a lure for the others. We waited, and sure enough, the witch showed up in time for this phase. And you led us right to the pinnace."

I would have sold my soul for the pleasure of strangling him with my bare hands. I couldn't make any part of my body move. I hoped my eyes displayed how much I hated him. He just laughed.

"Oh, one more thing. We retrieved the knowledge about the rootstock too. When I get this mother lode back, I'll be the richest man in the galaxy. Sole source of poxxra-resistant vine. I'll claim proprietary rights on the stuff and those rich bozo Tiranoans will beg me to sell them some of the rootstock. And of course, I'll find it in my humanitarian heart to oblige them. For a price. I'll be richer than you can ever imagine." He smirked and walked away. Keiko's head bobbed as he walked, her black hair nearly draping to the gravel.

Nothing functioned. I couldn't even cry out in distress. I helplessly watched him disappear with Keiko around the corner of the _mas_. An emptiness overwhelmed me. Keiko and my son, destined to be Brad's slaves. My poor son. Brad would revel in tormenting him just because he was my son.

My eyes searched the courtyard for Morgado. Evidently, he'd be the one to kill me. He stood over Zhun'Mar. In his right hand he clutched a knife with a six-inch steel blade. I expected that he would plunge the knife into Zhun'Mar's back. Instead, he kneeled and with his left hand lifted the ring finger on Zhun'Mar's right hand. With a swift slash of the knife he severed the finger. Blood gushed from the stub of Zhun'Mar's finger and stained the gravel a deep scarlet. Fear seared the pit of my stomach. I'd be next. Would he mutilate me and then overload my implant?

Morgado held the finger with the ring still on it so that I could see it. Blood dripped on the gravel. He pulled the ring off and slipped it onto his finger. "The Golden Vine Ring. When I return to Tirano no one can deny that I am Zhun'Mar's heir. They will be forced to accept that he acknowledged me as his son and gave me the Ring. I'll have all the power that flows from the Ring to meet the others. Something that dense old Zhun'Mar never dreamed existed."

He smiled, his blue eyes glowing with triumph. "The taste of revenge is sweet," he paused, glared at the prone Zhun'Mar, "father." He threw the bloody finger on Zhun'Mar's back. Blood splattered like spilt wine on Zhun'Mar's ivory robe.

Morgado knows. My mind screamed at the thought of the torture Morgado must have inflicted to cause Quincy to reveal his secret. No wonder his death scream had been horrific. His greeting to eternal damnation.

Morgado turned to me, his mouth set tight in his black goatee. He walked across the gravel, his feet crunching the stones. The knife dripped blood on the gravel as he approached. His eyes excreted malevolence. I expected to die, because I knew the secret too.

He must have seen the shock in my eyes. "Oh yes, Burrows. Tarnlot revealed the truth. All of it. And just as Tarnlot used you for his purposes, I shall too."

He glared at the prone figure of Zhun'Mar and flipped the knife onto the gravel next to Zhun'Mar. "I'm going to let you live because of your photographic memory. Remember everything you have seen, everything I say." He paused. His eyes consumed me with hatred.

"Tell my father that I took the Golden Vine Ring and will return to his beloved Tirano with it. I want him to suffer, to feel pain every time he looks at his missing finger. To know what it is to be denied all that he craves. I've enslaved his High Sibyl, taken the Ring, uncloaked his pinnace. I will assume the birthright he and Tarnlot conspired to deny me. I will sit on the vaunted Golden Vine Throne in Arvor Castel as the great King who returned with the vine to Tirano, made the Radani a loyal ally, and opened the hyperportals to Earth. Let him live in this pitiful exile remembering these things until the day I return to Earth with the Radani. On that day he will learn of the true extent of my revenge, as will you."

He placed Keiko's pendant and necklace in my hand. "I want you to suffer too. Every time you look at this, remember. Feel the pain of knowing what debauchery my demented brother is inflicting on your beloved witch. Nothing is too depraved for his tastes. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

He wrapped his fingers around my hand and closed my fingers over the pendant. The bile of his hatred flowed into me. "I want you to come watch the pinnace leave. You can tell my father that you saw me leave in his pinnace." He lifted his medallion, leaned forward, and touched the middle of my forehead with it. "Baku tats ahmura." The tingling around my body lessened.

"Stop, you bastard," a raspy voice croaked. "My beamer's trained on your back. Drop your hands or die."

Morgado's mouth dropped open, his eyes narrowed. He stood straight up, his face now expressionless.

"Step away from him. Turn around slowly." Mirae's voice seemed to crack from the strain of speaking. I hoped her strength wouldn't falter.

Morgado turned. Mirae crouched in an attack position three feet outside the _mas_ ' door with what looked like a pistol in her hand. Her eyes were streaked with red veins and her skin so pallid that I didn't know where she found the strength to stand.

I tried to clear my mind of Morgado's venom. I concentrated on the words he'd spoken. "Baku. Tats. Ahmura," I mumbled through unmoving lips.

The tingling around my body decreased slightly. I squeezed Keiko's pendant, felt it bite into my palm. "Baku. Tats. Ahmura," I whispered, my lips moving. The tingling stopped. I moved an arm.

Mirae and Morgado stared at each other as if examining every detail of the other's face. The only sound was the chirping of _cigales_ in the olive trees. I tried to stand. My legs couldn't support me. I collapsed into my chair, breathing heavily from the effort.

Mirae stepped forward with the pistol aimed at Morgado. She stopped next to where Zhun'Mar was sprawled. "How could you? Tarnlot was right. You're not worthy of the Throne."

She shifted the pistol to her right hand. Without taking her eyes off Morgado, she bent her knees and lowered herself down to pick up the knife with her left hand. She raised herself slowly. When she was erect, she lifted the blade, pointed it at Morgado's heart. This time I wouldn't interfere.

"Take the Ring off your finger," she said.

Morgado clenched his fist. "You have no idea of its true power. You'll have to kill me to get it. Ah, but we both know you won't. If you could, you would've just shot me in the back. But you didn't, you can't, because you've known the truth all along."

A shot rang out. Mirae dropped the knife, grabbed her right shoulder. Blood flowed through her fingers.

Brad emerged from around the corner of the _mas_ , holding the pistol from his cane. He kept the pistol aimed at Mirae as he walked to Morgado. "Left the witch in the back seat of the car. Came to see what was taking you so long. Good thing." He winked at Morgado. "Yeah."

The corner of Morgado's lip curled in response. He quickly recovered and smiled back, but I'd sensed a flash of the same hatred for Brad that Morgado had spewed at me. Morgado grabbed the pistol dangling in Mirae's hand, stuffed it in his pants.

I closed my eyes. The vision of Keiko at Pont Julien popped into my mind's eye. I pointed the pendant at Brad. My hand shook. "Baku. Bol. Dohb. Bhradvin," I chanted. Heat from the pendant scorched my palm. I jerked my hand at the same instant a red flash of light exploded out of the pendant. The heat from the pendant was too intense. I dropped it to the ground. The red circle flew at Brad, brushed by his leg, and flew into the sky above the vineyard and dissipated. Brad fell to the ground. "Oh, oh, shit. My leg's on fire," he screamed at Morgado. "Help! Please! Stop the pain. It's eating me alive."

Morgado made no effort this time to hide the curling of his lip. "You're pathetic. How many times do I have to save your sorry ass?"

He spun around and looked at me. He lifted his medallion with his hand that wore the Golden Vine Ring. "Oh, you'd love to see him dead, wouldn't you, Burrows? I could easily make it look like you killed him along with the rest of them. Then I wouldn't have to keep saving his ass all the time."

"I can't stand the pain. Do something," Brad shrieked.

Morgado continued to sneer at me. "You've provided a great opportunity. I can return alone to all of the glory, along with his share of the loot."

The concussion of a shot rang out. I expected to die. I didn't feel anything. I opened my eyes. Morgado stumbled, blood spurted from his neck. He sunk to his knees, twisted to face Brad. He clutched his medallion with his finger wearing the Golden Vine Ring.

I thought Mirae must have fired. I looked at her. Her arms dangled weaponless. I looked down at Brad. He held the ivory handle of his pistol, smoke poured from the muzzle. He let the pistol fall from his hand.

"Damn you. If anyone's entitled to the money, it's me" he screamed at Morgado. "I'll be the one to go back. I'll be King, not you. I'm as much an Arvor as you. You bastard."

Morgado gasped for air. "You misunderstood." His whole body quivered in pain. "I was playing with Burrows' mind. Now, you've blown it. You're coming with me."

He pointed his medallion at Brad and mumbled. The medallion emitted a steady stream of red laser light that bore into Brad. "Not that," Brad shrieked, his body shimmered for a second and then vanished. The light ceased flowing.

Morgado tilted his head up at Mirae, a look of hatred etched on his face. She stood defenseless with her chin held high. I thought he would kill her next.

"Remember my face, its hatred of you and him. Tell him, my revenge will be exacted on the Arvors someday. Whore." He spat blood at Mirae's feet. He clutched the medallion to the middle of his chest. His lips moved slightly and the red light flowed into his chest. His body glowed red, then vanished along with all of the blood-stained gravel.

I shut my eyes. I didn't want to move or think. Too many people were dead or maimed. A hand touched me gently on the shoulder. "It's over," Mirae said barely above a whisper.

"Mhorg," her whisper faltered. "Mhorg died like the traitor he'd become. Consumed by his private misunderstanding of who he was and what he could be."

I opened my eyes. "What about you? Are you okay?" I asked.

"Just a flesh wound. Stopped bleeding already. I'll be fine." She kneeled next to where Morgado had died, picked up something.

She stood and pulled me to my feet. For the first time, a broad smile creased her face. She opened her palm; it held the Golden Vine Ring. "It must have slipped from his finger before he died."

My eyes widened. I'd seen the Ring on Morgado's finger when he turned the medallion on himself. It couldn't have slipped off. How had it survived?

"Thanks," Mirae said. Her cobalt-blue eyes exuded kindness. She put her arms tighter around me to keep me from falling. "You saved Zhun'Mar. I must ask for one more thing."

I nodded. "What?"

"The thing I feared most about you being near Zhun'Mar was that if you did have Tarnlot's memories, you'd tell Zhun'Mar." She stepped back. A tear glistened in her eye. "He must never know. If he did, he'd die of a broken heart. I won't let that happen."

I tilted my head and started to open my mouth to ask how much she knew. She placed her forefinger over it. "Don't ask. Don't tell. Promise."

"Promise."

In a new-found truce of trust, she held me upright while I tried to regain the ability to stand on my own. With the _cigales_ chirping in the trees, I stared at the lights of the village of Châteauneuf-du-Pape with spotlights shining on Château des Papes. The view seemed eerily familiar. I'd seen a drawing of that sight numerous times. It was the label for a wine, a 1959 Clos des Vieux Château.

I dug into my memory. I could envision a label with a date Quincy had written. I stepped back from Mirae and looked up at the night sky with all of its stars. "I know the way for you to return."

-36-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"One moment, please. I have the question," Avril says. "Why did the ring not vaporize?"

"I don't know. I saw it on Morgado's finger when he killed himself and then Mirae found it where Morgado had vaporized."

"What happened to the ring? Do you have it?"

"Of course not. Zhun'Mar took it with him."

" _Tant pis_. It help if you produce the ring of the material _pas de cette terre_ , not of this earth."

"If I had some tangible evidence, don't you think I'd have given it to you already?"

"With you I can never be certain." His fingers drum on his note pad. "How much longer is the story? When do the aliens fly away to the stars?"

His sarcasm knocks me back in my chair. "You don't believe me. Why should I bother?"

He taps his mustache. "Perhaps the one last chance to convince me?"

I've gone this far, I might as well finish with a flourish.

-37-

Châteauneuf-du-Pape

Mirae sat me in a chair and then rolled Zhun'Mar onto his back to revive him. To my surprise, it worked. He opened his eyes and spoke. "Hand me a cloth to staunch the bleeding. I could feel, hear, the tendons being sliced and the bone ripped. My finger torn from my hand. Why would Mhorg do such a thing?"

Mirae ripped the sleeve off her sweatshirt and gently wrapped it around the stub of Zhun'Mar's missing finger. "He thought the Golden Vine Ring could make him what he wasn't," she said without inflection.

She pulled Zhun'Mar into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around him. He held her tight with his arms, his left hand grasping his right wrist to keep it from pressing against her back. "Thank Ghaeah you survived. I couldn't have gone on without you," he said. "What happened?"

Mirae pulled back from his embrace. "Mhorg and Bhradvin killed each other." She took a deep breath. Her face resumed its unreadable Vhirko mask. "I will report what occurred, later. First, though, Hobie knows the way back."

Zhun'Mar released Mirae from his embrace and stood. He set his good hand on my shoulder and locked eyes with me. "Tell me."

In all of the excitement, I'd forgotten to check that Keiko was unhurt. Surely, Brad wouldn't harm her, but had something happened to my son? I tried to stand. My legs wobbled, but I remained standing. "Not until I make sure everything's okay with Keiko," I said.

Zhun'Mar took his hand off my shoulder, started forward with me. "Stay here," I said. "I want to be alone with her."

I turned without waiting for a response and staggered around the corner of the _mas_. I stopped when I rounded the corner. On the mas' driveway sat the dome-shaped landing pinnace I'd seen in my dreams. It wasn't as large as I had expected, barely twice the size of the Mercedes. But it would soon take Keiko and me to a new universe.

I stopped staring and trotted to the Mercedes. Keiko sprawled on the back seat, face up, eyes closed. I felt her wrist. Her pulse was normal. I held the pendant to her forehead. "Baku. Tats. Ahmura," I said softly. Her eyes fluttered.

"Baku. Tats. Ahmura," I repeated.

Her eyes opened, her lips moved slightly. "Don't say anything yet," I said. "It'll take a few seconds to regain your equilibrium. We're safe now. Morgado and Brad are dead."

She raised herself up into a sitting position, wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her tight. "I love you so much." I needed to know the most important thing. "Is our son okay?"

She nodded. Tears glistened on her cheeks. We kissed.

"I remember everything now and know what Quincy was trying to tell me.," I whispered in her ear. "I know the way for you to return. Time is short. We have to hurry."

I lifted her out of the car. "This is yours," I said. I slipped the pendant and necklace over her head.

"And someday it will grace the shoulders of our son," she said.

We walked hand in hand to the courtyard. Zhun'Mar and Mirae waited in the chairs at the table. Zhun'Mar held his right elbow on the table to keep his hand propped in the air.

I stood in front of him, took a deep breath. The future of my son depended on memories that were twenty years old. I'd never doubted my photographic memory, but never had so much had depended on it. "Quincy left me his wine collection. He marked various bottles with 'ready' dates. Each was of a different vintage year and came from a different part of the world. I assumed that a date meant the date when the wine would be at its peak for drinking. I was often disappointed when I'd open the bottle on that date and it was no good. That wasn't what he meant. He was leaving a different message."

Zhun'Mar and Mirae cast expectant looks at me. Mirae flexed her fingers trying to coax the rest out of me.

"One bottle, a 1959 Châteauneuf-du-Pape with a drawing of the Château des Papes on its label was marked with today's date." I looked at the Château. "As was one of the star maps he showed me."

Zhun'Mar followed my gaze, his brow furrowed in concentration. "I see. Tarnlot was indicating a location, date, and time for a launch to our galaxy. Location: Châteauneuf. Date: today. Time: 1959." He looked at his watch. "Twenty minutes from now. What good does that do us? We have no idea where the passage is."

"Get me a piece of paper and a pencil. I can draw a map of its location in the sky," I said.

Zhun'Mar nodded at Mirae. She trotted into the _mas_. No one spoke, even the _cigales_ ceased chirping. Keiko put her arms around my waist. Mirae returned with a pad of paper and a pencil. I closed my eyes to recall a twenty year old vision. One of the last maps Quincy had shown me popped into my mind. All of its blue dots, one black dot circled in red. I opened my eyes. With the point of the pencil I began jabbing dots on the paper.

"What are you doing?" Zhun'Mar asked.

I stopped. "Damn it. You broke my concentration." I ripped the paper off the pad, wadded it up, and threw it on the gravel. "Now I'll have to start over. Keep quiet until I'm done this time."

I closed my eyes a second time and concentrated. I opened them, jabbed dots on the paper. I examined what I'd done. Perfect. I jabbed one final dot and circled it.

I held the paper in the air with the dots facing Zhun'Mar. "See how all of the dots but the circled one are in the sky."

He and Mirae looked at the paper, then the sky. They looked at the paper again. "So?" Zhun'Mar said.

"At 1959 hours the circled dot will appear. It's the backside of the Black Cavity you came through. If the pinnace's near enough, the fissure will suck it back through to your universe. The sooner we leave, the better. Brad said this phase was just outside Earth's atmosphere, but I have no idea how close we need to be to it."

Zhun'Mar looked up at Mirae. She blinked, wiped the corner of her eye. "I know what you're thinking," she said. "But we can't stay." Her voice cracked. "My duty is to get the King home safely. Yours, to return with the Golden Vine Ring to your people. I'll prepare the pinnace." She stood. I saw her lip quiver as she turned and marched to the pinnace.

"Morgado uncloaked the pinnace," I said. "It's on the driveway. All that's left is to load the rootstock on it."

Zhun'Mar arched his eyebrows. "What?"

"I'll tell you on the way to the pinnace."

Mirae helped him to his feet. The four of us trotted for the driveway. "Quincy also discovered that phylloxera was the same thing as the mutated poxxra. That an old-time American rootstock, St. George, was resistant and could survive on Tirano. If you take it back, you can reestablish the vineyards of Tirano."

"Where are we going to get rootstock?" Zhun'Mar asked.

"Brad loaded the trunk of the Mercedes with it. Thought it'd make him wealthy. Morgado thought the vines along with possession of the Golden Vine Ring would force Tirano to accept him as King."

We'd reached the Mercedes and Zhun'Mar peered in. He lifted one of the pieces of the rootstock out of the trunk. A tag dangled on its stub. He handed it to me.

I read the varietal listed on the tag. "Pre-grafted heritage clone zinfandel. Great choice. I never expected Brad would have such good taste.

Four letters were printed underneath the varietal. I dropped the rootstock. "The incompetent idiot," I screamed. "He got AxR1."

Zhun'Mar looked blankly at me. "What's wrong?"

"He got the wrong rootstock. AxR1 isn't phylloxera resistant. Details never mattered to Brad. He must have assumed that all American rootstock's the same and bought the cheapest he could find. I didn't think you could even still buy the stuff, but somehow the bozo found some."

Keiko took the piece of rootstock from me, turned it in her hands. She looked at me, then the vineyard surrounding the _mas_. She pursed her lips. "When was this vineyard planted?" she asked Zhun'Mar.

"Let me think." He rubbed his chin. "Around 1900 I'd say. Why?"

"After phylloxera had wiped out France's vineyards. Before AxR1 was developed," she said to me. "Has to be St. George. That was the American rootstock then. All we need are some suckers off the base off the old vines." She ran toward the vineyard.

"Mirae, get Morgado's knife. It can cut something beneficial for Tirano this time," I said before chasing after Keiko. I didn't catch up until she was on her hands and knees in the vineyard. We found what we were looking for before Mirae arrived with the knife. She handed me the knife. "Take some of the AxR1 to the pinnace," I told her. "When we arrive at Tirano someone can bud the heritage-clone grafts to the St. George."

"We'll meet you in the pinnace," I yelled at her. "We'll be there in a couple of minutes."

Keiko would find a long sucker and I'd cut it. After I'd cut enough for an armload for each of us, we ran for the pinnace. Zhun'Mar and Mirae were standing next to the dome-shaped pinnace. A doorway sprung open and they stepped into the pinnace.

I glanced at Keiko, my vision blurred, a roar vibrated in my ears. I staggered a couple of steps and stopped. I clamped my hands around my head and closed my eyes. A nightmare from hell popped into my vision. Waves of black, scaly creatures with a diamond-shaped torsos and heads with fiery eyes streamed towards heavily armored human soldiers. A solid wall of laser fire couldn't halt the waves of the advancing creatures. The creatures reached the first line of soldiers and engaged the soldiers in hand-to-hand combat. The creatures had no weapons and fought like rabid dogs, their massive claws and teeth ripping human flesh. Their claws slashed the soldiers from throat to hips and ripped out intestines. They tore soldier after soldier apart. Human blood and guts saturated the ground. Acid seared my stomach and fear roiled my mind. I thought I was going to pass out.

Quincy's face replaced the nightmarish scene. "Hobie, congratulations. I'm proud of you and what you must have done to get this far to see the pinnace door open. However, before you leave for Tirano, I projected one last pinhole in time. I wanted you to see a Radani horde in battle. The pinhole will become reality if the Radani ever learn the secret of the cycle. Only you can make sure they don't learn what is etched in your photographic memory. The fate of two universes depends on what you do."

"No," I screamed. I teetered and opened my eyes to keep from falling. Keiko stopped and returned to face me. "What happened? Are you okay?" she whispered.

"Quincy showed me one last pinhole in time. What would happen if the Radani come through the fissure," I said blinking back tears. "I can't let that happen. You have to go alone." I didn't try to stop the tears that flowed from my eyes. "It's the only way to ensure the Radani never learn the fissure's cycle."

She held my face in her hands. "When we return to Tirano, I can remove the implant and destroy it. No one will ever learn what it contained."

"It's not the implant. It's my damned photographic memory. I can never remove the images of the fissure's openings from my mind."

"Why Ghaeah?" Tears fell from her eyes too. "Why now? Not when we were so close to happiness."

"It could never have worked," I said. " No one in your universe must ever know what I know. That knowledge must stay on this world. Die when I die."

"Then I will stay here with you," Keiko said.

My whole being wanted to agree. I couldn't. "No. I've made my choice. Quincy showed me what the Radani are capable of. And Tirano will need you if it is to defeat the Radani."

She dropped her cuttings, lifted her pendant to the back of my neck. My neck tingled for an instant. "A present from the High Sibyl. Some of me. So you can understand why the High Sibyl must accept your choice when Keiko Nidara would never have."

She threw her arms around my neck and lifted her lips to mine. "I promise we will be together again. You must know your son and the man he will become."

She clung to me for a moment. "I must go before I weaken, change my mind," she whispered.

Tears flowed down my face. "Tell my son of me. That I will think of him, and you, always." I released her. Tears flowed down her face too. I picked up the cuttings and placed them in her arms.

With my fingers, I wiped away her tears. "Smile," I said. "I want my last memory to be of the smile that always made me so happy that you loved me."

She smiled and mouthed, "I love you." She ran to the pinnace. She walked through the door and turned to look at me. Every part of my being wanted to run to join her. Before I could move, the door sprung shut.

The pinnace lifted off, its tail flaming brightly. I followed the flame as it ascended into the black sky and become a flickering pinhole in the sky. When it disappeared, a bittersweet smile came unbeckoned to my lips. I'd lost Keiko and my son, but I hadn't failed Quincy. I had fulfilled his dream. I would curse him for it until the day I died.

-38-

Avignon, France

Interrogation Room

Gendarmerie Nationale

"I turned myself into the police the next morning."

Dr. Avril arches his eyebrows. " _Pourquoi_?"

"Why? Because of the report Brad and Morgado filed with the police. I knew I'd never get out of France otherwise. And even if I did, the police would track me down in San Francisco. Since Brad and Morgado weren't around to follow-up and Quant's body would never be found, I figured Zhun'Mar had been right; that the police would think their report was a hoax and I'd be released in a few hours." I expect him to ask about how I intended to explain the disappearance of the others.

"Please, draw the map from the last night."

I pause, try to figure out what he's trying to do. I come up blank. "Give me a piece of paper and pencil."

He walks the paper and pencil to me. I begin and can feel his eyes follow my hand. I circle the last dot and lean back in my chair. He picks up the paper and stares at it.

"Bravo, Monsieur Burrows. A performance _très extraordinaire_."

I've put up with his bullshit for two days. I've had enough. "Go to hell. I'm not crazy. Every word was true. You say you're a scientist, but you're only a narrow-minded asshole. You can't accept the possibility that there's someone out there whose technology is beyond anything your little mind ever envisioned."

He waggles his finger. " _Au contraire, Monsieur_ Burrows. That is not the problem. The problem is that I am forced to believe you."

He's still trying to catch me off guard. "Stop playing games with me." I stand up. I hadn't realized he was shorter than me. I clench my fists. If I'm going to jail, I might as well give the little frog one good punch. "At least be man enough to tell me you're going to lock me up and throw away the key."

He shakes his head. "You Americans and your insecurities about the manhood. I am the only person who can save you, and you wish to fight me. _Vous êtes stupide_."

I recoil as if he'd sucker punched me. I've acted like an idiot the last two days. I've violated every one of Quincy's three "nevers." I've repeatedly lost my temper, wore my emotions on my sleeves, and said things I've regretted. And I haven't paid attention to what Avril was saying. I sit down, try to clear my mind. "What do you want me to do? No games. The truth. Please."

He looks at me. I sense he's trying to measure my sincerity. "You want the truth. I give to you the truth. I am _le Adjoint au Directeur d'Intelligence Militaire de Le Ministère de la Défense_. The Americans have been shouting at us all the week. Their satellites traced the flight of a nuclear-powered projectile that originated in Provence and - pouf - disappeared in space. At the location you have circled. They think, maybe, we have developed the new doomsday weapon. The stealth missile that they cannot see."

Could it be that simple; tell my story to the CIA? "What makes you think the CIA would believe me?"

He chuckles. "I do not think such thing."

I wish this water torture would end. I close my eyes and hang my head.

"Do not look so. I intend to prove it," he says. "You will draw the map of the next passage to occur. If you are correct, the passage is a hyperspace fissure between universes. We will send the probe through and then bring it back. It will prove the existence of the passage, and with the luck, the existence of the aliens. France will be restored to its rightful place as the leader of the world."

So that's what this is about. French megalomania. Of course, it wouldn't stop with a probe. There would be manned missions to make contact. Contact that could show the Radani the passage to Earth. Avril doesn't comprehend the risks.

"Sorry," I say. "The map you have in your hands was the last one Quincy showed me. The last passage I know occurred last week."

He clicks his tongue. "I do not believe you, _Monsieur_ Burrows. You cannot deceive me. You want to give the information to the CIA. You Americans fear the greatness of France."

I laugh. "Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't know any future openings of the passage. But be you can be assured. Even if I did, I would never tell the CIA. Or you!"

"You expect me to believe you?" He bites his lip. " _Mais_ , okay. Draw all the maps you claim Monsieur Lott show to you. I run the maps through the computer and determine the cycles."

"You have them."

He smirks. " _Monsieur_ Burrows, we both know there were more of the maps. You can save me the time and the trouble if you give them to me."

My heart is pounding against my chest. "Sorry. That's it." I hope my voice sounded calmer than I'm feeling. Luckily, I had sense enough to only draw maps that were years apart without any of the intervening maps. He'll never figure out the key factors without the missing maps and their dates.

"There is a way other. I can remove the memory implant. With the time, I find the way to read the memories. I will learn the secrets."

"Be my guest. Even if you could find a nano-sized implant, it only contains Quincy's memories. He didn't have an eidetic memory. His memory of the maps wouldn't be accurate."

He stares at me. I wonder if he believes me. "Perhaps, I hold you in the custody until you cooperate."

I clench my jaw and straighten my back. "Go ahead. A few minutes ago I thought I'd spend the rest of my life locked up anyway. At least now it will be for a reason I can accept."

He puckers his lips. "I see you are the man in need the motivation _positif_." A glimmer enters his eyes. "Your lover and son could use the ally to oppose the Radani. The resources of France could aid them. You see, everyone would benefit if you give to me the maps. I would even permit you to make the first contact."

He doesn't get it. "You heard me earlier. I will not take a chance that the Radani will learn how to make the passage to Earth."

"You have no idea what will happen. They could already have the knowledge. France can help your lover and her people."

"I think they will do just fine without you French."

He shrugs. "You cannot be certain." He crosses his arms. "I am the man reasonable, _Monsieur_ Burrows. I think you are too. I will give you the time to consider my proposal with the reason, not the emotion. I think with the reflection you agree that my way is the best."

He points to the door. "As the demonstration of my good faith, you may leave. Return to your home. Think about the offer."

I wonder if this is another of his tricks. "Aren't you afraid that I'll go straight to the CIA? That you'll never see me again?"

He smirks. " _Non, Monsieur_ Burrows. We take no chances. We know exactly where you are at all the time. We never permit you to contact them." He pauses. "And we will not forget that your lover said you would be together again some day. Unlike you Americans, we have the long memory. We watch and we wait. When she return, we be prepared. Do you understand?"

I understand. The pinholes in time that Quincy had burnt into my mind will haunt me until the day I die. What I had always been so proud of, my photographic memory, is my bane.

I start for the door, stop, and turn to him. "Dr. Avril, you should think about something too."

" _Oui_ ," he replies.

"Don't do anything stupid. Listen to what I said. If the Radani learn of the passage's cycles, they can come through at any time. Earth would be defenseless against them. They'd pillage its resources, enslave humankind. Is that the legacy of world leadership France desires? Because that's exactly what it would be."

I pause, lock eyes with him. "You should do what I'll do every day for the rest of my life. Pray that Tirano contains the Radani in its universe. If not, nothing I know will save Earth."

I turn and walk out the door. Avril released me, but even someone with as little street smarts as me realizes that I have not seen the last of Avril. The return of France to world leadership means more to a Frenchman than Earth's security. The back of my head tingles. Quincy agrees.

Epilogue

I sure as hell had no idea how I was going to explain what had happened to Keiko and the others when I returned to San Francisco. Avril must've shared that concern as well as a concern that some American law enforcement agency might investigate whether I'd participated in some criminal activity that caused their disappearance.

Evidently, he wasn't willing to take the chance, no matter how slim, that I might tell my story and find someone who would believe me. So, he must have planted the following article that appeared in the International Herald-Tribune the day I walked out of the Avignon gendarmerie.

Two French and Four Americans Perish in Plane Crash in France.

French authorities have determined that the streaking fireball that appeared in the night sky above Provence last week was not un cigare volant, French for UFO, as widely reported at the time. Upon further investigation the authorities have concluded that the object was a private aircraft involved in an elaborate abduction and blackmail scheme.

The aircraft was piloted either by Mr. Jack Morgado, a San Francisco inventor, or by Mr. Brad V.N. Hale, managing partner at the prestigious San Francisco law firm of Lott & Pembroke. Morgado and Hale, along with a hired thug, Mr. Q. Kent of Santa Fe, New Mexico, had abducted Ms. Keiko Nidara, a San Francisco wine merchant, and Mr. Jean-Marie Courtois and his wife, Mirae Courtois, both residents of Bonnieux, France, from a mas outside Châteauneuf-du-Pape.

Prior to the abduction, Messrs. Morgado and Hale filed a report at the Avignon gendarmerie. The report alleged that Mr. Hobart L. Burrows, III, another visitor at the mas who had recently retired from Lott & Pembroke, had assaulted Mr. Hale and that Ms. Nidara had shot and killed Mr. Quant. After Mr. Burrows traveled to the Avignon gendarmerie to discuss the report with the authorities, Morgado and Hale proceeded with abduction. The motive for these actions appears to have been to blackmail Mr. Burrows and Ms. Nidara.

Morgado, Hale, and Quant were apparently transporting their hostages to an unknown destination when flames burst from the aircraft. Radar screens tracked the aircraft until it disappeared over the Mediterranean Sea. Authorities speculate that hostages fought to gain control of the aircraft and the struggle somehow flooded the aircraft's engines with excess fuel, which caused the flames observed by local residents. The fire must have caused loss of flight control.

After a ten days of intensive search efforts, the French authorities were unable to locate the wreckage or any survivors. They believe the aircraft survived the crash intact and sunk to the bottom of the sea in an unknown location, taking all of the passengers to the depths with it. All search efforts have ceased.

Mr. Burrows was released from custody and has returned to San Francisco.

###

**A Dream Is A Pinhole In Time** ends here. **The Tales of The Encircling Belts of Tirano** **Saga** will continue with **Outliers of Tirano** , chronicles what occurred in Tirano when Caykondra, Zhun'Mar, and Mirae returned and begins the stories of Kuinsi, Hobie's son.

**A Bastard's Oath** , the first story in **The Tales of The Encircling Belts of Tirano Saga** , is also available if you have not read it. In **A Bastard Oath** , after their father's mysterious assassination, Tarnlot must rescue Zhun'Mar's kingship by foiling both an aristocrat's usurpation of power and a Radani attempt to invade Tirano.

Even though the stories occur in chronological order, each is an independent story. Accordingly, you can read the stories in any order.

