

A WORLD OF WORLDS

A GENRE-BENDING COLLECTION OF

SCI-FI & FANTASY SHORT STORIES

by

ASMSG Authors

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This anthology is a collection of short Other World Science Fiction and Fantasy stories. All works herein are included by the express permission of each author. Names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the authors' imaginations or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

Copyright © 2014 by: Grey Mouse Publishing

Written by: ASMSG Authors

Produced by: Michael Barnett and Travis Luedke, ASMSG & Grey Mouse Publishing

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# Table of Contents

SHIMMER IN THE DARK: BRIDGE BUILDER—Ceri London

DINO'S PAPERS—Alan Hardy

COG—Bryan P. Clark

WORLD OF KAYNAR!—A. G. Moye

THE LAIR OF THE WITCH QUEEN—Christian W. Freed

SOULMATCH—Drew Avera

SHARPIES AND DULLARDS—E. Rose Sabin

THE BAD SEED—Erin McDowell

THE CAT WORE ELECTRIC GOGGLES—Ian Hutson

THE SURVIVOR—J.C. Harker

AETERNAE NOCTIS—Jade Kerrion

THE LAST OF THE JINN—K.N. Lee

BOONE'S JOURNEY—Kirstin Pulioff

THE SECRET SIGNAL—Matthew Kadish

EXPECTATION—Michael Barnett

AGE QUEST—Michael K. Eidson

EXCEPT THE DUST—Robert Carter

BITTER PROPHECY—Susan Hawthorne

GUIDING STAR—Teresa Garcia

# SHIMMER IN THE DARK: BRIDGE BUILDER

Ceri London

Nantosuelta admired the girl's aura. Its blue coloring complemented the pinkish tones of the gaseous planetary rings visible beyond the observation window. Plucking a name from the child's poorly-shielded thoughts, Nanto masked her growing anxiety behind a beaming smile, and her own impenetrable privacy wall.

"An interesting question, Haran!" Haran's aura darkened and Nanto shifted her focus to the class. "What happens to a time traveler in-between? Haran asks a simple but perceptive question, full of charm, and intrigue."

Amused tolerance rippled through the minds of Nanto's audience. Many had not met their fleet's Chief Navigator before and they obviously found her odd. Nanto didn't care what they thought, but the general lapse in mental discipline across the Asterean space worried her immensely. The fleet had stopped to replenish dwindling supplies and Nanto had gathered together the brightest telepathic talent from the other five ships. She hoped to identify future Navigators with the bridge-building talent needed to guide the fleet on its long search for planet Earth.

It appeared she had much work to do.

Nanto wiggled her ring-covered fingers at her class. "We could discuss boring Shileky equations on space time shift, but," she smiled at the general sigh of relief, "much easier to show you."

Her mind searched out the specific link she needed—the nebulous beginnings of a bridge through space-time. She then drew on the dark energy all around them. A fist-sized portal appeared in the middle of the room. Usually, her portals straddled worlds and solar systems, sometimes galaxies. Not this time.

"Here we have an interesting conundrum. An object that is currently 'in-between'—a neat label Haran has given to a dimension that continues to perplex even those who do profess to understand Shileky."

The class crowded closer to get a good look at the spherical capsule visible inside the portal. Feeling a mental nudge, Nanto let Sorel through her privacy shield.

Sorel chuckled in Nanto's mind. You make it look so easy.

Your gift is healing. I build bridges, Nanto thought back before addressing the class. "Niall'Kearey showed me this link to Earth. Now this orb . . . Yes, Haran?"

Haran dropped her hand. "If this is a link to Earth, why can't you take us there now?"

"Bridging a universe requires a vast amount of energy, an amount beyond my ability—we must journey in smaller steps."

"So why didn't we go to Earth with the others?"

"The Asterean High Council conceived of this fleet when Niall'Kearey lost the bridge evacuating Paladin. We could not know if he would return, and there was always the possibility that his efforts to evacuate our people to Earth might fail. We embarked on this journey to help ensure our survival."

Nanto glanced at the data-orb containing but a fraction of the Asterean's knowledge. The flow of energy around the orb caught her attention, a quiver of awe cascaded down her spine. Some particles pressed into wavy lines etched into an impervious barrier until the concerted draw of other particles dislodged them back into the continuum.

She spoke softly. "This data-orb gives hope that Niall'Kearey did evacuate our people to Earth, or at least made the attempt. If he had not, this orb would have been destroyed on Astereal. Still, finding it here—outside time and space—raises the possibility that, someone, maybe Niall'Kearey, has taken the orb to a different point on the timeline. We surmise this because we see it here, in the in-between."

Haran raised a timid hand. "But this orb is three-dimensional, implying a time dimension."

"Good, Haran. Its presence in-between is a paradox that has defeated our finest minds. We must resolve the mystery. It may help us contact Niall'Kearey, discover what happened to our people."

"How did you find the orb, Nantosuelta?" Sorel asked.

Nanto opened a black box that lay on a raised pedestal revealing a second orb. "I touched this one. I suspect Niall'Kearey's mind activated the in-between orb, creating a signal that resonates with the others—" A rude wailing made her heart jump.

Everyone stilled.

A distorted voice sounded through the ship's comm-broadcast. "Nantosuelta, report to Navigation."

Several brows furrowed. Worried eyes searched a growing shadow as Nanto closed her portal with a visible flash.

"There's something out there," Haran whispered, pointing to an overhead porthole to the stars.

Nanto looked up and made out a dark metallic body encroaching their view of the star system—an alien ship, dark and ugly. A band of dread constricted around her ribs. Hoping to glimpse the alien's intent, her mind reached out. Something latched on to her mental probe, a searing attack that shattered her privacy shield and dropped Nanto to her knees.

She screamed as something hot and insidious wormed into her memories.

"Nantosuelta!" Sorel sounded strained, distant.

The ship-wide communicator barked again. "Nantosuelta to Navigation!"

Nanto tried to answer, but a command from a mind—cold and alien—hammered her brain.

Noc run.

In her shock, she nearly missed the command from ancient scripture. Noc Run. Reveal. Nanto grabbed at her head, needing to rip out the thrashing white-hot stick behind her eyes. Relentless. Cruel. She couldn't fight it. Her nails dug into her scalp. Drew blood.

Noc Run.

Reveal what?

Ailne Balor seeke. Reveal.

"Nanto!" Hands gripped her upper arms. "What's wrong?"

Nanto clutched at Sorel's tunic. "In my head," she croaked. "There is something . . . in my head!" Memories darted through her mind. The thing invading her thoughts skidded down her neuron paths leaving chaos in its wake. "Something . . . powerful . . ."

"Inform Captain Drese that the aliens have compromised Nantosuelta—" Sorel's voice died away, drowned out by the intruder's.

Join with us.

Who are you? Nanto asked. What do you want?

Her mind blurred, light and sound fading in and out. Only the thumping of her heartbeat connected her to reality. Her pulse raced, faster and faster, until whatever gripped her mind released its hold. Nanto stared at the floor in shock. She tried to move, but her long skirt was tangled around one foot. People were shouting. Pandemonium raged.

"What's happening?" she asked.

"Nanto, thank the Lir!" Sorel answered her. "I was worried. Captain Drese is on his way."

"No," Nanto gasped out. "He needs to be at Command."

Too late. Nanto made out the captain's voice.

Drese knelt down beside her. "Nanto, the fleet is under attack. We need you to bridge us out of here."

The ship's-comm announced, "I have visual on a portal dead ahead, sir. The bridge formed out of nowhere!"

Drese raised his voice. "Lieutenant, get us out of here, now!"

"No, wait! Belay that order!" Nanto grabbed his sleeve. "Captain, I didn't create a bridge—that portal's not mine."

Drese flashed her a glance of alarm. "Full Reverse," he ordered. "Do not enter the portal. Get a visual down here!"

He helped Nanto up. She studied a holographic image of a spatial bridge that appeared. The shimmering dark void was like no bridge she had ever seen before—this bridge had the power to move, and its portal was approaching them rapidly.

Drese cursed. "Full reverse!" he ordered. "Nanto! We need that bridge!"

Nanto extended her mind, searched for a viable link, but her thoughts were in turmoil. Terror gripped her—the fleet would never evade the portal in time. The black jaws of the enemy bridge opened up the bowels of space before them, an alien trap threatening to swallow the fleet whole. She reached deep for the inner calm she needed to throw up a mental shield. If she could somehow cloak the fleet, prevent its capture. Give Captain Drese time to formulate a plan. As her mind wrapped around the ship, the monstrous portal passed overhead, a silent, deadly predator that chilled the blood.

Pure fear spurred her into a last ditch effort, but a telepathic roar of fury knocked her off balance as psychic claws plunged into her mind, and sent her spiraling into darkness.

* * *

A fetid stench filled Nanto's nostrils.

Her eyes fluttered open to the sight of steaming mud. It seeped into her clothing. She lurched up into a half-crouch and touched a foot. Nanto toppled back as a long-tailed bipedal beast, shakes rippling down its body, crumpled to the ground and dissolved into a stream of energy. A series of images barraged all her senses; the sight, sound and smell of life trumped by the finality of death.

Nanto struggled to distinguish hallucination from truth when a new reality seized her. Now she was immersed in a metal-tasting slime that burned her eyes. She struck out in panic towards a dim light and burst out into clean air. Gasping, Nanto grabbed at some passing flotsam, but the rubbery mass flipped under her weight and she recoiled at the sight of several eyes running along a spine-like ridge. The creature died in her arms. Nanto thrust it away in horror and the life form sank without trace.

Her surroundings shifted.

Now she stood on solid ground and the landscape looked eerily familiar. Her mouth dropped open. This was her home world, Astereal. A bloody battle raged all around her and she recognized Sohan dealing the Morrígan Queen some heavy blows. The Queen fought back with a ferocious tenacity, the cut and thrust of her lethal blade parrying Sohan's clashing sword without pause.

Nanto's ears rang with the clamor of war cries and the clang of metal.

The sheer violence stole her breath away.

This was not the gentle Sohan she knew, the respected scholar she had worked beside in Astereal's ancient College. In Sohan's early years, he had played host to the mind of Niall'Kearey, a mind stretching across galaxies. Wearing the body of Sohan, Niall'Kearey had led the defense of the Astereans against their mortal foe, the Morrígan.

This was Niall'Kearey's infamous battle with the Queen Nuada.

Nanto had studied the reports, listened to the hearsay. No words had done justice to the raw brutality she witnessed now.

She watched, transfixed, as Niall'Kearey pulled the sword in Sohan's hand from Nuada's gut. A man on planet Earth had killed a Morrígan Queen at the edge of the universe. Stunned by the mortal blow to their ruler, the Morrígan fell in droves as Asterean blades punished their distraction with a wild abandon. Bodies piled up around Nanto as she watched Niall'Kearey assess the battlefield.

Seizing the moment, the Queen staggered to her feet, blood gushing from her fileted belly.

Nanto raised a hand, but her warning cry stuck in her throat as Queen Nuada charged, eyes blazing, swinging her sword high to slice off Niall'Kearey's head. A sixth sense must have warned him for he deflected her blow, but the force of her attack sent his sword flying. His hand flashed to his belt. Metal glittered between them. The Queen stopped short as Niall'Kearey twisted his knife in her gut, nose to nose with the Morrígan ruler in a gruesome dance of death.

Nanto could hardly breathe; shocked by the savage violence. When Niall'Kearey stepped back he held the bloody heart of a Queen speared on his knife. Ashen-faced, he threw the organ to the ground.

Nanto blinked in surprise as the scene faded.

Suddenly, she could no longer feel the ground beneath her feet. A fog smoked around her knees and she felt herself floating with a weightless sensation.

"What _is_ this place?"

"It is how your mind interprets the memory stream," a new voice replied.

The fog curled around her body and swept her along at high speed, an incredible rush that allowed glimpses of thousands, no millions, of images. Finally, she understood. The fog was the stream, and these vivid visions were the final memories of the dying.

Her panicked mind seized on the faceless voice. "Who are you?"

The same inner voice responded; its shape and tone different to the alien who had communicated with her on the ship. "I am Lugus, child of Balor. His children return to Him as He returns to the Formorri."

Nanto clung to a threadbare strand of sanity. "Am I dead? Are my memories here?"

"Your body is in-between. Your mind experiences the stream."

Confusion melded with fear. "What about my people? My fleet? Where are they?"

"Not here."

Nanto fought to control a mind-numbing panic. Were her people alive? What did this Lugus want? Why show her Niall'Kearey's battle with the Morrígan Queen?

"Yeess . . ." Lugus slithered through Nanto's mind. "He is the one we seek. He is elusive."

Nanto locked down her thoughts, the threat to Niall'Kearey helping her to reinforce her defenses.

"Where is he?" Lugus demanded, lashing out at her in frustration.

Nanto doubled over as pain strafed her mind. "Why? What do you want with him?"

A white blinding light arced through her consciousness with explosive force.

"You have seen his home world? This _Earth_?" Lugus demanded through the maelstrom punishing her defiance.

The agony spiked to an intolerable level from wave upon wave of razor-sharp needles. Nanto screamed.

Lugus finally broke through the storm lashing her. "We have found him."

Nanto sensed triumph. Excitement. She glimpsed a galaxy-sweeping war, with Niall'Kearey standing at its epicenter. The pain lessened, enough to form words. "I told you nothing," she gasped. "How have you found him?"

Lugus opened his mind and laughed, a cackle of poisonous satisfaction. "The memory stream never stops, and you are dismissed."

Her world went black.

* * *

Nanto opened her eyes to the burned out shell of the ship's medical bay. A force field protected a gaping hole to the outside. Fear crawled through her bones.

What had happened?

A grunting snore caught her attention. Captain Drese slept in a chair beside her bed.

Nanto licked dry lips and Sorel appeared with a water stick.

"I'm alive?" Nanto croaked.

"Yes, thank the Lir."

Nanto sucked on the stick greedily. Sorel kicked Drese's boot and he jolted awake.

The ship's captain stared at her through bleary eyes. "You're back." He blinked sleep away. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone used my head for a battering ram."

Drese glanced at Sorel, his concern obvious, but only on his face.

Nanto extended her mind out towards him and frowned. She couldn't sense Drese's thoughts, not even his privacy shield. "What are you hiding?" she asked him.

"I'm not." His gaze dropped to his hands before meeting Nanto's eyes. "Sorel reports your brain levels have altered. We suspect that cloaking the fleet in a shield burned out your mind's higher order abilities. What can you remember?"

Nantosuelta swallowed back a sob. "I remember the alien ship; fighting the alien bridge . . . it was just too powerful."

Drese grimaced. "We are in an uncharted part of the universe. I assumed you had brought us here."

"I didn't. I couldn't . . . no, this was orchestrated by another." She studied the hole in the wall. A green mist hovered at its torn edges. "What happened?"

"The fleet emerged in a low orbit around a planet." A shadow crossed Drese's face. "We could not escape its gravity and crashed. Many died. Our heat shields struggled to cope, but this ship survived better than the others, thanks to you. Your cloak dissipated much of the energy. We owe you our lives. The survivors are fortifying defenses on this ship against the planet's indigenous population. This planet is desolate, only barely capable of sustaining life. The creatures here are not like us."

He exchanged a strange look with Sorel and the ache lurking behind Nanto's eyes increased. Why couldn't she share their silent exchange? She felt locked out.

Alone.

"Tell me," she pleaded.

Drese touched her hand gently. "We're trapped here, Nantosuelta. Even if we had a space-worthy ship, without your bridge-building ability, we could never escape this solar system."

"What about Treso?" Her apprentice showed great promise, with time he would surpass her.

"He died in the crash."

Nanto lay as still as she could manage given the firestorm of grief building inside her. A dead weight lay across her belly. When she went to push it away, she found nothing there.

Sorel laid a cool cloth across her forehead. "Try to relax, Nanto, and your headache will lessen."

As Sorel's healing touch increased the endorphins in her blood, the pain receded to a manageable level. A memory skittered through Nanto's thoughts, too transient to catch. It teased her, beckoned her to chase it, but her foggy mind couldn't keep up.

"Something important happened. Something I need to remember," she whispered.

"It will come back to you," Sorel soothed. "Give it time."

Nanto looked away. She needed more than her memory. The fleet was stranded without her ability to build a bridge. As her hopes of finding Earth faded, that heavy weight settled into her bones.

* * *

The door hummed open and Nanto pulled the bedcover over her head. Her mind was useless. She couldn't even sense who had overridden the lock to her quarters.

Sorel's melodic voice gave her away. "Hiding won't help, Nanto, and you still have much to offer, even without your bridge-building talent. Now I will give you ten minutes to wash and dress and then we are going outside."

Outside? On this cesspit of a planet?

The door clicked shut. Nanto sulked for a few moments, but the longer she stayed cocooned in her bed, the more her cheeks burned at the thought of Sorel waiting for her. With a muffled curse, she threw back the cover and swung her feet to the floor.

When Nanto finally opened the door her friend eyed her hair. "Never mind, a brush will not help you now."

A vast understatement, Nanto decided a short while later.

Clambering up a wall ladder in a long skirt was awkward, but the gale blowing across the top of the ship nearly sent them flying. They squealed and fought their way to a protruding structure on the ship's hull that would provide a convenient handhold.

Keeping a tight grip on their lifeline, Nanto squinted at their new home between the fingers of the hand protecting her eyes. Splintered fragments of the Asterean fleet littered a cracked mud plain that stretched out to a mountainous horizon. Flashes of electric charge ripped apart the sickly-green sky. A distant sun barely touched the planet with its warmth.

No wonder it was so cold.

Closer to the broken ship, strange aliens fought to secure flapping walls to ramshackle shelters held together by hope. Some were naked despite the horrendous conditions. Others could barely stand upright.

Nanto's thudding heart could not drown out the eerie howl of wind and beast.

The ship protected them for now, but how long could civilization last in a place as wretched as this?

* * *

"They're moving closer," someone called out from the back of the ship's large docking area. "We need to scare those animals away."

Nanto jumped to her feet. "Animals?"

Drese looked back at her. "Nantosuelta, did you want to say something?"

Fury propelled Nanto to the front of the raised platform. She scanned the surviving remnants of the Asterean fleet. "Those poor creatures you refer to as 'animals' live on the brink of death. They are cold, and hungry. They need help, not our condemnation."

"Help? If we're not careful, we'll be cold and hungry, too," a woman protested. "I have children to protect. We need to explore this planet. Find alternative sources of energy. Food. Water. We cannot do that whilst these creatures surround us."

"Maybe we can," Nanto responded. "Not so long ago, we treated the Morrígan little better than animals, spurning their attempts to warn us of Astereal's shifting forces. We were so determined to cling to our ancient ways we killed Morrígan in their hundreds, smug in our delusion of superiority, driven by a legacy of fear. Have we learned nothing?"

Captain Drese stepped forward. "The plight of the creatures on this planet is terrible," he said in a tone of cool reason, "but my responsibility is to the fleet. We will do what we can, Nanto, when the time is right."

"When? You mean if, Captain," a dark-skinned Paladin called out. "We're all dead if we stay on this planet much longer. I heard you connected to another orb, Bridge-builder? That you believe our people made it to Earth? Perhaps we should have taken our chances with Niall'Kearey after all."

Nanto flushed, stung by the unspoken accusation of her failure. She caught sight of Sorel entering the bay. Her friend looked wretched, exhaustion etched into her bones. Nanto wished the ship's healer would take time out to rest, but Sorel would tend to the sick until she lay on her death bed. The thought stiffened Nanto's resolve.

"I will talk with the aliens," she said, raising her voice so all could hear.

"No. The risk is too high," Drese said, his voice terse. "There is a chance your mind will recover."

Nanto faced him, willing him to see what this meant to her. "The time to build trust and goodwill is now. Please, Captain, I have to try."

When the meeting dispersed, Sorel found her. "Nanto, I am proud of you."

"I wish I could do more."

"Nantosuelta, you have always offered more than an ability to bridge space-time."

Crushing loss tightened Nanto's vocal cords. "I should be able to break us free from this accursed place. All these aliens—there must be other planets close by. Maybe another continent on this world—"

"If Niall'Kearey had wallowed in self-recrimination when the Paladin bridge failed . . ."

Nanto flinched; she would never forget the families lost on that terrible day.

Sorel nodded. "Instead he came back, created the bridge that allowed this fleet to escape the black holes."

Nanto winced. "I smacked his arm once, thinking him about to give up."

Sorel's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"He called me a 'drill sergeant' and redoubled his efforts. Before the alien ship I used to sense him out there, somewhere. I hoped that one day our minds would connect and he would find us."

An image flitted through her mind, a teasing fragment of a reality that was important, so crucial a gnawing fear would awaken her at night to drenched sheets. Her stomach lurched.

"Did you ever sense our people?" Sorel asked. "Do you know if Niall'Kearey saved them?"

"I have hope that he did. Remember the orb?"

"Ah, the eternal paradox that should not be."

"There is much we do not understand about the in-between. It sits between dimensions and connects us all. I wish I could explore it one more time."

* * *

Nanto could taste the fear on her tongue; a putrid concoction of pheromones from a motley collection of races to test the imagination. The icy wind cut through her thick, heavy cape. She glanced back at the ship where Captain Drese and an armed escort kept a watchful guard on her. Their presence couldn't dull the thumping fear in her chest—the aliens scavenging the ship's perimeter were closer than ever, stoking up her people's fear of invasion.

Nanto swallowed. What was she doing?

She walked on, one step after another, moving steadily closer to the rag-tag camp sheltering the aliens from the terrifying electric storms. Most aliens stayed at a reassuring distance. Bolder ones approached so close the scent of desperation became overpowering. Their curious eyes studied her as she observed them. One blue-skinned humanoid with green bug-like eyes had been watching her since she left the safety of the ship. A snarling to her left provoked a ferocious remonstration from others nearby that set her nerves on edge. Her stalker circled around to her right.

Nanto stood stock still, her heart hammering. The alien moved closer, emaciated skin covering a skeletal frame taller than her by a head.

When he emitted a high-pitched squeal loud enough to crack glass, Nanto started.

As the hovering pack broke into a frenzy of teeth-clicking and snapping, a primal fear exploded in Nanto's belly. Drese and officers stormed in, their blades flashing.

Slaughter was a sword's length away.

"Stop!" Nanto screamed.

Asterean and alien froze alike.

Nanto lowered her voice. "Captain, this moment will define our relationship with these aliens."

Drese' stern expression hardened, but then his eyes shifted behind her. She turned to find the blue teeth-clicking creature dropping down to sit cross-legged before her. Praying Drese would heed her words, Nanto followed suit. Tense seconds passed before Drese gestured his team to back off.

A clacking sound from her companion dispersed his friends in turn. Nanto offered a smile to her unexpected accomplice.

The alien teeth-chattered for several seconds and then sniffed the air. He scanned the ground. Nanto jumped when he plunged talons into the mud and pulled out a rodent by its tail. He offered the tiny grey mouse to Nanto. She shuddered with revulsion and the alien lifted his catch on high. Tilting back his head, he opened his jaws wide. Nanto couldn't watch. When she looked back the sight of a large bulge passing down the alien's translucent throat made her gag.

Heat flooded her cheeks. This starving alien had offered her food. Her rejection could have been more diplomatic. "But thank you," she managed.

When her companion rolled onto his side and scrambled to his feet, her heart sank. She'd offended him. The alien moved several steps away, then stopped and looked back.

Curious, her hopes rising, Nanto joined him.

Her companion's destination became clear when a trapdoor in the ground opened. A craggy face with a scraggly silver-dusted beard peered up at them.

A man.

So . . . there were others like them here.

The man paused briefly before climbing up the steps hewn into the substructure. He studied Nanto then scanned the broken ship dominating the desolate camp.

When he addressed her in an alien language, Nanto shook her head. "I do not understand."

The man's eyebrows shot up toward his thinning hair. "You be from the Galacticus Elecion then?" he asked in an ancient dialect she did recognize.

"No, we crashed here."

"Aye, we heard your arrival from the mountains." His expression shifted to a frown. "So you be prisoners of the Formorri."

"The Formorri? I have heard that name before."

"Woman, it be strange if you did not. They own this universe."

"Universe?" Nanto struggled to adjust her thinking. "Where I come from the Formorri exist only as legend in ancient scripture."

"Ancient be right. The Formorri rule supreme. But now the Galacticus Elecion is reclaiming back its territory. My ship was part of a defense line for the Susyt system. The enemy emerged out of nowhere and here we are—trapped on a Formorri prison trying to survive."

Prison. This planet was a prison? Her people were caught up in a war not of their making.

"Is Earth part of your universe?" she asked.

"Dinna recognize the name."

"What about Astereal?"

He stroked his beard and shrugged. "There be millions of planets."

"Millions? Inhabited?"

"Many, some alien like Curbal here," he gestured at her guide, "and the Formorri. Some be like your kind and mine. If you dinna mind my asking, you have no talent, but I can sense your people watching over you." He nodded to their left.

"Something happened to me." Nanto shuddered. "I do not know what."

"Ah, the Formorri wiped you." The man's gaze softened. "That must be hard. Just you?"

"Yes."

Curbal launched into a series of clicks that had the stranger scratching his head before his gaze returned to Nanto. "You be a bridge builder then?"

"I was."

He nodded as if that explained everything then glanced at Captain Drese walking towards them. Nanto realized with a jolt that this stranger and Drese must have shared some telepathic communication she hadn't detected.

The newcomer turned back to Nanto. "I am Echal. Introduce me to your escort and we will negotiate your membership."

"Membership?"

"Of the Resistance. One day the Galacticus Elecion will come for us and we need to make ready." The man's eyes darkened. "For on that day, no god will save Lugus from the defeat we will inflict upon him."

Lugus. The name had a haunting quality, an echo that struck dread into Nanto's heart.

* * *

Nanto stopped beside a young girl she remembered from her lecture the day the Formorri found them. Haran was her name. The child chatted to her at high speed as they waited in line for food, along with Curbal and other ravenous downtrodden life forms from this region of the universe.

Despite Haran's high spirits, Nanto sensed the child was nervous. Dark shadows circled the girl's eyes. Haran's gaze flitted around her as she shuffled back and forth. Nanto noticed the aliens nearby were reacting to the girl's anxiety. Several drifted away.

Curbal was one who held his place.

"It is not their desire to harm you," Nanto assured Haran. "You scare them more than they do you."

Haran flushed. "I scare them?"

Her distress must have leaked through her mental barriers for the man ahead of them turned. The Paladin from the docking bay glared at Nanto. "Why did you argue for this? We could have eaten on the ship; conserved our food. It will not last forever."

Aliens crowded them, growling and clicking.

When the man pulled out a blade, Nanto shoved Haran behind her.

"You have put us all in danger!" he snarled.

"Your fear puts us in danger!" Nanto snapped back. Anger and fear heated her blood. "These people know how to survive on this planet. We need them!" She leaned in and whispered, "You put that knife away or you put it through me first—your choice."

The man's jaw tightened, but he sheathed his knife. Nanto remembered to breathe, but the aliens hovered around them, clearly on edge as Asterean Security took up strategic positions around them.

"I'm scared," Haran whispered.

Nanto softened her tone. "They will not harm us, not unless we attack them. The Formorri did this to us all, Haran. They are our enemy, not those imprisoned here before us."

"One day Niall'Kearey will come and save us," Haran stated with the optimistic confidence of youth. "We still have the orb," she added. "Remember?"

The orb. . .

Once more an obscure memory teased Nanto's mind, straining her fraying nerves. "Yes, we do, but Niall'Kearey is someplace else, and we must look to ourselves." The tight feeling in her chest eased. "Echal says the Galacticus Elecion will come, so we need to be prepared. We must earn our place here, win their trust."

Haran threaded an arm around Nanto's elbow. "I am glad you are here. You are a good teacher."

A lump filled Nanto's throat. Behind them, Curbal clicked and clattered and, once again, the aliens backed off. "Keep talking, Haran. I think they like you."

Haran nodded her understanding. "Do you think the in-between orb is still there?"

"I hope so."

Haran's head tilted back revealing azure eyes full of mystery. "Sometimes I wonder where he is."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if Niall'Kearey took the orb from the past into another time, and the orb is in-between, then where is Niall'Kearey? He should be in-between, too."

"I do not know." Nanto's mind chased after the tendrils of memory that had tormented her for days. "The two should be together. You have intuited the full nature of this paradox, Haran, and we must reexamine our assumptions to resolve it. A journey we will take together."

Haran's smile warmed Nanto's soul. "Does that mean you will teach us again?"

Nanto considered the idea. Her teaching methods would have to change, but she had only one answer. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea."

A new path stretched out before her. The Formorri had confiscated her abilities, but now she felt a renewed sense of purpose. As the dark fog of failure and uncertainty parted, Nanto glimpsed a vision of Niall'Kearey.

He stood foursquare between the Formorri armies and a universe.

Alone.

The sole obstacle to the Formorri advance.

For one blood-tingling moment, Nanto thought Niall'Kearey was physically there—on this devastated planet—until the vision faded.

The memory of him did not.

Relief, hope, and fear turned Nanto's legs shaky. Threads of possibility unraveled in her mind.

If Niall'Kearey allied with the Galacticus Elecion then the full might of the Formorii would rally against him. She had to warn him.

If she could just reach the in-between orb . . .

Her mind exploded in a flash of white light. Thoughts blasted her all at once. One stood out.

Is that Nanto? You have found the orb?

She gasped. Echal?

But before he could reply, Nanto's mind was skittering out across the in-between, drawn to a glitch outside time and space entrapping an orb where a physical object should not exist.

A touch on her shoulder made her start. She spun around and found Echal standing there with Curbal beside him.

Echal studied the glowering Paladin behind her then addressed Nanto. "You have a strong mind to break through the Formorri wipe."

"How do you know of the orb?" she asked.

"Legend tells of an Orb that calls forth a warrior to stand between the Formorri and the worlds they destroy."

Nanto's lips parted in surprise. Echal's legend echoed her vision, and reminded her of the Ancient Prophecy that had predicted a man like Niall'Kearey would save the Asterean people from extinction. "Echal. I think the warrior of your legend is known to us, and that the Formorri know of him too."

"I see."

Echal glanced at Haran hiding in the folds of Nanto's skirt, and then Nanto sensed Echal sifting through her thoughts, a shifting progression of images and shapes. On an up swell of trust she showed him her memories of Niall'Kearey, and the orb sitting in the in-between.

A new mind cut across Echal and everyone else clamoring for her attention.

Nantosuelta?

The level of confusion blasting her made her gasp. There was pain, too; mind-numbing pain. She stiffened before her knees buckled. Niall'Kearey?

The agony vanished. No, a trickle remained, but she sensed Niall'Kearey shielding her from the worst, protecting her from something terrible.

I will return, Nantosuelta. His thought faltered.

She chased after the disintegrating link. Wait! Where are you?

His mind surged back. The orb . . . connects us.

Their telepathic link through the cosmos shattered.

Nanto stared dumbstruck at an equally stunned Echal. Astereans and aliens crowded around them.

A tug on her skirt broke the spell. "Did he mean our orb, the one you showed us in class?" Haran asked.

"You heard him?" Nanto asked. She spotted Drese forcing his way through the crowd towards them.

"We all did," Echal said. Excitement danced on his face.

Curbal gripped Echal's arm. An intense look passed between the two of them and Nanto suddenly grasped that it was not Echal making the decisions on this planet. The teeth-chattering alien had been testing them the whole time.

Echal's eyes crinkled at her. "You have earned entry into the Resistance, Nanto. You are the Seeker. You have found the Orb."

Curbal burst into a clicking monologue, his meaning forming in Nanto's mind. "Welcome to the Galacticus Resistance, Nantosuelta. We have much work to do." The blue skin and bone alien placed a paw on Nanto's shoulder. "The War of Ages is coming and this prison will birth a rebellion that will crush the Formorri to dust."

The memory that had haunted Nanto for so long surfaced in the wake of Curbal's words.

"Nanto," Drese murmured; his warning tone unmistakable.

Nanto stopped him with a raised hand. "Our cause has become one, Captain." Her path settled into place. "The Formorri found Earth."

The End

Also Available from Ceri London:

#  DINO'S PAPERS

 Alan Hardy

I will be facing extinction very soon. I can't say exactly when, though many beings would say I should know. Mind you, those very beings themselves no longer exist, or haven't come into existence yet. At the moment, I'm devouring them all, everything they were, are, and will be.

There are five or six of us still left. I'm not sure about the sixth one, I've absorbed so much of him, or her, that I don't know if there's anything left of him, or her, which resembles independent existence. My brightness, my luminous overwhelming-ness, is increasing at a boundless, unstoppable speed that is beginning to scare me.

I feel I could burst. And, of course, in the end, I will.

I will cease to exist.

His name was Goliath. Or her name. I really should use the impersonal pronoun for all of us. We're quite sexless, even though, in our time, we have absorbed all sexes and all sex. Dino wrote a paper on it. He's written papers on most things. Amongst them, the one I've just mentioned—on whether the pantheon of superior beings were ever sexual beings in their own right, or merely expressed, ultimately subsuming, the very essence of all sexuality—and another interesting one on the allied subject I've also alluded to that considers whether the preponderant use of the impersonal singular pronoun has rendered redundant the sexuality of language.

He's just about to publish a paper on the partial existence, or otherwise, of Goliath, puzzling over whether I have gobbled him up whole, or found a morsel of him uneatable and belched it out. I myself just can't lose the etymological habit of speaking of others in male terms. Well, I'm old, and, although I'm changing, will soon die. A little bit of stubbornness before death is to be excused, I feel. They were once one of the examples of the unchanging, unceasing nature of existence. I'm talking about Dino's papers. Pay attention, now. That is, until everything started to change. And then Dino's papers just became a left-over from the past.

An oddity.

An incongruity everyone could smile over.

Strange that what once was a competitive contest over who could absorb the most entities and, in the process, get bigger and bigger, can now be seen as the in-built dynamics leading to the mutually-assured destruction of the whole cosmos. There were so many of us once, firmaments shining and shimmering in the vastness of space. It was natural, I suppose, that we should band together, and form bigger and bigger blocks, such that there emerged, over aeon upon aeon upon aeon, a reduced and consequently distinct number of points of light.

We were like astral empires, I suppose.

Just recently, no more than a few billion years ago, we did make an attempt to prevent the annihilation that we realized we were bringing upon ourselves. Dino wrote a paper on it, and on the futility of the attempt. You see, I couldn't help myself, and nor could the others. My own luminous magnificence fed on the others. I drew them into my orbit. I gorged on them. I absorbed them into my own vastness. They were the fires that kept my brightness lit. And still do.

I couldn't prevent myself hurtling towards Armageddon.

The purifying couldn't be stopped. The distillation. The reduction unto the most undiluted form of unalloyed brightness. Light, the source of existence, powered our universe. Still does. Existence in its purest form was the amalgamation into one vast entity of the finest shards of light. The cosmos became an unblinking glare. A shining ball of unimaginable force that grew and grew until it would detonate.

Well, that's according to Dino's paper... and he did acknowledge, on its front page, his debt to me as his greatest helper in formulating his thesis that existence as we knew it was about to end. Let alone the fact that I typed out his first draft when his computer started to play up. He rather sneakily took advantage then to gobble up a couple of other entities, while I wasn't looking, carrying on with the ridiculous game at the very moment I was typing out his paper which stated I would, on the road to destruction, snuff out his own existence.

Madness.

When I absorb another entity, or source of light, or star, whatever you want to call it, there's a frisson of excitement that pervades my whole being, the sensation of an electrified swallowing. We (Dino and I, that is, as expounded in a shared paper) posited the theory that this is a residue (or rather, rarefied transformation) of the act of sex which was once practised by the vile blobs of pus and faeces that once existed. Quite a few of our fellow-universes balked at that; there was, I remember, a sort of one-second cosmic shut-down, a scary switch-off of light, as solar systems had a spontaneous retch at the very thought. They're a bunch of prim ass-holes. Dino is the only one I really ever got on with. Always the realist. And yet I know any moment now, within the next aeon or two, he's going to come up to me and ask me to spare him. Even though he knows it's hopeless.

I'll keep him until last. I'll devour the others first. Orth. Stav. And Ghue. I'll suck them up into the blinding folds of my greatness. They'll become part of me. They'll express my totality. They'll be the parts of me that make me whole. They'll be the burps that propel my ever-expanding galaxy. They'll be meek and mild in their surrender to me.

They'll offer themselves up to me.

* * *

I was wrong. Now, a few millennia after, I look back with amazement on what they attempted. They tried to pervert the inexorable course of history. Evolution. Time itself. The buggers attacked me. They tried to obliterate me and break me up into segments they could themselves absorb. They caused me pain. I wince now at the memory of that sensation, a tugging at the integrity of my being, the seams of my totality.

I screamed in agony.

It was Dino who warned me. I was suddenly aware of his presence shoving into me, his cosmos approaching mine and causing ripples. Convulsions.

"Stir yourself, you sleepy bastard," he shouted. "They're coming for your balls!"

Dino was always very careful in his language, whether the moment was one of calm or of universe-shattering importance, to perpetuate those strands which recalled or echoed what he called in one of his papers "the sexuality of our ancestors". Other universes, as mentioned, would throw up their hands in horror at such idiocies and outrages; they thought him quite mad. I must admit, I do sometimes wonder about him myself, and whether he hasn't got something unpleasantly primeval and primitive about him. I do suspect him, when he thinks no-one's looking, of rubbing some of his astral planes together and getting some sort of cosmic thrill out of it. I think the term Dino himself would apply is, if I remember correctly, "wanker".

I digress. Well, so what? Who's to stop me?

Orth was approaching from the right. Cosmic bolts of lightning emanated from him. Or her. Well, let's not start that again. I couldn't understand what he was up to. Shafts of his feeble light could never harm my brilliant eminence. An off-white colour could never outdo the very essence of light's purity.

To put it bluntly, a grey mouse is never going to shag a grey elephant.

Shag. Now, there's a word. Dino wrote a paper on its etymological history and why, through our evolution into non-sexual beings, it represented for him the loss of our roots, the physicality of existence we had abandoned.

I myself have always rejoiced at the unalloyed oneness of our being. Maybe we have in our genetic prism of light a folk-memory of our origin, but I am overjoyed that the foul, miniscule blobs of infected existence that once populated a corner of a tiny universe are no more. For now. Yes, they will have their day again. Their moment in the light which I will bestow upon them. In the period of my non-existence. They will wriggle their loathsome carcases along the surface of mud and slime they live in, and itch and scratch themselves upon each other in their foul couplings. And I will live only through them. I will be the life-force which holds them together. Their memory of me will be their salvation.

I digress. Again.

Ghue came up at me from the left. You see, Orth's ridiculous attack had been a ruse to hide Ghue's attempt to swallow me whole. I should have been aware of it. The all-seeing reputation I would later attain hardly allowed for such blindness. I yelled in agony as parts of me seemed to be wrenched away. I concentrated as never before in curling my immensity into a self-protective ball that Ghue couldn't penetrate. I felt I would explode. When Ghue fell back, exhausted, near to extinction, I sucked him up into my anus without so much as a backward glance.

I turned to deal with Orth. He started to whimper.

"Ghue forced me to do it," he whined. "Please spare me!"

"Beg for my forgiveness!" I shouted.

I could be a cruel bugger. Some of that unswerving callousness, I think, leaked into the image that was created of me in later aeons by the insect-like creatures which would return to crawl and propagate upon the face of their stinking cess-pit. The image of a harsh, unforgiving tyrant.

As Orth was in the middle of his grovelling sentences of supine, shameless cock-sucking, I vacuumed him up into my belly and, for his pains, gave out a hearty belch. Orth and Ghue were no more. They were part of me. Of course, you mustn't think I have a belly, let alone an anus. I am the supremest example of pure light ever known in all the galaxies. It's just that Dino thinks language should retain all the elements that went into the making of us superior beings, even though we have transcended such base elements. It was in an appendix to one of his papers. Dino was always like that. Clever. Cheeky. You know, putting his paragraphs about parts of the body into the appendix. I thought it rather childish, really.

Dino snapped up Stav while I wasn't looking. Stav had been hovering on the outskirts of the battle between me and his two mates, Orth and Ghue, waiting to see which way the wind would blow. Dino just sidled up to him and absorbed him in a flash.

So now there are two of us left. And we are fast approaching extinction. Because, you see, that is the terrible paradox. As we absorb more and more of our fellow-stars, and get bigger and bigger, the intensity of that fusion of light-forms upon light-forms brings about such a concentration of power that that agglomerated mass of light becomes no more than a pin-prick. The more we absorb, and the bigger we get, the smaller parameters we shrink into.

Basically, our vastness is imploding in on itself.

We're being sucked into our own black holes.

And then, when the whole of totality is absorbed within me, when I have gobbled up Dino, my boundlessness will know no bounds and will implode upon itself into the most miniscule of pin-pricks of light which will contain all the power of all the universes of all time, and then... that immensity and cosmic force suppressed into a tiny dot will... well, I'll soon experience my own death within that eruption.

The problem is we evolved too quickly. The miniscule dots we came from, writhing and puking in their anal smells, far too eagerly rejected their corporal essences to engineer purer forms of existences for themselves. They did it in no time at all, maybe just a few trillion billion years. Well, to cut a long story short, they expelled whatever was base and putrid from their life-forces, and, in a flash, became our rather primitive, but still ethereal ancestors—sources of light peopling the heavens.

We evolved from them. Miniscule dots.

Dino wrote a paper about that once. The tendency I have for unnecessary tautology. Well, there's another example. Unnecessary tautology. He sub-titled the paper, Lost Up One's Own Black Hole. He's a character, old Dino.

Pity I've got to annihilate him.

* * *

The tosser came to see me a couple of aeons ago, I think "just the other day" is the colloquialism Dino mentioned in his paper, Preserving Our Idiomatic Heritage. Tosser. Picked that up from another of Dino's papers, a couple of centuries back, Slang: An Animalistic Taste of Our Forbears. Dino found that title very funny.

I'd known this moment would come. The moment Dino would beg for his continued existence. He pleaded in his favour our eternal, unending friendship. Well, unending until now, or very shortly.

"If you exterminate me, you will be alone. In your last few epochs of existence, a mere tick-tock in the aeons of time, you will face death on your own. No companionship. Nothing. Spare me, and I will be by your side until the end. You won't be the mother of all lonely universes."

"But, Dino, what must happen, must happen. You wrote a paper on it. You presented it at the Stellar Symposium when there were still a few galaxies around other than you and me to read it. It's the tragedy of our existences. Stars banding together in mutual defence became bigger stars gobbling up smaller stars for the sheer thrill of it, and then it became unstoppable, a mad road to mutually assured destruction. It became a contest as to who could be the biggest, baddest of them all. And, let's face it, the winner was always going to be me. We both know what's coming. I'll eat you up and, in my vastness, in my gigantic enormity, the intensity of my power and brightness will become insupportable until I implode into a tiny speck of luminosity, and then..."

"The Big Bang," Dino intoned lifelessly. "Total annihilation, for you and all the entities and beings who made you what you are, and what you will no longer be."

"We can't change it, Dino. I can already feel you entering more and more into my orbit, violating my atmosphere, rubbing up against me, ready to be subsumed into my vastness. I know it will be the end, but I feel a frisson of excitement at the imminence of my absorption of you. I can't wait."

"It's the vestiges of our ancestors' sexuality. They used to come together in a most peculiar way, they—"

"I've read the paper, Dino. Spare me the details."

Then Dino offered me eternal life. He said he was writing a paper on this very subject, and would publish it very soon. He wanted to bring it out in a couple of centuries, just before his death. He wanted to be remembered for his findings. A strange fish, Dino. Remembered by whom? There would only be myself, the Supreme Being of all supreme beings.

And I was going to explode into smithereens.

"I'm going to offer you the knowledge that you will live again," he said. "My arguments will be irrefutable."

"And what do you want in return, Dino? You know, when I'm ready, I'm going to suck you up into my Black Hole. I can't give you your life."

"I know," he answered sadly.

He lowered his gaze, or would have done if he had a face. I'm only anthropomorphising out of respect to his memory. He liked that sort of thing.

"You see," he said, "I want you to perpetuate my memory. If I prove to you that, although you will die, you will live again, and so give you the courage to face death, then, when you return, I want you to speak of me. I want to be remembered."

"I promise."

"And I will do more. I will give you a name," he said.

* * *

Will I live again?

Dino said I would in his paper, just before I sucked him up into my anus. Now he's no more than one of my occasional farts.

Do I believe in reincarnation?

Dino argued that, once he had gone, and after the Big Bang, the whole world, and each particle it contains, will be me. Therefore, when it's reassembled, he said, I will live again.

I fervently hope so. I'm scared. I can feel my greatness, at the apex of its totality, paradoxically and terrifyingly, shrinking into a sheer point of total pointlessness. I will burst, one last mega-explosion of unimaginable enormity, and be no more.

Once the Big Bang has occurred, Dino said that each particle of shattered, careering existence will in fact be my very own fragmentation, and so there will be in each particle a genetic memory of me. I will live on in each blob's devotion to me. Sounded convincing, too.

Now, as my end nears, I'm not so sure. The whole process will begin again, he said, and will conclude in my magnificence. The cycle of shivering, puking, itchy speck of putrid, rancid humanity evolving into the one source of light in the universe. Evolution will tread that same path again and again. I hope so. In fact, I do have a folk-memory of it having already happened. Or is that just wish-fulfilment?

And Dino did give me a name. An identity. He gave me the name of the last three universes I devoured. He made an acronym of them. Ghue. Orth. Dino. Or, in short, GOD. And they will worship me when I'm dead. And I will be brought back to life. That's my prayer. I'm so afraid. My disintegration is upon me. I feel it coming.

Before I go, though, I have another mantra to mumble.

Dino, I promise you, if I am remembered, you will be remembered. If, in each speck's agglomerated worship of me, I return, then I will remember you, Dino, even if you will forever remain but a fart in my universe.

The End

Also available from Alan Hardy:

#  COG

Bryan P. Clark

I.

It was a long way down from window 7R3.

Cog didn't look down. He wiped the counter and took a deep breath and pulled the ropes and lowered the platform until he was safe on the ground floor and ready to take his pager off his wrist.

As he ran his finger around the black band to find the clip to unclip it from his suit sleeve, he felt it pulse. The red light was shining and buzzing.

Cog was finished with his shift and he had the right to pass on his incoming page, but he couldn't do it. He needed to answer the customer's page, because it was important to him. It was important that he answer the call of his fellow neighbor.

He looked up.

He pulled the rope to let his platform rise back up, off the ground floor, to pass window 7R1, then 7R2, to stop at his window at 7R3.

He took the earpiece off its cradle and clipped it to his helmet, pressing the blue button.

"Thank you for calling Odyssea Banking Service, This is your teller, Cog."

"I need to make a wire deposit..." said a fast female voice in his ear piece.

"I'm sorry, our services are closed for the night," Cog said.

"I need to make this deposit. You have to make an exception..." the woman said.

"Hold on," Cog said.

Cog hit the yellow button on his earpiece and looked out his window to the ground floor, where Brim was sweeping the black boot dust. He surveyed and spotted his supervisor Hef walking out from the hall at the far right. Cog clicked the notch on his wrist pager to get Hef's attention. Hef stopped in his tracks, looked at his wrist, looked up and met eyes with Cog at window 7R3.

Cog tuned his voice box to a high enough volume to project, so that he would be heard, and addressed Hef. "I have a customer who would like to make a last minute deposit."

"All databases are locked," Hef answered from below.

"It sounds like an emergency of sorts...like she really needs the deposit in her account..."

"We're closed down for the night," Hef said. "All banking databases are shut down."

Cog pressed the yellow button on his earpiece.

"I'm sorry, my supervisor informed me that databases have been shut down."

"Can you type my number into your own file, and make the deposit in the morning?"

"I could lose my job, if I have a client's account number in my personal file, and I can't get into the bankhouse files because we've shut those down."

The woman on the other end of Cog's earpiece didn't respond. He wondered if he had pushed the red button on his piece by mistake, but he looked at his wrist and the light on his band was a steady green.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Cog said. There was a loud pulse in his ear and the light on his wrist blinked and went out.

Cog felt bad for the client on the other end. There wasn't anything he could do for her, but he knew she needed to make the deposit. He knew by the tone in her voice.

She might have needed the scohrs to fuel her hovercart,(I would italicize this phrase.) Cog thought as he pulled the ropes, his eyes closed, landing safe back on the ground floor.

She might have needed to fuel her hovercart to see if a loved one was safe and maybe something terrible had happened, and what had Cog done?–Cog thought as he opened his eyes, stepped off his platform, removed his wristband and walked down the dark hall.

He turned to drop his band in the box, after he slid out his scohrs chip and slid it into the arm of his suit. The scohrs number on his suit blinked, but he didn't pay notice to it. He knew it was not enough for him to manage.

Somewhere out there a lady was helpless, without her bank deposit, unable to fuel her hovercart, unable to find her loved ones, unable to make the emergency trip, possibly. It was only Cog's hunch, but he knew, by her voice, that the deposit was important. He had let her down.

It wasn't the bank's fault, Cog thought. It wasn't Hef's fault. It was Cog's fault. (I would italicize the thoughts.)

Cog met Brim at the front of the bank and followed him out to his hovercart, so that he didn't have to glide home on his boots. Brim attempted to make conversation with Cog, but Cog couldn't help thinking about the woman, whatever her name had been, and her emergency, whatever it had been; and the fact that he couldn't and didn't take the risk and punch her code into his personal files. He might not have been found out and he might have saved that woman, but he was weak and he obeyed Hef, and so he told the woman he couldn't make the deposit.

The feeling of guilt that Cog was feeling was even more powerful than his feeling of terror of heights.

II.

Cog couldn't sleep. He sat up on his cot, pulled his lamp chain and turned the dial on his helmet to a talk radio program.

"... _we're hearing these stories everywhere, listeners. People in need of jobs, that can't get them, living in the ghettos and starving with only allowance from the high command, that has debts from the higher sectors it can't pay. We are in a crisis..."_

Cog turned the dial to find a symphony recording and stumbled on a piece by the Calliope symphony. He relaxed, listening to the rising strings while the pounding blocks kept rhythm. He imagined if he were suspended, looking over at his fellow neighbors, without fear, knowing he would not fall--not like when he worked mail-call duty at the bank and they hung him from the belt. If he were a cloud in the sky he would not have any worries, any problems; he would just breathe and have fresh air.

_Life is a struggle_ , Cog thought, _but I endure_.

His dues were paid, he had fresh air and nutrients, to get him through the next calendar set and he had shelter. He had one more day to make it through before he would have a labor break.

Letting the soothing sounds of music comfort him, he pulled the lamp chain above him and rested his head. He closed his eyes and as drowsiness began to set in, he turned the sound volume dial on his helmet. He turned it down gradually until he was ready to sleep and then he turned the radio off.

Cog dreamt he was strung in the main hall of the bank, as if for mail call, and the customers in line were looking up and cursing him.

" _Can't you get them to move this line!?"_

" _Don't you have more cashiers at this establishment?"_

" _I need this deposit now! My kids are starving,"_ a crying woman exclaimed. _"It's your fault! You wouldn't bend the rules for me! It's your fault!"_

An alarm resonated in Cog's ear and reverberated, once more and then once more. Disoriented, Cog opened his eyes, sat up from his cot and clicked the button on his helmet.

It was morning. He was awake.

He clicked the pad on his arm to check his scohr level and then clicked the tab on his chest by his heart, for morning feed. He bit the feed tube and drank the nutrition fluid as he watched his scohr level go down. Once he had taken in what he was able to afford, he hit the tab on his chest to stop feeding. He powered on his hover boots and waited. Once they were charged, he felt himself rise.Cog shuttered, as he always did but he took a deep breath.

He looked out from the entrance to his house. It was one window above his neighbor. He leapt and his heart pounded with fear, which ceased as he landed softly. He stepped forward and glided along the trail leading to the bank. For two miles he glided, and then entered the bank and pressed his finger to the tab at the entry. As the doors slid open for him, he stepped in and glided toward the box where his wristband was. Hw put his wristband on, pushed the button, and stepped onto the platform lift to be taken up to window 7R3. Cog clipped his earpiece to his helmet, waited for the pages, and then waited for the line to form at 7R3.

Hef floated up to his window. "How long have you been on our clock?" Hef asked.

"I've just arrived, sir." Cog answered.

"Have you done mail call duty yet?"

"Well, I cannot," Cog answered.

"You must. It is mandatory."

"But I cannot. We've discussed this and you said you would talk to your superior."

"Hm. Then I will talk to him today. Until then, you need to pull mail call duty. No excuse."

"Yes sir."

Cog had his first customer of the day, just several moments after his conversation with Hef. Cog recognized and remembered Ang. He wondered if she had been the woman from the previous night, but Ang only approached the window with her regular deposit.

A few customers came within the sixty mark timeframe and Cog avoided mail call duty. But once the line formed at his window, he became nervous, knowing that he had to visit every window, including the higher floors and deliver files, according to policy.

After Cog took care of several customers at his window, he knew he had to perform his duty. He took care of his last customer in line, took two more pages, disabled his earpiece and declared his window 'not in service'.

Taking the platform down to the main level, he turned and glided to the hall leading to the mail room. Cog had to take a breath and hold in his true fear, as he took one of the hanging straps and clipped it to the back of his suit. He took the most recent mail chip from the slot and plugged it into the palm of his right hand. The belt pulled him up and as Cog was pulled he closed his eyes, trying not to think about how high up he was being strung; but even with his eyes closed, he could imagine how far up he had gone. He felt the belt elevate him and was afraid of it snapping and afraid of falling. He held his tears, though. Since he was elevated up several floors, Cog had to open his eyes so that he could see where he was to be led. He looked at his palm and a number flashed. He pushed it and the belt lowered and took a turn until he stopped at his destination.

He placed his hand on his first colleague's mail receiving plate and after the transaction was completed, he dropped down to a lower level to deliver mail to one of the ground windows. He was then thankfully only pulled up two windows, and lowered back to ground; but then he was pulled up several windows and Cog didn't look down. He went about his business, earning his set scohr rate.

Cog didn't know how long it had been, but once he had finished his duty, he unstrapped himself from the belt and returned to his window. He had three customers waiting for him to be in service.

He returned to his cashier duties and took his three customers. There was a page left on his earpiece.

"I'm sorry to bother..." said a gentleman. "I really need to make a wire deposit, and all lines have put me on hold; but since I was able to leave recorded message on this line, I have to speak up and it is important that I am able to put in my deposit, however necessary. Thank you, ma'am or sir."

The customer had wired his information via database and Cog was able to find his urgent deposit request and approve it.

Cog took care of several customers, before a familiar face walked in.

"Hi, Pam," Cog said with a smile to the middle-aged woman standing in front of him. She had a look of dread on her face.

"Hi, Cog," she answered back.

"How may I help you?"

"I need this deposit," She said handing him her payment card.

Cog typed out Pam's personal digits on the pad in front of him, and as he slid her payment card, he asked her, "What's troubling you?"

"I had to turn off Opie's oxygen," she said in a soft, hoarse voice.

"Your pet mouse?" Cog handed her card back to her.

"I called you last night! I know you have to follow policy, but I couldn't pay my fees, I had nothing and then I noticed the levels on his cage becoming low."

"I am really sorry, Pam. I really am. I'm...I feel so bad."

"It really isn't your fault. If I had noticed sooner." Pam turned slightly to walk off.

"I wish there was something I could do," Cog said.

"Well, you can't! You can't do anything."

Cog understood when he looked at Pam that she had forgotten that although he was part cybertronic, he was also part human, and he was genuine in saying he had been sorry.

"I apologize greatly. You have no idea," Cog answered.

"I just...I...I'm just really upset." Pam walked off in a rush, overwhelmed with emotion.

Cog felt his heart drop. He saw in his mind the grey mouse, in its oxygen cage, sleeping, and breathing, until the turn of a dial. Cog understood how it felt to feel little. He understood what the mouse felt. He wished he could have made it clear to Pam that he understood.

It was Cog's fault Opie died--but he was human enough to know how Pam felt, more than she realized. Pam didn't have any children. She was a loner, unmarried, like Cog, but far older. Opie was all she had. Cog's sympathy for her was strong and genuine--and strong enough for him to stand up for himself.

III.

The end of Cog's shift would come soon. He took care of his regular customers, made sure their deposits were run through the database so that they could live and breathe, and have shelter; and so their pets, their grey mice, or golden haired cats, were taken care of. Cog's town neighbors lined up to process their scohrs earned from labor, while Cog earned his schors, so that he may live and breathe and pay for his shelter and nutrition.

Hef floated upward and stopped at Cog's window just as Cog was finishing a transaction on his earset. Cog detached his earset from his helmet, once through and listened to Hef.

"You need to perform mail call duty again before you leave."

"I won't," Cog answered.

He subjected himself to the pains of being strung about varying altitudes, once in the day already, and once more than he would have preferred and he would not allow himself to face it again.

"It's mandatory," Hef explained. "You have to perform mail duty twice within your shift."

"And yet we talked about it and I told you, Hef, I told you explicitly of my personal objections."

Cog understood that it was important to follow policy, for protection; but sometimes instincts were important. He was still human. He had human instincts. He should have disregarded policy for the sake of Pam and Opie.

In this case Cog was disobeying policy for the sake of his own well-being. It was important to him that he take a stand as he imagined being forced, regularly to be swung about like a pendulum or puppet. He'd go mad.

"But I've seen you make mail call."

"I wanted to prove I could do it! But I've had enough for today and for the next few days."

"We'll have to have a talk with the branch chief."

"I'll talk to him; that's fine with me."

Cog had always been timid. He wasn't a small grey mouse like Opie, though, and no one was going to silence him with the turn of a dial, even though they could. He knew he shouldn't be quieted without a fight and he knew he had it in him to speak up.

When Cog's shift ended, he pulled the rope to lower his platform, without hesitation, without giving any thought to the fact that he was being dropped downward. He stepped off his platform and did not break or utter a word to Hef on his way out the door. He turned in his wristband, confident that it would be there for him when he took up his next shift. He would only be terminated after a discussion with the branch chief and if compromises could be made, he would still have work and even if he didn't, he'd find a way to survive. No one was going to turn the dial on him.

Cog floated on his boots, along the side streets home, and sprung up to his door, imagining that he was flying. Flying was much different than being dragged by ropes. With flying, you are in control.

Cog took of his boots, unfolded a chair, opened up his supply cabinet, took out a handful of colortips from his bin, and placed them on each of his fingers on his left hand. He reached with his right hand for a canvas screen and stood the canvas screen in front of his chair. Cog accessed his database on his left arm for his water supply. He had worked hard and had enough water supply in his suit to moisten the paint in his colortip. He began to stroke the canvas screen.

He poked with his finger and poked again. He made a muddy brownish smudge and around the smudge, he drew a circle. Then he drew a circle around the circle, and another and another. He flicked his fingers, and specks of colored smudges and smears splashed, splattered and ran. Among the world he created--the world of circles--red, yellow, blue, green dots, purple dots-commotion-all of the people in the world-and overlooking it was Cog in a web. Black streaks-black strings he drew, meeting the big black smudge in the center, which was Cog.

The color, the light, the commotion and noise below charged upward at him.

If they cut the ropes from him, he would fly away and once free he would find a way to breathe, to live, to survive. No one was going to turn the dial on him without a fight; and even if he lost the fight, he'd find a way to live on. His life would become a struggle, but he'd endure.

The End

Also Available from Bryan Paul:

#  WORLD OF KAYNAR!

A. G. Moye

The red dwarf sun Kaynar orbits gives the ever present cloud covering a reddish hue, making it appear as if it were raining blood. During the moonless night it is less noticeable. Even the marble used to build the structures on Kaynar bears the same red tint. The leaves of the short stubby trees growing on the planet have red leaves with a slight blackish-green stem. Kaynar has less than a thousand square miles of solid ground. She is basically a water planet. Life existed in the water long before the Kaynarins emerged onto dry land to escape the jaws of the Klaptor. Rain comes daily. Sometimes as a mist, other times a downpour. The constantly rolling oceans appear blackish and foreboding for the life held within. Despite the Klaptor, and the ever-present whirlpools in the ocean, life flourishes on Kaynar.

***

"GET READY!" Teacher yelled at the top of his lungs causing the male graduating Kaynarins to tense. The front row honor students looked at Teacher, waiting for him to tell them to go. Krilan hung at the back of the class, knowing full well he had to be up front. He didn't like this ritual of having to go into the water. Even though the bay had a reef made to prevent the Klaptor from entering the bay, he still didn't feel comfortable in the water.

Being shorter than the other graduating Kaynarins, Krilan spent more time on land than in the water than his fellow classmates and he was bulkier as a result. His classmates were more slender and taller, sporting bigger fins. Born in this very bay, Krilan recalled swimming out to the huge underwater cites that the Kaynar lived in for centuries.

Nearly becoming food for the Klaptor had made Krilan afraid of the water. Losing part of his back fin was a daily reminder of how close to death he had come. He was happy to attend classes conducted on land, but had been reluctant to return to the water for the last four years. Krilan found many others whom felt land was safer than the oceans of Kaynar. He knew he was losing scales from his body, even though he was moist all the time. His fins no longer grew. Most of his classmates bore a small growth of fins on the crown of their heads that would eventually meet up with the fins they sported on their backs.

The Teacher seemed to delight in making his students wait as mist from the bay drifted in coating them with moisture until their bodies glistened showing off their light blue scales. Krilan could feel the tension growing; he could see the wicked look on Teacher's face at making them wait. This was another test to see if they had truly listened to the Teacher and were ready to be adults.

"Go!" the Teacher yelled as the first row of students dove off the marble wharf constructed after the first land-based school was erected. They were followed quickly by the second row. Krilan was in the third row of males directly in front of the female graduates.

Diving in, Krilan took a deep breath just before he hit the water. Unlike those that spent a lot of time in the water, his gills no longer functioned, having adapted to his new, landbound lifestyle. This forced him to surface every so often to grasp a breath of air. Also unlike his classmates, Krilan's tail fin was worn down to the nub from walking on land so he was forced to use his legs to help push him along through the water.

Krilan was just passing the barrier reef when the first males passed the marble wharf, drawing a great cry from the females who knew they would soon be joining in the celebration.

As Krilan looked back from glancing at the females, he saw a spray of water on the other side of the reef. He knew the Klaptor were waiting on the other side of the reef. Many of the graduates would never make it to the underground cites, only those fast enough to avoid the Klaptors. When they jumped the reef, they hoped not to land in the mouth of one of the giant creatures. When they were young, everyone had been small enough to fit through the openings located underwater. Now they were too big and had to jump the barrier. The Klaptors knew this and they seemed to know when a class was graduating.

Glancing over his shoulder the next time he surfaced, Krilan saw the water where the males were swimming before making their jump over the barrier. It was now a pinkish-white from the release of all their sperm.

Instead of passing the marble wharf Krilan headed straight to the shore, not bothering to release his sperm. The Teacher observed him climbing up on shore. He didn't know that Krilan had panicked when he heard the Klaptors cleaning out their blowholes. He would just have to deposit his sperm later.

Once the last of the males passed over the wharf, the teacher sent the females into the water. Some released their eggs right away, while others swam a short distance to where they had seen their favorite male release his sperm.

Standing on shore, Krilan heard the screams of those jumping over the barriers being eaten by the Klaptors. He turned to see one of their fastest swimmers, Maka, jumping the barrier. He couldn't believe it when a Klaptor jumped up out of the water catching him in his jaws in midair. Maka's terrible scream echoed in his head when the Klaptor bit him in half and swallowed his tail end. Krilan couldn't see, nor did he want to anymore. The Teacher had told them all that less than half of the three hundred graduating would ever make it to the underwater cities.

Krilan started walking away from the bay headed between the marble columns that made up the Kaynar structures. The columns had a covering made from the plants that grew on land and the weeds from the oceans Kaynarins didn't eat.

"Krilan! Krilan!" he heard voices yell. Stopping, he saw his two friends coming toward him as fast as their short legs would allow. He smiled. He had thought they changed their minds and went to the underwater cities when they didn't leave the water the same time he did.

"Tow`be! Sassper! I am glad you decided to stay on land!" Krilan exclaimed loudly, grateful that his friends joined him.

"The Klaptor changed our minds. We swim slow and when we saw their water spouts we knew we would become food for them easily enough." Sassper said with a laugh. Tow`be laughed also.

A frown appeared on Krilan's face when he saw who was behind them, Ee`who, one of the females in their class. She was, without a doubt, the smartest member of the class and Teacher's pet. Seeing he was looking past them, Tow`be and Sassper turned to look at what he was observing. Frowns appeared on their faces also. Ee`who always tried to tell the males what to do.

Ignoring Krilan's friends, Ee`who kept her eyes locked on him as she approached. Neither spoke to her, seeing she had eyes only for Krilan.

"Krilan, I noticed you didn't release your sperm back with the others. I wonder if you would fertilize my eggs since I didn't release my eggs either." Ee`who said, drawing close to him.

"That is a sacrilege. We are all supposed to release them today!" Tow`be expressed his displeasure at her actions and Krilan's. Ee`who looked at him distastefully before turning her attention back to Krilan.

"I hadn't thought about what I was going to do with my sperm." Krilan said, wearing a guilty look.

"The teacher helped me construct a special type of birthing pool. I can watch my eggs grow into regular Kaynar, instead of being mixed with those born in the bay who eventually swim out to the cites. If you would release your sperm into my special birthing pool, we can watch them grow up together. We could also teach them, instead of having them go out to the cities facing the dangers that lurk there," Ee`who said, looking at Krilan like she wanted him to say yes. He knew she would never beg him.

"I guess I could," Krilan remarked seeing his two friends moving past him. Krilan knew his friends were disturbed. This plan of hers to keep their fertilized eggs out of the bay was wrong.

Sassper called over his shoulder after they were starting to walk away. "We are going to the Nip fields to collect some Nip for dinner. We will bring some back to our place at the school."

Nip was the Karnarian's favorite food. In the water the leaves didn't get very big, but once planted on solid ground they grew up to three feet in diameter. Though the Nip harvested on land were stringy unlike the water variety, if you soaked them, they were fine.

Seeing his two friends leaving, Ee`who said, "Follow me. I will show you what has been built for me," as she reached out her webbed hand. Krilan drew away, not used to another Kaynar touching him.

Ee`who laughed, taking the lead because the path was too narrow for him to walk next to her. As they climbed, she frequently glanced over her shoulder to make sure he was still following. The path was rocky and sparsely dotted with stubbed trees. They weaved in and out of the various marble structures. Keeping the smile on her face, she wondered if he was the right selection for her. She had sat with the Teacher many nights discussing who should fertilize her eggs. Ee`who had chosen Karilan. He was smart, for a male. He was expected to work in the marble mines, creating new structures for the Kaynar that chose never to return to the underwater cites. Marble workers were necessary and admired.

Krilan followed her like an obedient child. This was his second shock of the day. The first shock of the day had come during the last class that morning when the Teacher had told his class something none of them had known. A giant beast had recently come down out of the clouds, opened its mouth and swallowed up many Kaynar along with other creatures that lived in the water. At first no one in his class had believed the story that was told until others collaborated it. What shocked him most was that this beast apparently had eyes that went all the way around its entire body! It was also reported that there were what looked like some kind of creatures in the eyes! This new beast frightened Krilan.

Now, Ee`who came up with this plan, should he turn and run or follow through? He had already said yes and the Teacher had taught them that a Kaynar was only as good as his word.

Krilan was lost in thought until he saw they were in part of the city that he never had been in before. He marvelled at the construction engineering of the area until Ee`who led him into an enclosure that had several openings and a strange covering overhead, unlike the open view he was accustomed to seeing. The other openings that were normally there had a growth of vines that normally only grew near the mountains. They were so thick that the outside mist wasn't entering the enclosure. On each side of a giant pool of water were the familiar marble sleeping stones and in the center of the pool was another column holding up the thatched covering over-head. He counted seven underwater pillars and knew how much work went into making each pillar.

As she walked to the edge of the pool, Ee`who said. "All you have do is step down on these white stones and walk around releasing your sperm."

Krilan had never seen water this crystal clear before. He walked to the edge and looked down. "Step in!" Ee`who commanded, seeing his reluctance. He looked at her and decided it would be a relief to get rid of all this sperm; besides, it was uncomfortable walking anyway.

Stepping into the water, he waited until his lower half was completely submerged before slowly releasing his sperm, stepping from underwater pedestal to pedestal. Behind him, the water turned white from the number of sperm he released. Upon completing a circle of the pool he climbed out. He smiled at Ee`who, seeing how happy she was and guessing she was just as anxious to get rid of her eggs.

She stepped in, following his path. Unlike him, she couldn't see the steps but she appeared to know in her mind where they were using her feet to feel her way along.

Krilan sat down on the sleeping marble, slipping his back fins through the grooves so he could be comfortable. Seeing Nip growing around through the vines, he reached over to pluck off a piece to satisfy his hunger.

Ee`who stepping out of the pool, made a sound. "If you are hungry, I have some Nip soaking."

Krilan drew back quickly, feeling guilty that he had been about to take her private Nip without asking. She acted like it hadn't happened as she moved to the other side of the pool. While walking she told him, "The pool is twelve lengths deep. I know how you hate to dive in so that was the reason for the stepping pedestals. I planted Nip down at the bottom and by the time the young ones are big enough to eat it it will have grown tall enough to reach the top."

She was still talking about the pool when she returned with a dish filled with Nip and water. "Our young ones will have a lot of room and can stay in the pool until they are strong enough to come out. They never will have to go into the oceans to face the dangers lurking there and we will know these are our young ones."

Handing Krilan the bowl, she sat down next to him smiling silently as he began to eat. Her statements were so foreign to him. The thought of knowing exactly which young ones were your own was a new concept to him. He didn't think it had ever been done before. Ee`who had always been a strange one full of different ideas.

When he handed the half empty bowl back to Ee`who, she took it saying, "You should read the Philosophy of Su`an." She pointed at the tree bark book laying next to him. He never heard of Su`an, was it a male or female?

Grabbing the book, he started reading the letters gouged into the pages. At first, he didn't grasp the book's concepts but soon he was enthralled. He didn't even notice Ee`who leave as he read. It jolted him to learn that whoever wrote the first part believed that there was a fork in the road between the Kaynar that lived on land and those dwelling in the oceans and one day they would probably not even call each other family. Another jolt came when he learned the Klaptor and Kaynar were once cousins but the Klaptors had found it was easier to hunt for food than to grow crops. At first, the Klaptors just raided Kaynar fields, then they began eating Kaynar. Over time, the Klaptors had graduated from eating only the youngest Kaynar to full grown ones and it was this that contributed to the Klaptors' colossal size. After their evolutionary divergence from the Kaynar, the Klaptors' evolution was far different than the Kaynar . The Kaynar left the deep oceans to avoid the spinning waters so their upper and lower fins that evolved into limbs. They drew closer to land and eventually onto it as a means of survival.

By the time he reached the end of the book, Krilan's head was spinning. New ideas floated through his head, one that bothered him the most was the part about male and female staying together as long as they were alive. He didn't agree with that at all. Next year, he thought, he would swim the bay and leave his sperm with the others, forsaking Ee`who's grand ideas. He wondered about those bark pages that had laid out these strangest of the book's ideas, they were clearly gouged by a different hand.

"What do you think?" Ee`who asked from her sleeper marble bed.

"Who wrote that?" Krilan asked, not really answering her. His thoughts were confused.

"Many different Kaynar, mostly the philosophers although I added the first part recently." Ee`who answered still nervous about what he thought. Would he stay with her like she was suggesting in her writing?

As the sun went down, Krilan leaned back in his sleeper. Closing his eyes, he pretended to fall asleep so Ee`who wouldn't ask him any more questions. He was still trying to wrap his head around the concept of staying with one female.

***

A few weeks later, Krilan found himself still staying with Ee`who. His two friends no longer associated with him; they worked the fields. At the quarry, he was cutting and forming marble into livable structures for the increasing number of Kaynar joining them on land so his friends had no reason to meet up him after moving out of the school and down near the fields. It was nice coming home to a bowl filled with Nip that had been softened up by soaking all day. Each night after the first week, Ee`who insisted on talking to him about the young ones that now filled the pool. She seemed obsessed watching them form and grow, knowing they were their young ones.

Every once in a while he would go down to the bay comparing his young ones to those swimming there. Those in the pool were larger than those down in the bay. The other thing he noticed about his in the pool was that their tail fins were shorter and their legs and arms were longer with not even a sign of a head fin. Maybe Ee`who was right; their young ones were healthier and growing faster than those born in the bay who had to fight over the Nip growing there. Whenever the Nip seemed to be getting low in the pool, Ee`who would pick what she had growing among the vines, tossing it into the pool.

Krilan enjoyed his work so much, he never thought about leaving Ee`who unless he dropped by the fields to pick up some Nip. Seeing his friends reminded him. Tow`be and Sassper ignored him, refusing to speak to him. Krilan knew they were upset with him and Ee`who for breaking what they called the "sacrilege", and especially for staying together. No other Kaynar had ever done it even though some of the newer students in training were thinking about it.

When the first of the young ones came out of the pool, Krilan was shocked when it tried to speak like those living in the bay did. Was language genetic or had Ee`who been teaching them? Krilan knew she went in the pool spending time with them while he was at the quarry every day.

The only problem of being without water to expel, the air being expelled did not make a sound except for a faint whistle. Ee`who thought it was great. "The Teacher has agreed to come here and start their classes soon." Ee`who announced adding, "He is getting too old to teach at the school any longer and feels this will be his last class. A new teacher from the underwater cites has come to take his place."

"Is he going for his final swim?" Krilan asked. When Kaynar got old in the underwater city they would head out to the deeper oceans away from the shelves the cities and Nip was grown on. Nip wouldn't grow in the deeper water because it wouldn't get enough light to grow. Nip was grown in the underwater cities, especially in the living quarters where many Kaynar lived to prevent the Klaptors from finding them. One of the nice things about Kip was underwater you could see it giving off oxygen and filling up the cavities near the ceiling. The young Kaynar that just left the bay would go up to these pockets to breath as their gills and lungs developed. Some of the older Kaynar would do the same to keep their lungs somewhat functioning, just in case they wanted to walk on land.

As the Kaynar grew scarce in the deep, more and more the Klaptor would come to the cities to find food. Other creatures were just not enough to satisfy their appetites. Not eating Nip in so long, the older Klaptors didn't think it was a food source any more. Only the young Klaptors ate Nip when nothing else could be found. Krilan heard rumors that the older Klaptor had started attacking their own young lacking other sources. Now, there was an even more disturbing event occurring, driving more and more Kaynar out of the water. The Klaptors started ramming the cities, crumbling the homes of many Kaynar forcing them to flee. Some survived by making landfall, others became food for them.

***

To Krilan, life couldn't get any better than when he left the enclosure to head to his work area at the quarry. He was busy cutting marble for a new school being built inland for those not born in the bay. It was through his work that he had learned several other females had private pools even bigger than Ee`who's filled with newborn Kaynar.

Suddenly something huge appeared in the sky above him, tilting slightly like it was looking right at him. In the creature's many eyes there were several creatures moving around inside. He dropped his rock cutter and stared. The sun glinted off the surface of the beast making him shield his eyes to see.

There was no sound; it just seemed to hang there before it came lower. Then, it extended its legs down from up inside it. Puzzled, Krilan stood watching, unable to figure out what kind of flying fish this was because it looked like nothing he had ever seen. This beast was completely circular in shape and many times bigger than the biggest Klaptor.

When the legs made contact with the ground, it was only a few lengths from him. He wondered if this was the creature others had reported seeing in the oceans scooping up Kaynar but he didn't notice any jaws that might open up.

Krilan watched as the giant creature settled down, then as an opening appeared just below its giant eyes. A long tongue came out going to the ground. Krilan was thunderstruck, unable to move when another creature came out of the beast's mouth.

At first, he thought it was one of the creatures they called Krusties that lived in the Kip underwater. They were eaten along with the Kip as a special treat. This one was huge. As it descended the tongue, Krilan could see it walked on just two legs instead of four or six like the Krusties did andt the end of its arm-like appendages were giant pincers. Looking at the creature's face, he could see rows and rows of razor-sharp teeth in its mouth. Its nose stuck way out and it had a big jaw that looked like it could crush and chew anything. The scales or skin of the creature looked black.

Drawing closer, Krilan could see six short stubby tentacles around its mouth, like it used them to stuff food into its mouth. Stopping few feet from him, the creature said something that sounded like, "xteepa soo" to Krilan.

Krilan had no idea what it was saying so he said, "Krilan!" and pointed to himself. The creature turned its head as if it were trying to listen. He could not see any ears on it but Krilan had no visible ears either; they were inside just above the gills he opened to listen. It repeated itself, so he repeated his name pointing at himself when he said it. The creature listened once again closely then pointed to Krilan saying, "Cri-lane". To Krilan, that was close enough. He nodded his head but the creature just looked at him and said no more. Instead the creature licked its tongue that looked like one of the tentacles outside its mouth.

The creature's beady eyes reminded Krilan of a shy animal that lived on land crawling among the rocks. It stood staring at him like it was trying to make up its mind about Krilan. The creature then made a beckoning motion just before it turned to go back up the tongue. It paused a few lengths up and make the same motion. Krilan was frozen; he dared not go inside the monster.

At the top, the creature beckoned one more time and turned to speak to other creatures inside. Krilan started to move when he heard a popping sound but it was already too late, some kind of netting dropped down on him before lifting him off his feet as another part of the beast opened to take him inside. Krilan screamed but no one came to his aid while he was being drawn into the beast. His co-workers stood frozen.

Inside the creature he found himself in darkness. Then, the netting disappeared, releasing him. He fell to the bottom of whatever he was in and he was lying there for a minute with the air knocked out of his lungs when he saw a light come on. He had never seen a white light before. A doorway opened in the solid wall and there stood one of the creatures. It said his name and he suspected it was the same one he met, but this one seemed to salivate at the sight of him.

He tried to retreat but there was a solid wall behind him. The creature was about one length taller than him. Noting the size of the pincers, he knew it could bite his head off with those teeth or snap off any part of him with those pincers before he could flee and get off this beast.

"Xteepa soo!" Krilan said, hoping it would stop the creature from harming him, hoping it might inspire it to set him free. The creature turned its head like it was listening, then turned to look over its shoulder at something and repeated the words. What sounded like laughter rang out and the creature salivated again, wiping its mouth with two of its tentacles. Something else was said outside and then the creature then beckoned for him to follow, turning to leave.

Feeling he had no choice, Krilan took one tentative step after another. The creature turned to make sure he was following. Seeing he was, it kept moving with Krilan following a length behind it. He didn't want to get too close, yet he wanted out of confinement. Maybe there would be a chance for him to make a run for it. He wondered how fast they could move.

Stepping out of the darkness, he saw many more of the creatures looking at him. Most were salivating like they wanted to eat him for supper yet, none came close to him but one: the one who had spoken to him down on the surface. Krilan was starting to notice slight differences in the creatures allowing him to tell one from the other.

One of the creatures carried in one of its claw something clear that held within it a perfect likeness of a Kaynar. With its other claw it pointed at the likeness, then at him saying again, "xteepa soo."

"Krilan!" He said angrily pointing at himself again, frustrated that they didn't understand him. Another creature extended its claw toward him with a picture of groups of Kaynar swimming in the ocean. Krilan guessed they were asking where the Kaynar were. When that thought flashed through his head, Krilan realized that he was inside one of the big beasts that swooped down, scooping up hundreds of Kaynar at a time. They didn't seem interested in the Klaptors or the other creatures living in the oceans.

The latest creature sounded angry when it thrust the likeness at him, like it was telling him he had no choice but to tell them where the Kaynar were. An argument ensued when he didn't answer; he knew his life depended upon who won this argument but he was not about to tell them about the underground cites.

Looking out the eye of the beast, he saw they were in the murk of deep water. One thing he always hated was the taste of water; it was why he he never liked using his gills. He watched the creatures steering the beast around. Several Klaptors came into view outside and Krilan knew he had been right, the creature made no effort to capture it or any other strange creatures that came into view.

When the creatures saw Krilan watching the water, the argument stopped. They looked at him expectantly.

"Krilan?" the one creature said lifting its pincers as if asking which way to go. Krilan knew as long as they stayed out in deep water there was no way they would stumble upon one of the Kaynar cities on the coastal shelves. The one steering turned towards shore, making Krilan's heart race.

The sudden appearance of the Teacher going for his final swim made the sterring creature turn further into the shallow water. The Teacher swam straight at the beast expecting it to swallow him, and then it would be all over. Krilan could see the Teacher was struggling to breathe, not having used his gills in years. Like Krilan's, his gills had shrunk until they were almost useless, barely keeping him alive.

"Xteepa soo!" the creature nearest to him said, pointing at the Teacher, but Krilan saw a Klaptor coming up behind the Teacher very fast. The beast he was inside of was moving very slowly, like it wasn't interested in just one Kaynar, but groups of Kaynar. Together, they watched the Klaptor swallow up the Teacher in one big gulp. It was moving so fast to catch the Teacher it actually bumped the beast before swimming off quickly in fear.

"Klaptors!" Krilan said, then rubbed his stomach pointing to the Klaptor swimming away. The creatures looked at each other, then rubbed what he guessed were their stomachs. Another discussion went on before the one in charge issued orders he didn't understand. He noticed the others were no longer looking at him like he was their next meal; instead, they steered out to slightly deeper water where several Klaptors were spotted. Suddenly, they gave chase and the beast opened up swallowing several at once. They chased down another group, and then another until apparently they had enough.

Krilan felt like he couldn't breathe; the air inside was so dry and it sucked the moisture right off of him. He wanted nothing more than to get back into the water: to get wet and breathe moist air once again. He wasn't sure how long he had been inside the beast, he had a sinking feeling that he would never see his friends or Ee`who ever again, watching through the eye of the beast.

As quickly as they had entered the water, they moved up into the clouds. Krilan was amazed at how fast they could move, going smoothly from the water to the clouds.

Krilan had never before seen the sun in its full glory, only the diffuse light that filtered down through the planet's thick clouds and water. The sun burst into view so suddenly that he had to cover his eyes or be blinded by it. He was shocked when the eye covering darkened so the sun's rays were not so strong. Slowly, he looked around. Another discussion was going on and he wished he knew what they were saying. Then, the one that seemed to be in charge spoke strongly, as if giving orders. The one nearest to Krilan poked him with its pincers, prodding him to move.

This time, instead of the creature going first, Krilan found he was in front walking along some kind of hallway. The wall in front of him opened and Krilan's jaw dropped as a tiny creature scampered past Krilan's feet. A little grey mouse disappeared inside the wall of the craft. At first Krilan thought it was one of their young but it looked so different.

Inside the beast, he saw more Klaptors than he could count along with other creatures from the oceans. There was no water. Those taken on last were piled on top of the first group, smothering them. The eerie sounds from the Klaptor were ones that Krilan had never heard. The creature behind him pushed him suddenly and a surprised Krilan found himself falling into the pit with them.

Landing on one of them was like landing on a slippery sponge, causing him to slip down among them. Several tried to snap him in their jaws but they were all packed so tight none could turn to get him. As he lay there, he knew he was now food for the creatures. So was life on Kaynar.

The End

Also Available from A.G. Moye:

#  THE LAIR OF THE WITCH QUEEN

A War Priests of Andrak Tale

Christian W. Freed

I.

Brother Quinlan looked across to his young squire with a stern glare. Donal Sawq grew to become a bright young man, one of the brightest Quinlan had encountered during his tenure as a war priest, but he wasn't ready for the assignment the Lord General Rosca assigned them. The world had grown colder, suddenly more nightmare than hope. Increased assaults by the Omegri depleted resources faster than Castle Andrak could collect them. The heavy numbers of slain knights further worried Quinlan. He'd always felt his place was atop the walls, defending the world from evil. Being sent on various missions of, what he deemed, minimal importance was beneath a war priest. Still, Quinlan wasn't one to disobey orders.

It was that adherence to rules that saw him still alive. He'd been assigned to Castle Bendris and was away on assignment when it was overrun by the Great Enemy. Fortune had both cursed and smiled upon him that night. He reached up to his armor, absently brushing where the burn marks scarred his chest. Dark memories continued to haunt him years after that fateful event. He struggled to push it back into the forgotten recesses of his mind. The war against the Great Enemy demanded his full attention. Unfortunately, that effort had sent him away from the battle scarred walls of Castle Andrak and deep into the Free Lands.

Donal Sawq harbored no hesitations. Barely twenty, the youth had already seen and done more than the vast majority of his peers. He'd come to the castle two seasons ago as an inexperienced squire to a lowly knight. Donal watched Sir Forlei fall and immediately took his place along the ramparts to help drive back the Omegri. Not only did he survive the hundred day tour of duty atop the walls, Lord General Rosca offered him a place as one of the war priests. The honor was more than he ever hoped to achieve in his life. He wore the silver and blue robes of a squire-initiate and served Brother Quinlan faithfully, dutifully. The wonder in his eyes with each new adventure and ordeal never failed to amaze Quinlan. He found hope in Donal and secretly prayed for even a small measure of that youthful exuberance to wear off on his tired shoulders.

"We should be reaching Mistwell soon," Quinlan said with almost casual disinterest.

Donal nodded in agreement, accepting his master's knowledge in this area. They were five days out of Castle Andrak. Lord General Rosca insisted on extreme haste. The pair had to reach the floating city of Mistwell before the envoy from Tolchas departed. Quinlan had two days and ten leagues left. Plenty of time for one of the vaunted war priests of Andrak.

Noticing the silence drifting between them, Quinlan added, "Have you ever been?"

"Once, when Sir Forlei and I were answering the call to stand the wall. It is...an amazing place," Donal replied.

He quickly fell silent. Quinlan's eyes fell upon him, casually studying his young squire. Watching his mentor die inches away from him had proven traumatic on many levels, much the same as hundreds of previous squires attending the walls of Castle Andrak. Donal survived the hundred days, experiencing numerous horrors along the way, and was left with more doubts than anything else. In the time since Quinlan learned much of young Donal. His childhood dreams revolved around becoming a great hero sung about in taverns and bars across the Free Lands. The reality was far grimmer. He knew now that there were no heroes, not really. Heroes were the ones taken off the wall and given a proper burial for their deeds. Donal wasn't sure if he wanted to be a war priest any longer. The solitary, short lived tenure deprived them of a meaningful existence. He wanted more, but had already sworn the oath of station.

Quinlan observed his squire's internal debate and decided not to intervene. Some matters in life could only be dealt with alone. He only prayed Donal defeated whatever demons he struggled with before reaching their goal.

II.

They followed the winding trail up the side of the blue stone cliffs, twisting around and up until cold breath blew in tiny clouds. Quinlan wrapped his thick, blue cloak tighter around his shoulders. He didn't remember the last time he'd made this journey. War priests seldom found reason or opportunity to leave the castle. Now that he had both, he suddenly found the urge to return to the walls and take his rightful place among the one hundred almost overpowering. Frowning, the war priest continued the climb.

Their efforts were rewarded when the trail emerged into a massive cavern dug into the mountainside. The domed ceiling stretched nearly a hundred meters, exposing the true depth. Watch fires and torches lit the walls and vaulted ceiling. Scores of men and women moved about. Most were merchants and businessmen. A small platoon of fifty men, dressed in the boiled leather armor and colors of the Mistwell militia armed with short swords and half spears maintained order in the cavern while merchants stored their goods and horses. All commerce in Mistwell was performed in the large marketplace the commerce guild established generations ago in the rear of the cavern. Quinlan had no business with merchants. His task was far more severe.

The war priest slid from his saddle and handed the reins to Donal with instructions to stable and feed them. Donal obeyed unquestioningly as any worthy squire would though his youthful eyes couldn't help but wander over this new wonder. Mistwell was always seen from a distance, ever just out of reach. Quinlan left Donal brushing down the horses and storing their tack. The sounds of a dozen different languages being spoken at once assaulted his hearing while his stomach grumbled as the scent of roasting meat and fowl wafted under his nose. The experience ended far too quickly for his liking but he had a higher duty to perform. He took his place beside Brother Quinlan at the cavern mouth.

"Mistwell can be both wondrous and dangerous, young Donal. Best to be wary up here in the clouds. Not everyone respects the blue and silver of the war priests, especially when they think they can get away with it," Quinlan cautioned with a low voice.

Donal swallowed the small lump forming in his throat and nodded meekly. "Yes, Brother. Are you expecting trouble?"

Quinlan regarded his young squire momentarily before breaking into a grin. "When can a war priest not? Come, we must see the Administrator. Time is of the essence."

They marched towards the narrow bridge spanning the chasm between the mountains and the first in a series of floating islands that comprised Mistwell. Donal looked down, against his better judgment and saw only clouds with the faintest specks of verdant greens far, far below. The bridge itself must have been hundreds of years old, or so he thought. Quinlan futilely insisted the local engineers inspected the hundreds of bridges connecting Mistwell daily. That didn't take away from the fact that the bridge looked entirely unstable to the young squire.

People stepped aside as the war priest and his squire stepped onto the bridge. Respect for the blue and silver was universal throughout the Free Lands. While evil lurked in every corner of the world and brave men and women constantly protected the innocent, the war priests kept the ancient Omegri at bay. Even the lowest of the order garnered respect. Quinlan ignored them. Focused on his task, he strode confidently onto the bridge, Donal in tow. The squire moved with decidedly less confidence. Quinlan grinned as he listened to Donal whisper a short prayer as the bridge rocked gently beneath his boots.

III.

Mistwell was established as an impossible dream. The visionary engineers who built the floating city that stretched between several islands in the sky took the project on a dare from jealous kings. No one could have predicted the results. Mistwell grew slowly and became a haven for those without kingdoms, the orphaned and forgotten. It was the last, most successful free trade city in the Free Lands. Thousands called the islands in the sky home as they scoured away the taint of their old lives to become something more.

Donal was in sensory overload. He'd read about the city, but words were pale comparison to what he saw. Domed houses lined the green covered hills in orderly rows. Painted every conceivable color, they stretched from ground level to high into the clouds. Dogs and cats and a few lizards roamed the slopes, darting in and out of shrubs and bushes. The roads were faded, copper cobblestone. Wildflowers lined the main avenue, further beautifying the city.

The Administrator's Hall was one of the oldest structures in Mistwell. Alabaster walls stretched up three stories and were capped with red arches. Marble steps were added long after the creation but added elegance lost in many other places. There were no guards for Mistwell was neutral. Quinlan and Donal marched up the stairs and into the massive green entrance door. Gold painted sconces lined the walls, each burning with oil lamps. So enlightened, not a single shadow could be found within.

Glass chandeliers hung from the domed ceiling, reflecting the sunlight pouring in through meticulously clear windows. The war priest bathed in the heat and light, momentarily forgetting his concerns. Attendants in the black and gold livery of the city went back and forth about their business, hardly bothering to look Quinlan's way. He found their indifference mildly disturbing. Brother Quinlan was about to flag one down when a slender man approached.

Dressed in shades of blue, he wore a flowing cape and tapered boots. Jet black hair clung to the sides of his face, accenting the darkness of his eyebrows. Quinlan suppressed a frown when he noticed the man wearing makeup. He bowed with unnecessary flourish and said, "Welcome, war priest. It is an honor to have one of your hallowed orders in Mistwell. Administrator Kohl will see you in her private study."

Quinlan listened to his effeminate voice and wondered if the man was a eunuch. While not popular for a long time, some kings continued to use eunuchs. That this man might have escaped or been set free wasn't much of a stretch.

Quinlan nodded curtly. "Thank you. It is my understanding that time is of the utmost."

Something flickered in the man's eyes, gone almost instantly. "Naturally, Brother. This way, if you please."

They followed the strange man in blue through the winding corridors until they stood within an austere room of pure white. A small desk with rounded corners, crafted from the rich cherry tree sat in the middle with a handful of random papers on top. A clear vase filled with red roses sat on a marble pedestal beneath the window. Aside from that the room was empty. Quinlan had never seen the like.

"Brother Quinlan, what an honor it is to have you in Mistwell," called a melodious voice from behind.

Quinlan and Donal turned to see a short woman in her late fifties gracefully approaching. Her dress of dark purple dragged lightly across the floor. Lines aged her face and gray hairs were more abundant that her natural blond but her eyes remained sharp. Their light blue contrasted with the darkness of her clothes.

Quinlan offered a bow. "Administrator Kohl, the honor is ours. How may we be of assistance?"

She stiffened briefly, his urgency taking her momentarily off guard. "Please, call me Yavina. I am too old to stand on rigid formality." Gliding to her desk, Yavina sat and pursed her lips. "I want you to know that I didn't intend on getting the war priests involved, but certain matters forced me to contact Lord General Rosca. Recently an emissary from Tolchas arrived stating the firstborn son of the king has been kidnapped. Prince Armas is heir to throne, barely ten years old."

Quinlan readied to speak but Yavina cut him off. "Armas is not the only one. Several other nobles have experienced the same nightmare. All firstborn sons no less. While I am no fool to superstition I find this trend unsettling. Our world is dangerous enough without thieves in the night."

"You believe these abductions are related?" Quinlan asked. Tolchas was far to the northeast, almost at the edge of the known world but still powerful enough to broker massive favor in the higher courts of the Free Lands. If anything happened to Armas there could be war.

She nodded. "I do and there is only one person in the Free Lands capable of committing such foul deeds."

"The Witch Queen," Quinlan all but whispered.

Yavina frowned slightly. The corners of her thin lips drew downward. "Indeed. There are enough rumors of the F'telk moving across the lands to provide truth. The question is why."

Quinlan ran his tongue across his upper teeth. "The Witch Queen hasn't been a problem for a long time, prompting many to believe she is dead. How can she have ensorcelled the F'telk into serving her?"

"Those flesh stealing demons serve many masters, Brother Quinlan," she replied tersely.

Quinlan mused silently for a while. "She could be making her play for power. It's been long enough since the last time that many in the Free Lands have already forgotten the horrors she visited upon us."

"If she is indeed the one responsible that is possible," the administrator of Mistwell reluctantly admitted. Her slight hesitation in replying told Quinlan she knew more than she was letting on. "You are to travel to Calad Reach and discover the truth of the missing children. In return Mistwell will donate new weapons and supplies to castle Andrak for the next calendar year at no cost. Your Lord General found this deal adequate, which is why you've been dispatched."

"What if there are no children in Calad Reach?" Quinlan asked. He didn't approve of wasting a war priest and his squire on such an inconsequential mission, but the Lord General issued the orders.

"I don't deal in what if's, Brother Quinlan. Find the children and bring them home," she said, her tone dismissive.

Quinlan and Donal bowed again and backed out of the odd, white chamber.

IV.

They rode north toward the edge of the Free Lands where the Witch Queen dwelled. Past thick forests and rich, rolling hills of open fields, priest and squire went. They stopped at streams and camped along the Porde River at sundown. Conversation slowed before fading almost entirely. Calad Reach was one of the few places in the world no one wanted to get to and Quinlan was leading them with minimal information. If the Witch Queen existed she wouldn't take kindly to their intrusion.

Days fled at an alarming pace. The rushing waters from the Porde River echoed up the Indolense Permital, a half mile deep gorge that stretched and turned up the land for leagues. Donal suppressed the shivers the sounds produced. He'd never heard anything so angry before and, truthfully, didn't want to again. Calad Reach sat nestled in the dark, black rock of the Bloodstone Mountains at the end of the Permital. Donal guessed another few days and they'd arrive. He found difficulty sleeping and jumped at strange sounds when he stood watch. The wilds of the Free Lands were no place for civilized people.

Donal's head snapped back. His eyes flew wide, scanning the night. His hands dropped to his sword. Violent red eyes suddenly appeared at the edge of the clearing. They bore holes in Donal, reminding him of old fears and fresh doubts. His breathing quickened. His heart threatened to burst. Tears poured from his eyes. He opened his mouth, desperate to raise the alarm but no words came. His hand fell away from his sword as the eyes inched closer.

Try as he might, Donal couldn't move. Paralyzed in place as whatever creature stalking him readied for the kill. A wretched stench assailed his senses. He vomited. Tendrils of darkness stretched out to curl around his ankles. He felt squeezed. Cold. Precious life bled through his flesh into the shadows. Resigned to death, Donal tried to close his eyes.

The rush of heat went past his head before he heard the loud screech and small explosion. Donal looked up to see fragments of a burning brand fall to the ground. In that brief instant he spied an elongated snout with fangs and the leathery curtain of wings as the beast screamed.

"Away foul demon!" Quinlan roared as he charged in with sword drawn.

The war priest exercised well-drilled precision as he cut and slashed at the mysterious beast trying to kill his squire. Donal had only been a squire for a few short months after surviving his one hundred days on the wall, but remained impressed with the tactical brilliance of a fully vested war priest. Quinlan didn't disappoint. He moved almost quicker than the naked eye could follow. It was over too soon. The beast dissolved back into the night, fleeing the clearing while it still clung to life.

Released from the strange power, Donal collapsed in a boneless heap. Quinlan sheathed his sword and knelt beside his squire. He checked the youth over for signs of physical injury, pausing only when he didn't find any marks other than the strange burn marks circling Donal's ankles.

"You will recover," he said shortly.

"The poison will kill him before dawn," a woman's voice replied.

Quinlan froze. He wasn't prepared for another attack. Not so soon. "Show yourself."

"Relax, war priest. I am not the one you need to worry about." Shimmering light glowed above the water, coalescing into the figure of a young woman dressed in diaphanous robes. Her golden hair flowed down past her shoulders, accenting her pleasant smile and playful eyes. Slender, she almost glided across the soft grass to where the war priest knelt.

Quinlan drew a sharp breath, nearly backing away. He'd heard legends but never imagined seeing an actual siren.

She saw his look and laughed. The golden song cascaded through the valley in the most beautiful song. "I am no ghost, Quinlan of Andrak."

"How do you know me?" he asked defensively.

"I know many things. The wind whispers all secrets. It only takes one to listen to learn all matters in the world," she replied. "My name is Songbird, and I can heal your friend if you allow it."

Quinlan acquiesced and watched as she knelt beside Donal. Songbird glanced back at the pensive war priest. "There are many forms of magic in the world. Your squire encountered a wraith. A very potent wraith intent on consuming his life essence. It is fortunate I was nearby."

"Fortune is often a matter of opinion," he replied. "How do I know you weren't lying in wait? It wouldn't be the first time travelers were taken unaware on the road."

Songbird fixed him with a steady glare. Wild lights reflected in her purple eyes. "If I wanted you dead you would never have known. Now be quiet and let me do my work."

Quinlan resigned to watching her apply her lithe hands to Donal's ankles. The squire gasped once and passed out. Quinlan peered closely as white-blue magic infused under the wounded flesh. Any taint of darkness slowly faded. Songbird stretched and rubbed her hands together. She gave Donal a reassuring pat on his head and turned back to Quinlan. "Now, let's talk."

V.

Sunlight bathed him, gently caressing his tired flesh with a mother's tenderness. Donal smiled as his eyes fluttered open. All thoughts of the darkness from the night prior evaporated like morning mist. He attempted to rise, eager to learn what had happened once the nightmare beast retreated back into the night. Lost in a strange place, Quinlan's eyes hurriedly scanned the area. He couldn't find Quinlan. Hands reached for his weapon. His heart steadily thumped faster, deeper. Old nerves returned, reminding him of seeing his former master slain atop Castle Andrak's walls.

"Brother Quinlan!" he all but squawked.

"He is down at the water edge filling the canteens. I am Songbird. I healed you from the wraith," she told him.

Donal glanced right and found the most beautiful woman sitting cross-legged on a large tree stump. Her smile filled his heart with profound joy. All he could think to say was a humble, "Uh, thank you."

Songbird laughed and the world joined in. Birds of every color filtered down through the trees to land on or around her. She laughed again, holding out her hands for cardinals and blue jays to perch.

Quinlan came back into their camp already in armor. The look in his eyes left little doubt in Donal's mind he was more than eager to continue their journey. Calad Reach wasn't far away. That meant the Witch Queen might already be waiting.

"Are you well enough to travel?" he asked.

Donal propped up on his elbows. "Yes sir. I'll pack the horses."

Quinlan shook his head. "No. I've already finished. There is fresh cooked stream trout in the fire and a few wild roots Songbird brought us. Eat and recover your strength. We need to leave soon."

Lacking most of his strength, Donal glanced back at the mysterious woman calling herself Songbird and slumped to the ground. Questions swirled around the emptiness in his mind, but he was too emotionally exhausted to form them coherently. The young squire was still looking on her shapely figure when darkness reclaimed him.

VI.

The path to Calad Reach grew increasingly more treacherous the nearer they got. Consequentially their mood darkened with each passing league. The War Priest and his squire spoke less. Their minds were lost on rumors of great evil. Quinlan wore a brooding look as Songbird explained a great deal as they rode. Lord General Rosca contracted her to guide Brother Quinlan to the lair of the Witch Queen, but she would go no further than the border. Vile things were said to take place within the Reach and the siren would have no part in it. Quinlan didn't begrudge that tiny mercy, though it left him questioning whether he possessed the stamina to deal with whatever horrors lay ahead.

Quinlan was impressed with Donal's recovery. Songbird's magic infused the natural strength in his soul. His self doubt subsided, if barely, allowing Donal to think beyond his injury and to the task ahead. Like most young men his age, he'd heard rumors and legends of the Witch Queen of Calad Reach. Some claimed she was a demon sent to plague mankind. Others believed her a ghost, forever doomed to wander the cold places of the world until the gods released her. Donal didn't know and never had reason to care. At least until now. The more he thought of it, and what the Administrator of Mistwell said, the more he began to wonder how much was legend and how much was truth.

The landscape gradually changed. Gone were the green hills and pleasant flowers. The hills became barren. Dull brown and grey stones peppered the land for as far as the eye could see. Scrub-brush littered the harsh slopes and ravines. More than one set of half-buried bones protruded from the path Songbird led them down. High in the sky, the sun ducked behind thick, black clouds that didn't move. An unnatural shadow fell across the world. They had come to the edge of the Witch Queen's territory.

Songbird reined in her roan mare, her bright eyes furrowed with worry. Her golden glow seemed paler. As if the magic of Calad Reach slowly seeped into her essence. When she spoke sadness laden her voice. "This is as far as I can take you."

Quinlan pulled up beside her. "I understand. In truth I doubt you'd be much assistance inside the Reach. I don't know what we're about to discover, but I doubt any of it will be pleasant."

"It is far worse than you know, Brother Quinlan," she said, her tone tense, hurried. "Creatures guard her lands. They are made of stone and filled with centuries of rage and hate. Many of my kin have lost their lives confronting such beasts. If you come across them before they see you, and they surely will, flee. Do not stop to look back. Doing so will only end with your unfortunate demise. I wish...I wish I could be of more assistance."

"You have been more of a blessing than you can imagine, Songbird," Quinlan said with heartfelt gratitude. "I shall miss hearing your voice inside the Reach. Perhaps one day we shall meet again, in pleasanter circumstances."

Her smile brightened her face with an otherworldly glow "I'd like that very much. It has been an honor."

"Thank you, Songbird," Quinlan told her and rode on into the perpetual near darkness of Calad Reach.

VII.

Not even the thick cloak of his appointment kept the chill from seeping into Quinlan's bones. He shivered despite years of conditioning on the walls of Andrak. Frowning, he rode on into an increasingly dire landscape. The terrain became mountainous. Jagged teeth of stone stabbed skyward. Loose stone tumbled down the harsh slopes, yet each time Quinlan gazed up he saw nothing. He couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, but without proof he could only go on. If the creatures Songbird was so afraid of did exist Quinlan would have to deal with them on their terms.

"Keep a sharp eye, young Donal," Quinlan warned. "We are being hunted."

Donal quietly mouthed a prayer. He'd survived the Omegri and the wraith attack, but this was unlike any other experience and potentially more dangerous. All of his childhood dreams of becoming a valiant knight evaporated around the cold reality he found himself thrust into.

"Yes, Brother," he said shakily.

Quinlan's horse jerked to a halt suddenly, snorting nervousness. A moment later the ground in front exploded in a shower of dirt and stone. A second explosion behind sent Donal's horse bucking. He fell to the ground before an oppressive shadow loomed over him. Quinlan drew his sword while slipping his shield over his right arm. The large silver cross flared to life with dazzling brightness. The shadows retreated.

"On your feet, Donal Sawq! Fear no darkness!" Quinlan roared the war priest mantra and wheeled to meet the threat.

A third and then fourth explosion brought more of the stone creatures to the surface. Then more. The air choked with ancient dust. More than a dozen of the massive creatures surrounded the war priest. Quinlan struggled to understand what confronted him, never having dreamed of such things. He waited, knowing there was nothing else to do until they decided to attack. He didn't wait long.

The first creature lumbered towards him with massive fists raised. Quinlan braced for the blow and moved his shield to block. The stone fist struck his shield and exploded. Blinding light and an odd acrid smell were all that remained of the stone creature. Quinlan was thrown from his saddle, his sword skittering away on impact. The war priest struck the back of his head and went unconscious.

Donal rolled away from the sudden stampede as the rest of the creatures rushed in. He looked over to Quinlan but could do nothing. The war priest was knocked out and of little help. Reaching for his own sword, Donal tried to rise. A massive stone hand circled around his waist and lifted him from the ground like a rag doll.

VIII.

"Where are we?" Quinlan asked as he regained consciousness. His head felt like a giant was pounding a hammer on it.

Donal looked at his mentor. "I can't tell. We were taken into a tunnel in the mountains and brought to a large, old chamber."

"This room is far more than a mere chamber, imp," a harsh woman's voice grated. "You are in my audience room. Be thankful you still draw breath. It has been a very long time since a war priest was last foolish enough to enter my lands."

"The Witch Queen," Quinlan hissed.

She mocked him with laughter. "Witch Queen! How feeble minded the rest of you are. If you knew the truth of my existence you would not think to demean me with such a simple term. I am so much more than you can possibly imagine."

Quinlan, surprised to discover he wasn't bound, struggled to gain his feet. His legs felt rubbery. Stars swam through his vision. "Perhaps child thief is more appropriate."

"Is that what you believe?" asked the Witch Queen. The bitterness had left her tone, replaced by....dismay? "Why have you come to Calad Reach?"

"I am here for Prince Armas of Tolchas." The resolution in his tone left no room for error in either of their thoughts. "Return him to me, and we shall depart at once."

The Witch Queen laughed again. The acoustics of the partially open chamber drove each tone into Quinlan's brain like sonic nails. Roaring flares blazed in golden braziers scattered randomly throughout the otherwise dark chamber. Snakes slithered about. The Witch Queen stood at the base of a small flight of stone stairs. Her black hair was wild, unkempt. Her eyes were narrow and blood red. Pale skin all but glowed in the near dark. She wore a pale black dress. Sleeveless, it draped down her slender body ending in two slits at her hips. Painfully thin legs stood braced shoulder width apart. She had the poise of an adder waiting to strike.

"I saved those children from the doom approaching," she replied.

Quinlan tensed. Doom? The Omegri attacked relentlessly. Each day they attempted to overrun the last of the war priest castles in order to return darkness to the world. This doom felt different, as if the war priests weren't aware of it. He couldn't help but ask, "What doom? We defend the Free Lands from the Omegri. The only other substantial danger lies in you, witch!"

"Did you truly think to enrage me into acting foolishly?" she teased. "I have lived for centuries, Quinlan of the war priests. There is nothing you can say capable of enraging me. For all of your petty nuances you will find my will is quite resolute."

Quinlan held out his hands. "Very well, what doom do you refer to? The Lord General knows nothing of what you speak."

"So rash. So blind to the truth in the world," the Witch Queen hissed. "The Omegri are but one facet of darkness at work in the world. What comes has no name. No description. A purge will sweep across the Free Lands, killing every ruler and his house. Not even your vaunted castle Andrak will remain safe during this coming darkness. Evil will flourish as good withers. Tell me, what will you do when the endless trains of new recruits to stand your walls during the Burning Season stop coming?"

"There is no such evil at work. The Lord General would know of it." His words sounded hollow even as he spoke them.

"Would he?" she asked. "Think of the Purifying Flame. It weakens daily. Already the Omegri have managed to subvert members of your own order. They could not have done this without the influence of evil heading towards us."

A pair of stone creatures stirred in the shadows behind her, drawing his attention. She arched an eyebrow. "Do you approve of my pets? The golems are absolutely loyal to me. Mindless and subservient to my desires."

"You hide behind stone and threats to justify your abductions of children," Quinlan accused. His mind raced to think of a path through the hedges of her mind.

"What justification would you require? I took those children to keep them safe within Calad Reach. Their fathers cannot protect them. No amount of force or strength of arms can do what my magic can."

It was Quinlan's turn to attack. "You think Calad Reach is safe from the all encompassing doom you preach on me? I think you overestimate your powers."

"Perhaps another demonstration is in order?" she mused. Both golems took a step forward. "Very well. Convince me to return the children, and it will be so. Fail and your squire will serve me through eternity."

Quinlan froze. He'd come to Calad Reach expecting a battle, not dueling wits with a woman as ancient as Maximo Rosca. He hesitated, hoping not to fall into another trap. The war priest emptied his mind and took a calming breath. "What right have you to claim the lives of children? No being claiming to care would willfully steal a child from his mother. Are you so vain as to pass judgment on the lives of men?"

She folded her lithe arms across her chest, patiently waiting.

Quinlan continued, "The war priests defend all life from darkness. All life. Including yours. We are the servants of the Free Lands, not its keepers. All men are free to make their own decisions. If we gave in to the temptation to play god we would fall into shadow and rot from within. You claim a terrible doom approaches, and, I rightly believe, have acted according to your best judgments, but that doesn't give you the right to make decisions for kings or nobles. Kingdoms ready to war against each other under the cloud of suspicion your actions have raised. How long do you think it will last before they turn their attentions, and armies, here?"

She stiffened just enough to embolden him further.

"War will consume the Free Lands, leaving it open to your great doom. Even should you survive you will spend eternity wallowing in the grief of knowing it was you who caused the end of all things," Quinlan finished. "Is your conscience so clear that you can live with that?"

The Witch Queen looked from Quinlan to Donal before shifting to her golem defenders. Tension filled the chamber. Quinlan held his breath, dreading her decision. He couldn't imagine being a servant to the dark witch of Calad Reach. What horrors would he be forced to endure?

Finally she unfolded her arms and clapped once. "You might be a worthy opponent, Brother Quinlan. You would let these children go home and face certain death?"

"I would give them the right to choose. What are we without free will?"

"Indeed. Take the children, war priest, but know this. Doom approaches and their deaths, inevitable as they are, will be on your conscience for the rest of your days." She paused. "Can you live with that?"

They were back on the road by midday, accompanied by a wagon filled with tired, but otherwise, happy children. Donal spoke with them and laughed. Only Quinlan remained taciturn. The Witch Queen of Calad Reach's last words haunting his thoughts. Could he live knowing he was responsible for so many innocent deaths? He didn't know.

The End

Also available from Christian Freed:

#  SOULMATCH

Drew Avera

"What do we have?" the surgeon asked as the gurney sped into the triage area of the field hospital.

His uniform was marred with the blood of other soldiers whose lives he had fought to save until the bitter—inevitable—conclusion. It was the kind of hellish nightmare that only people in our line of work could understand. War was its own torture device, making prey of both sides, and reveling in its disastrous certainty.

"He's with the Messenger Corps, sir." I said. "They apparently dismembered him in an attempt to extract the latest message from the Court. My men found him about twenty minutes ago... alive." I shook the bloody images from my mind. Each messenger was given a surgically-implanted chip that held information about military formations and other logistical data. It was the kind of information that would get you killed if caught. Few survived to deliver their message.

"Dammit, I've never seen them go this far before," the surgeon said as he inspected the body for other injuries beyond the obvious. "It used to be just the hands, now those monsters take each limb and leave the torso to die. This war has brought out the worst of their kind."

He continued to mutter while my mind drifted. Our own side had also carried out horrific deeds in order to preserve a government that should have ended a couple of hundred years ago. "It takes all kinds, sir," I said, hoping he had taken my awkward silence for shock, exhaustion, or whatever one called the empty feeling and frayed nerves associated with this kind of work. "If you need me I'll be on deck standing watch. Let me know if he pulls through."

I left the surgeon and nurses to prepare the body for whatever life-saving operation they could manage on a man better off dead and headed for the exit at the end of a gleaming white passageway. The makeshift field hospital was state of the art, big enough to hold a triage center and recovery wing as well as house its staff, all on a mobile platform hovering five meters off the ground.

The technologically advanced native Daliqians had been instrumental to our survival as a human race. Problems crept in when the Daliqians and humans began to cross-breed and a new race known as the Hybriums made an appearance. That was about a thousand years ago. Civil war wiped out most of the Hybriums, the rest were driven underground. Strife is the only common thread between our two races now, the two purest life forms on the planet each fighting to preserve something that never should have existed in the first place, one's racial dominance over the other.

The piercing light of the moon reflected its silver sheen over the colonies, looming in an amber sky that stifled all but the closest stars in our galaxy. The moon cast a glare nearly as strong as the twin suns that fed the daytime sky their warmth and illumination. The burning shades of violet swirls that emanated between the two sparring partners were a sight to behold when the sky was clearest.

Unfortunately those days were scarce due to the war or wars as we've come to know them. I leaned against the railing that guarded the port side of the medical craft and looked at the dirt field below me. I could still see the remains of the town that centuries ago had dominated this landscape. Clumps of gray ash were scattered like millions of mice frozen in time, devoured then expelled in a whirlwind of destruction. This place was now a ghost town, and it would forever be this way, regardless of whatever foreseeable future lay ahead.

"Sir," a woman's voice woke me from my thoughts.

"Yes?" I responded as I turned to look at her.

"We lost him, I'm sorry," she said sincerely, with a hint of familiarity, if I noticed correctly.

"I understand. The surgeon did all that he could?"

"Yes, but it wasn't enough. The messenger had lost too much blood. We can only spare a few pints per patient and the doctor had to take that into consideration as well."

"I'm sure he made the right choice," I said, not meaning to sound cold, but the loss of life caused little dread in our world anymore. We were a people with little purpose, and nothing more. The only quickening of my heart came when I gazed into her stare. The brown irises of her eyes drove into me like some kind of beautiful ornate piercing I had never experienced before. I was paralyzed by wonder as I beheld her. Her dark hair contrasted against her pale flesh, like night against day. Everything about her being carried over into her eyes, they were the gateway to her soul. It was not as if I had never seen a woman before, but she captured my attention.

I extended my hand towards her. "What is your name?"

"Coralene," she said through ruby lips and perfect teeth. "You?"

"Gresham, May Gresham," I said, perhaps a little redundantly. I was not used to first names in the Corps. I felt the need to clarify that my first name was not Gresham, not that it really mattered.

"May? That's a beautiful name," she said.

"Thank you; it was my grandfather's name." Our hands made contact with each other briefly, but I could tell that her skin was soft and warm. I was enraptured by her and did not want to be released from my captor. I felt like prey being seduced by my predator. I knew that I was in trouble, but I didn't seem to care. All that mattered were those eyes, and that skin, and that smile.

I wasn't sure how long I was staring into her eyes before the shockwave occurred, a concussion effect that seemed to emanate from underground. It was a sickening sensation much like falling to your death, or watching the blade of your adversary swing like a one way pendulum straight towards your face. I felt nauseated, the feeling kept spreading, and I was certain of asphyxia approaching as the heat evaporated the moisture in my throat. I watched as our bodies repelled from each other like oil and water poured violently into a cavity. The despair that I felt in my heart was unlike anything that I had ever imagined. The numbness of solitude had never bothered me in my life before. I was not prone to attachment, even to my next breath, but I was confounded and angry that my last thought drifted away from her.

Just as suddenly as the sensation had washed over me I found myself standing in front of her again, albeit with a certain recoil in my legs to keep from falling over. She looked immaculate, as if nothing had happened at all, and I could see the expression on her face move from puzzlement to acknowledgment as I collected my thoughts.

"Are you all right?" she asked, but I sensed that she already knew the answer. She knew because she was the cause of whatever the hell it was that had just happened.

"What did you do to me?" I asked sharply.

"I did nothing," she said as she draped her hand over my shoulder. "It was merely a glimpse into the future, May. Nothing more."

"A glimpse? I thought I was dying!" I struggled to regulate my breathing as the images reconnected in my mind.

"One of many possible futures. It is the gift—"

"Gift? Are you mad? That was not a gift," I said, cutting her off. I rubbed my ashen hand over my eyes and pushed back the thoughts digging deeper into the crevices of my mind.

"It is a gift, only because it is triggered by a soul's match."

"Soul's match? What are you talking about?" I asked, annoyed at my weakness, annoyed because I longed to look strong in front of her.

"My gift is to know predisposition. The future is already written based on the decisions we make. You can make any myriad of turns in life and yet the outcome of each is already known. Do you believe in fate?"

I hesitated. I had never given much thought to fate, something predetermined by a god or council of gods who toyed with us like puppets on a string. "I can't say that I do," I answered.

"I understand. Life has been hard for you, stripped you of any hope for faith," she said sadly as she looked down at her hands, her fair skin reflecting the light of the suns in a shimmering kind of way. "What if I could show you your fate?"

"Will it be as painful as what I just experienced?" I asked nervously.

"Perhaps, but you can endure it, I know that much."

"Then show me," I said. No sooner had the words escaped my lips than she was on me. With her arms wrapped around my body and her face shoved into my chest, she gripped me with a strength that I did not know she had. It took a moment for the vision to come, but when it did it was paralyzing. The craft on which we stood was engulfed in flames as a swarm of Daliqian bombers rained ordnance onto the area around us. The already ashen landscape was once again in flames, and I could see people much like myself scurrying to find relief from the heat that radiated around us.

My skin burned at the image that she was putting into my mind, it felt so real, so immediate. My mind could barely contain every nuance of detail, from the smell of charred flesh, to the sound of creaking metal that warped as the fires raged. Everything was alight with fire, and yet it felt cast into darkness at the same time, like I was watching the world burn from some faraway place.

Coralene's grip on me eased and I looked down on her. Tears flowed from her eyes, eyes that seemed tinged with red, as if her tears were mixed with blood. I realized why a moment later when I looked at our surroundings. The images imparted by her gift were now a reality. I could not gather my thoughts on what to do quickly enough. An explosion ripped the deck apart beneath our feet throwing us in opposite directions. The dull sensation of the concussion made it feel as though time were standing perfectly still. I was airborne for what seemed like years, even the feeling of my body hitting the deck of the craft was numbed by the sensation that could only have been the result of Coralene's hold on me.

I scrambled to get to the nearest weapons depot to help guard the craft. I knew it was all for naught, everyone was going to die regardless of my actions, fate decreed it. Apparently fate did have a hold on our lives after all.

"Coralene!" I screamed, hoping she could hear me over the blasts erupting around us. She descended beside me almost immediately, her feet barely touching the deck beneath her.

"Now do you believe?" she asked, but I was too involved with defending the craft to answer.

I pulled the trigger and watched as the Daliqian bombers exploded in the air from each projectile I sent their way.

"Do you believe?" she asked yet again.

I turned my burning eyes toward her and could see a fierce intent in her eyes—I could tell she needed to hear that I believed her. I looked away like a coward and maintained my position, each pull of the trigger jarring my body as the recoil moved through me until Coralene placed her hands on my cheeks and turned me to face her.

"Do you believe?" she asked.

My eyes watered as the heat of the flames scorched the air that surrounded me. The only beauty in all of the chaos that surrounded us was the woman that I was looking at. Her eyes bore into me and tore at my heart in a way that I had never experienced before.

"Yes, I believe," I gasped and realized that I choked down sobs as I spoke. "I believe."

She wrapped me into her arms one last time as I felt the quake of destruction boil over us. I could not feel the pain as much as I felt the motion of falling. There was no fear, only expectancy. Life was over, and I had lost everything.

"May."

I heard her voice and felt her hands over my body. Everything felt like it was on fire and my eyes burned as I opened them. It wasn't from the flames, but from the violet canopy under which we lay beneath the heavens.

"It's all right, I'm here," she said as I blinked and flinched, trying to figure out what had happened.

"What happened? I thought we were dead," I said sharply.

"We would have been, had you not chosen to believe," she replied, her hand rested on my chest. The violet hue lit up her face and I could see a bit of the landscape through the transparent parts of the canopy that she had created.

"What is this?"

"This is the power of belief. This is what has saved us. Our love and our faith."

"How could this be? We should surely be dead."

"We should, but we are not. Fate has given us a second chance to right the wrongs of this world."

"How can we do this?" I asked. The concept of righting a world so full of hate seemed impossibly daunting.

"By teaching acceptance, by rewarding peace. That is our fate."

"Surely you are mistaken," I said. "This world does not crave peace."

"Make no mistake about it, May. We have a bigger purpose here than destroying the world. Otherwise I would not have been sent to find you."

"What do you mean you were sent to find me?"

Coralene sat up and the canopy warped to allow her new position to maintain cover. She looked up at the sky before speaking. "I am not a Hybrium, I am a messenger of the heavens." She looked down at me with tears in her eyes. "I was sent to protect you in hopes that you would spread the word of peace across the land or else this entire world will die."

Her story sounded too fantastic, too unreal. No one was ever chosen by the heavens. No one ever even spoke of the myths of heaven that had once circulated our world thousands of years ago. "Are you talking about the God of Heaven?"

"Yes."

"No one speaks of those myths anymore. Most of our history has been destroyed and condemned as lies."

"He is aware, but that bears little on the truth."

"Can you prove to me that this God really exists?" I asked.

"I thought I already had. You would not be breathing now if it were not for His existence."

That was debatable given my recollection of the truth.

"If I can't see for myself then I can't believe," I said hesitantly.

"You already believed. You told me so."

"I meant I believed in what you showed me, not in some higher power."

"What I showed you was a higher power," she stated, clearly hurt by my doubt.

What had changed? I couldn't put my finger on it, but I felt betrayed. I felt condemned to something that I was powerless to control and I needed, no craved that control.

"Are you going to prove this God's existence or not?"

"If I show you then you will die, it is as simple as that."

With every ounce of my will I wanted to cry out that she was toying with me, or _it_ was toying with me. "Then let me die."

"You don't mean this." She placed her hand on my shoulder. Her touch was cold at first but then it began to burn.

"I do," I said as I grasped her wrist and pulled her hand away from me. I made eye contact with her one last time before the violet canopy dissolved, allowing the radiation and fire to fall onto my skin and scorch what was left of me. I strained to keep my eyes open, the pain welling up deep inside my damned soul. I knew that the end was coming, but I did not welcome it, instead it was regret that etched its name into my heart.

I should have believed, I should have had faith in what Coralene had to say, but I was faithless. I knew too much pain to want to know the truth. Ignorance was bliss, and far less painful.

My lungs burned as I breathed in the ashy ozone that had befallen this world. Predestination was not a choice. It was the cold truth that coursed over a world hell-bent on destruction, for there is no turning back—we would have all died whether I believed or not. It wasn't a self-edifying truth that I finally realized the harsh reality of our peril. It was self-depraving acceptance. I was to die without knowing love, to end my time without knowing the essence of faith. I was to go about eternity as the ash beneath the feet of the victor.

My own shallow hell. My own shallow choice.

In those last moments of life, as I looked up at the shiftless form that was my Coralene, I noticed the imperfections scrawling across her skin. They began as small fractures that seeped a blinding light from the cuts that spread across her body. It reminded me of a marble form straining from the stress fractures that occurred over time. I was no longer breathing, but I could still see her fall to pieces like a paper doll caught in a flame. Her body fell away as my belief faded into the ash that now smothered my body.

An empty form of faithless woes, caught in the tumult of the end. Should I have believed, and basked in the shelter of a predetermined fate, or was I right to have shunned the concept all together? How do you come to terms with the end? How do you reconcile the vile, and the wretched, amongst a shadowed concept of its opposite, veiled by your peripheral vision, hidden in the deepest parts of your soul that cries out for what it does not have?

How do you live with the consequences of either?

"Time of death, 17:35," Dr. Trive said to the nurse standing beside him.

I tried to blink my eyes but I could not. The triage room was filled with light that was much darker in contrast to the light above me. I looked up, then down, before I realized that I could see each perspective simultaneously. The nurse, Coralene, laid a gentle hand upon the forehead of what had been my body, torn to pieces by the Daliqian rebels, all for information that would have led to a peaceful resolution to the wars.

I felt a pain in what I had known to be my heart, yet it no longer existed. I no longer existed. My soul had been torn from my body and I had not yet passed over. According to the myths that surrounded death it was only a matter of time before my body breathed its last. I felt Coralene place tokens over my closed eyes, payment for the transfer to the other side. I felt it without having the sense of touch. I smelled the scene around me without having the sense of smell. I had no way of explaining it, but I just had a sense of being, of knowing.

Coralene pressed her beautiful lips upon my body's own lips and kissed a final goodbye. She had been my nurse, but even more than that, she had been my wife. Now I was gone, the war had taken me away from her. She had told me at our wedding that she did not care about the fact that we were not of the same race that love was deeper than that. Love was a thing that dwelt and breathed deep in another's soul. She had been my soul match.

The tears fell from her eyes, and her body gave a gentle quiver as the sobs welled deep inside of her. She placed delicate fingers along the ring that I had given her on our wedding day—it held much meaning to her. It was the only symbol of faith that I had ever shown her. A faith that I had not shared, but she had shared with me. She was right, she was always right, I thought to myself. I longed to kiss her goodbye as I felt the weight of the world around me fall away and I began to drift up and away.

My perception was changing yet again, but I kept sight of my Coralene.

All the way to the end.

The End

Also available from Drew Avera:

#  SHARPIES AND DULLARDS

E. Rose Sabin

Letta refused to be intimidated by Colonel Briley's withering glare. She was not under his command and would not act as though she were.

As though he'd read her mind, the colonel said, "You may be here on the planet Kendall in a civilian capacity, Miss Bain, but this is a military installation, and I'm in charge of it. Kendall has the rare earths we need for the manufacture of our weaponry, communications, and surveillance equipment. The Sharpies are willing to mine and trade that ore for last century weapons, and I have full authority to negotiate that trade. Your role as exobiologist is to study the life forms of this planet—"

"And to protect them," she interrupted recklessly. "That includes the Sahaparais." She refused to use the nickname "Sharpies," bestowed on the planet's sentient race by the survey team because it was as close as the team could come to pronouncing the name the humanoid natives called themselves. It had stuck even after the xenolinguists learned enough of the Sahaparaian language to communicate with the people. "The Mother Ship sent me to—"

"The Mother Ship has other worlds to oversee, two of them with colonies much more in need of close supervision than this outpost. They are six months away from us even by the fastest scoutship. The Oversight Council expects me to make executive decisions." He picked up his compad and spoke into it. "Sergeant Marsdon, I need to see you in my office. Immediately."

"Colonel, I know all that," Letta persisted, determined to succeed at this, her first land assignment off the Mother Ship, her home from birth. "But the weapons you're planning to give the Sahaparais, old and outmoded as they are to us, represent a huge technical advance to them. I have no choice but to transmit a formal protest to the Council."

"They'll ignore it. Those rare earths are needed too desperately. The whole reason for this outpost, Miss Bain, is to procure them."

Letta scowled. "I was under the impression that it was to evaluate the planet for possible colonization."

"You're wrong. This planet is not considered suitable for colonization. We are charged with developing trade. Ever since you arrived, you've been stirring up trouble, complicating that mission. The Sharpies don't need further study. I'm reassigning you."

A knock on the office door made the colonel look up and smile. "That must be Sergeant Marsdon." Rising, he called out, "Come in, Sergeant."

And to Letta he said, "Sergeant Marsdon will transport you to your new assignment, studying the Dullards. I'm sending Hash along with you."

The Terrans had bestowed the Dullard nickname on creatures occupying a large land area about three hours from the Terran outpost by crawler. Letta despised the term, but no one had been able to determine what if anything the creatures called themselves. Now Letta was consigned to Dullard territory with a single native to serve as her assistant, a Sahaparai male everyone called Hash.

The colonel sent her off with the barest minimum of equipment needed for a prolonged stay. Hash set up the tents: one that would be Letta's home for the next weeks or months, and a second to hold their supplies of food, water, and other necessities, and also provide Hash a sleeping place.

She finished unpacking her personal belongings and joined Hash in the supply tent, where he was busy arranging the supplies. "Hash, where are the Dullards? I don't see any around."

"Don't know, Missybain."

He'd been told to call her Missy Bain, but he clearly believed it to be a single name— understandable, since his people used only a single name. She considered telling him to call her Letta, but that would only confuse him.

"This is supposed to be their territory," she said. "Do they have homes? Places they build to live in?"

He shook his head, which she'd learned was the equivalent of a shrug. "They spend much time in lake," he offered.

That was interesting in light of the apparent aridity of the area. "Where is the lake?"

"Not far." He gestured vaguely in a direction that looked to be more strewn with rocks than was the area of their camp.

No time to go exploring until morning. She needed to set up her terminal and make certain she could contact base camp. And she needed a meal. They'd hustled her away without letting her eat lunch first.

Despite the rough ride over rocky terrain that had jolted and shaken everything in the crawler, riders and equipment alike, her terminal seemed to be in working order. She reported Hash's statement that the Dullards were in the lake and asked what the survey crew knew about a lake in Dullard territory. The message seemed to go through with no problem, but no answer came back. If it had reached anyone at base camp, no one was in a hurry to respond.

She went to the supply tent, and asked, "Hash, what's for supper?" At his blank look she added, "Food?" and mimed eating.

"Ah, Hash fix now," he said and bustled about, lighting the campstove and placing a large pot of water on the stove. He emptied tubes of something into the pot, stirred the result with a large spoon, and a savory aroma soon filled the tent.

He served them each a bowl of thick, steaming meat and vegetable soup with lots of rice. Hash didn't use a spoon; he slurped right from the bowl. Letta hunted through the supplies, found a spoon, returned with it, by which time the soup had cooled enough for eating. Hash had already emptied his bowl.

Kendall's days were short. By the time they finished eating and cleaned the bowls and utensils, night had fallen. Letta retired to her tent, checked for messages, found none, and spent some time studying the section of the survey report about the Dullard territory. A map showed a large lake—no doubt the one Hash had referred to. It also pinpointed the locations of several hot springs, including one either very near or actually in the lake. So the Dullard territory contained something of interest. She'd study the geological reports more thoroughly later. The day had been tiring. She turned off her terminal and got ready for bed.

Bright sunlight streaming through the transparent panel at the top of the tent awakened her. She rose, dressed, and emerged from the tent to face what looked like the entire Dullard community standing in complete silence before the tents. Bipedal and very roughly humanoid in shape, they reminded Letta of photos of the Earth creatures known as manatees, if those creatures had legs instead of flippers and could walk upright. Like manatees, the Dullards had flipperlike arms, a broad head that flowed into the stocky body with no discernible neck, and a leathery gray skin.

Having no way to communicate with the silent sentinels, she hurried to the supply tent and called Hash.

"Yes, Missybain?" He stepped from the tent and stared at the assembly of Dullards, seeming as startled and disquieted as she was by the sight.

"Do you have any idea what they want?" she asked. "I just woke up and found them like this when I came out of my tent."

"No, Missybain. They strange people."

_People._ Did he use the term deliberately, or did he simply know no word such as _creatures_ or _animals_? Why was the team so certain that the Dullards were merely animals? They hadn't studied them enough to determine their level of intelligence. The colonel hadn't sent her here to take on that project, but she'd use her time here to evaluate their sapience.

She stepped closer to the gathering's front line, held out her hands, palms up, and said, "Good morning. My name is Letta Bain, and my companion is Hash. We mean you no harm. We're here to become friends and to learn about you."

They wouldn't understand any of that, of course, but she hoped that her calm, conciliatory tone would reassure them. Perhaps it had. One stepped forward out of the group to stand directly in front of her. At the same time, the rest of the group turned to face the opposite direction, their backs to her and Hash.

The one who stood in front of her made waving motions with its flipper arms, turning as it did so. Continuing to make the motions, the creature moved after the rest.

"Looks like they want us to follow them," Letta said. "I think we should."

"Maybe not safe," Hash objected.

"Do you know any word of their language, Hash?"

"They not talk."

She frowned. Surely they made sounds, even if they had no language. Animals use sounds to communicate danger, to call one another, even to express pleasure. The Dullards must do that much, but since Hash couldn't provide any help, she'd have to learn all she could through careful observation.

She followed the Dullard mob but kept a safe distance. Hash followed too, though not closely. The Dullard who'd signaled to her turned, saw her following, waved one flipper arm in an apparent gesture of approval, and turned back to join its fellows.

Several of the Dullards carried children, small replicas of themselves. She thought those were probably females, but she couldn't be certain. After all, in some cultures the males cared for the young.

As she stumbled over the rocky ground that the Dullards crossed with no apparent difficulty, she couldn't help thinking how apt the term Dullard was, applied to these beings. What must their existence be like? Their land was unsuitable for farming or even for the natural growth of trees or shrubs whose fruit could be harvested. What did the Dullards eat? Where did they live? She saw no structures of any kind, but perhaps there were caves beyond the lake.

Letta stumbled but caught herself before she fell. The near fall made her aware that the land had begun to slope downward. As they continued to move forward, the slope steepened. She watched her steps carefully; gaze focused more on the ground than the wall of Dullards ahead of her.

Startled by the sound of splashes, she looked up. The Dullard ranks were thinning. She could see a patch of water through gaps in the line. The gaps widened as more and more of the group plunged into the lake. In moments, only a single Dullard stood on the banks of the large body of water, its distant shore lost in mist.

The Dullard, evidently the one who had motioned her to follow, again waved her forward. She took a couple of steps toward it and stopped. Might it mean to pull her into the lake?

Again the flipper arm motioned. When she didn't react, the Dullard turned toward the lake and waded into the water. Not more than a meter from the shoreline, the Dullard sank into the water and was lost to Letta's sight.

She stepped close and peered into the water. The vast group of Dullards had vanished into the depths of the lake. Colored a dull gray, the water lacked clarity. She bent down, thrust her hand into the water, and found it pleasantly warm despite the chill air.

"What are they doing?" she turned to ask Hash, who'd hung back a bit—apparently afraid to venture closer.

"Eat, maybe, " he replied.

That made sense. There could be fish or crustaceans in the water. And the lake was large. But large enough to support the huge number of Dullards that had entered it? If they went there to eat and did so daily, it would surely not take long to diminish the food supply to the vanishing point.

"Are there other lakes in Dullard territory?" she asked.

"Many small ones. This only big one."

"What do they eat?"

At that moment a Dullard surfaced. Its flippers held an armload of some kind of green waterweed. The Dullard came up out of the water, approached Letta, and dropped the green mat at her feet. It backed off to the brink of the lake and watched her.

Was it offering her food? Again she decided that some response was required. "Thank you," she said. "You're very kind." She felt a bit foolish about speaking as though she'd be understood.

The Dullard continued to stand and watch. It must be waiting for her to do something more. She bent down and gathered up the stuff it had brought. She handed some to Hash but retained most of it herself. "Thank you," she said again.

Apparently her action satisfied the Dullard. It waved a flipper and returned to the lake.

She turned to Hash. "Think it's okay to return to our tents now? Or will it insult them?"

"Not know, Missybain. What do with this?" He held out the mat of weeds.

"Let's take it back with us so I can get a closer look at it. Is this what the Dullards eat?"

"Guess so."

"I wonder whether we'd find it edible," she mused, more to herself than to Hash. "On Earth, seaweeds have valuable nutrients." She wished she'd been allowed to bring testing equipment. The colonel had been unreasonably parsimonious with the equipment he permitted her to take. How did he expect her to carry out valuable research with so little to work with?

The answer was obvious. He didn't care about research. He was just getting rid of a thorn in his side. His only concern was the weapons trade. But why were Hash's people so eager to get weapons? She pondered that question all the way back to the tents. The Sahaparais had no enemies. They hunted small game, but there were no large predators they needed a defense against. The planet's fauna seemed to be almost entirely on the small side. Surely the Dullards were no threat to them.

Evolutionary biologists had pored over the survey team's reports and concluded that Hash's people had evolved from an apelike forebear, a now extinct sideline from that which also produced the small primates that inhabited the forests. Until the Terrans had come, the Sahaparais hunted with spears and blowguns, weapons that seemed adequate for their needs. What would they do with the weapons that would shortly be provided?

As she reached her tent and sank down onto her cot, a horrible thought made her shudder. Could the natives' intended prey be the Dullards? Like most of the Terran team members, the natives seemed to regard the Dullards as mere animals. They'd be a more abundant source of meat than the small forest animals. Were the weapons intended for the slow-moving, peaceable Dullards? Letta headed out to question Hash.

He wasn't in the supply tent. Probably went to the latrine. She entered the tent to wait for him. Looking around, she saw that he had done a fine job of organizing the supplies, with boxes stacked neatly, labels outward, easy to read.

Except—Hash knew ShipSpeak, but had he learned to read it? Some of the labels bore pictures of the contents, but many of them did not. Yet as she studied the arrangement, she could only conclude that Hash knew the contents of all the boxes, not just the ones with pictures. She'd have to ask him how he did it.

She turned to the far side of the tent, where he'd made a space for his bedroll and his few personal belongings. A packing box served him for a table. It held a camplight and a blinking compad signaling a message coming in. For Hash? When she'd received no response to her posts? Maybe the message was meant for her and was sent to Hash by mistake. By someone who would not expect Hash to have a compad.

She shouldn't invade Hash's private space, but she had to see what the message was. She pressed the button to bring up the transmission. It was brief: _Shipment in_. _Be ready._

She stared at the small screen, trying to make sense of the four-word message. Ready for what? Shipment of what?

A dimming of the light that streamed in through the open tent flap made her look up. Hash stood in the entrance, looking at her, and by his expression he was not pleased to see her holding his compad.

"Hash, what does this mean?" she asked, handing him the compad. "Can you read it?"

For a long moment he stared at the screen. Then he lifted his gaze to meet her stern look. "Shipment come. Food. They bring here."

"No, Hash. That can't refer to food. We won't need more supplies for some time. Tell me the truth."

"Food," he insisted, not meeting her gaze. "Not know more."

He was hiding something from her. "Hash, tell me who that message is from."

"Don't know, Missybain."

"Then hand me the compad and let me check."

"Colonel say compad for me. You have terminal."

"I'm not going to keep it," she said, holding out her hand. "I only want to check it. Then I'll give it back to you."

He took a step backward.

She'd be very foolish to antagonize Hash, her only ally here among the Dullards. She'd have to find a way to get the compad from him, but now wasn't the time. "All right. I won't look at it. Why don't you fix us some food?"

"I fix." He turned, clutching the compad tightly. She waited to see whether he'd put it down somewhere, but he must have hidden it in his clothing when his back was turned to her. When he carried the large kettle to the camp stove using both hands, the compad was nowhere in sight.

The shipment in the first part of the brief message had to refer to the weapons the colonel and his men had arranged to give to Hash's people in exchange for the right to mine the rare earths. The second part worried her. Hash was sent to assist her in her work, but the injunction to be ready meant he was really here for another reason, a reason she needed to discover. And quickly.

She went back to her tent and tried again to raise someone at base camp from her terminal. No answer. Finally, she wrote a report stating her objections to the weapons being supplied to the natives and her suspicion that the Dullards were an intelligent species. She sent it to the Indigenous Rights Commission back on the Mother Ship and waited. No response came.

The terminal assured her that all messages went through. She didn't believe it. If they were going through, someone would reply. Possibly the equipment had been damaged by the rough treatment on the ride here, but the terminal should be aware of any accidental damage and should have reported it. It must have been sabotaged in a way that made the terminal report the messages as going through, even though they did not.

Wanting to see how Hash was coming with their meal, she peered into the pot he was stirring. "Dinner ready soon?"

"Ready now, Missybain."

He'd fixed a stew, but instead of reconstituted dried vegetables and pseudo-meat, she saw what looked suspiciously like the greens the Dullard had presented them with.

"What is this?" she asked. "Did you use those weeds from the lake?"

"Is good. Taste."

"Hash, we don't know that those weeds are safe to eat. Even if they're safe for you, they may not be safe for me. And I don't have a test kit. I'm sorry to put you to extra work, but I can't take a chance. It does smell good. I'd like to try it, but I don't dare."

"Is okay, Missybain. I fix you something quick."

"Thanks, Hash. I appreciate it."

He fetched a smaller pot, a container of water, and two tubes, one of dried vegetables and the other some sort of dried meat. Nothing as appetizing-looking or smelling as good as the mixture Hash had concocted with the lake weeds. She found it difficult to resist the temptation to taste his stew, but if she became ill she'd have no access to a medical technician.

After finishing her meal, she left Hash to clean up and retired to her tent. There she activated her terminal, saw a notification that no messages had arrived for her and recorded the day's activities, including Hash's use of the lake weeds to prepare the meal and her refusal to sample his preparation. She dutifully sent the message to base camp but had little hope that it went through.

She needed access to Hash's compad.

After a fitful sleep, she arose at first light, dressed quickly, and slipped out of the tent. As they had the day before, the Dullards had assembled before the tents and stood in complete silence. As before, one stepped out ahead of the others and at that apparent signal, the rest all turned and moved away en masse. Whether this was the same one that had beckoned her the previous day she could not tell, but again a beckoning wave of the flippers invited her to accompany the troop.

She stepped forward, prepared to follow. A hand clamped around her arm. She hadn't seen Hash leave the supply tent, but apparently he'd stepped quietly behind her and was holding her back.

"No go today, Missybain."

"Let go of my arm, Hash. I'm going." She tried to wrench free of his grasp, but he held tight.

"Better not to go today."

His warning gave her a cold chill. _Be ready_ , the message had said.

"We're going." She accompanied the assertion with a backwards kick that connected with his leg. He loosened his hold enough to allow her to break free. She ran toward the Dullard, who turned and followed the rest. She caught up with it, and, hearing Hash's steps pounding behind her, she pushed ahead of it.

As though some leader had given a command, the mass of creatures in front of her parted, allowing her to pass through into their midst. The one who had encouraged her to accompany them followed her through the open path in the crowd. The Dullards moved in unison to close the gap behind them.

They must have received some message, some command, yet she'd heard no sound from any of them. Could they possibly communicate telepathically?

She glanced behind her, saw no sign of Hash. He may have been trying to keep her out of danger, but she no longer trusted him, and she was determined to see what would happen.

They reached the lake. The Dullards splashed into the water, leaving a single member on the lakeshore with her, undoubtedly the one who had encouraged her to accompany them. She expected it to enter the water and again return with a gift of greens, but the Dullard remained beside her.

"I wish I knew how to communicate with you," she said. "I'd like to thank you for your kindness. There's so much I'd like to ask you if I only could. And I need to warn you that you may be in great danger. My companion's people, the Sahaparais, are getting powerful weapons. They may mean to attack your people."

She sighed. Could the creature standing beside her have understood? It patted her arm with its flipper as though it knew she was upset. Then it took a couple of steps forward and dived into the lake.

Letta stood gazing out over the water, so lost in thought that she jumped when Hash came up behind her, put his hand on her arm, and said, "Better you go back to tent now, Missybain."

She whirled around. "Why, Hash? What's going to happen?"

"Don't know. Better you come." He looked genuinely distressed. "Please." He tugged at her arm.

"I'm not going anywhere." She readied herself to fight back if he tried to force her to leave.

Then she heard it—a loud tramping noise, as of a crowd marching toward the lake. In the distance a cloud of dust resolved itself into ranks of Sahaparais. She froze. The Dullards would come out of the lake when they finished feeding, and facing them would be an army of Sahaparais training their newly acquired rifles on them. Weapons that the Dullards would have no understanding of, would not realize what they could do. They'd be helpless.

She turned on Hash. "You knew! You knew this was coming. You knew what your people were planning."

He said only, "Too late now, Missybain. Maybe if you run fast."

She slapped him hard and turned to face the armed Sahaparais. Their rifles, relics of an earlier century but far advanced over anything the Sahaparais had known previously, had undoubtedly been restored to good working order. She even saw some Sahaparais holding rifles with attachments she feared were grenade launchers.

"Go back," she shouted at the advancing troops, running toward them with rash disregard for her safety. They laughed, and several in the front row aimed their rifles at her.

Shoved violently from behind, she toppled onto the rocky ground, and Hash's weight landed on top of her. "Stay down," he said as she struggled to rise.

He was trying to save her, and probably endangering himself as he did so. She stopped struggling. Sounds of splashes came from the lake, but she couldn't turn to see what was happening. With Hash pressing her down flat, she couldn't see what the Sahaparais were doing, but she pictured them waiting as the Dullards surfaced and climbed out of the lake, then taking aim and firing as they gathered on the shore.

Shots rang out. Bullets struck the ground near her, kicking up pebbles and dust. She closed her eyes, but could not close her ears to sounds that must be coming from the Dullards, high-pitched trills and low grunts—of pain? Thuds signaled the fall of Dullards. Splashes. A loud wail could only have come from a Dullard child. More shots. More splashes. Yells from the Sahaparais. Cries of triumph.

Then silence. The Sahaparaian troops must be waiting for the Dullards who'd made it back to the lake to surface. An occasional shot rang out, followed by a splash, confirming her guess.

"Can you let me up just a little?" she asked Hash. "I'll stay low, but I want to see what's happened."

He eased off her to lie in the dirt beside her. She raised her head and looked around. Dullard corpses lay strewn about the lakeshore. She couldn't spot a single living Dullard.

A Sahaparai noticed her looking around and aimed his rifle at her. She'd been foolish to call attention to herself. She flattened herself back against the hard ground and tensed, waiting for the shot.

The ground shook. A tremendous roar deafened her, and a blast of heat passed over her. Droplets of steaming water blistered the exposed skin on her arms. Screams rang out, blending with the hiss of hot water landing on the cooler ground.

Finally an eerie, sustained silence gave her the courage to raise her head and look around.

The Sahaparaian troops lay in agonized poses, their skin turned crimson, their weapons fallen into the pools of water that lay around them, steam rising from those pools along with the strong odor of sulfur.

Movement beside her reminded her that one Sahaparai still lived. Hash was struggling slowly to his feet. Blood streamed down one arm. A bullet must have hit him. Like Letta, he had blisters where boiling droplets had hit his flesh. He stood upright and gazed blankly at the corpses of his fellow Sahaparais littering the ground only a couple of meters away.

Letta rose to her feet. The blisters hurt, but otherwise she was unharmed. Hash swayed, and she steadied him with a hand on his arm. He flinched but did not speak or look at her.

Letta heard the Dullards before she saw them. They came from the lake, rising slowly and shuffling onto the shore with gentle splashes. She watched as they walked among their dead and injured. One bent, picked up a child, and cradled it against its chest. Letta couldn't tell whether the child was dead or alive. Was the one holding it its mother or father? It walked slowly back into the water and submerged with the child clasped in its flippers.

Other Dullards carried or pulled their fallen comrades into the lake until the shore was bare of their injured and dead.

A single Dullard came up from the lake and approached Letta. It held a small clump of greens. How could it be thinking of food at this time?

The Dullard extended a flipper, slid it beneath Letta's blistered arm, and plastered the weeds over the blisters. Almost immediately the burning ceased. The Dullard patted Letta's shoulder and returned to the lake. All the while, Hash stood as in a daze, seeming oblivious to the Dullards' activities.

"Hash, do you have your compad with you?" She had to shake him and repeat the question several times before he blinked and turned his head to meet her gaze. "I need to call base camp. You need a medic."

He did not respond.

Another splash and again the Dullard came out of the lake laden with greens—a larger clump this time. Again it thrust the clump of greens at Letta, and she let go of Hash to take it. The Dullard pointed its flipper at the greens and then at Hash's arm. It pointed again at the greens, at Letta, and at Hash's arm. The message was clear. She was to use the greens on Hash's arm. The Dullard would not place them there itself as it had with Letta. Hash was an enemy. The Dullard would provide the material for aiding him but would not touch him itself.

"Your compad, Hash. I want it now. Then I'll apply these greens to your arms. They seem to have healing qualities."

He reached beneath his jacket, wincing when the stiff material rubbed against his blisters. From a pocket on its underside he withdrew the compad. "I call," he said.

"No. I'll call. You put these weeds on your injuries." She thrust the weeds at him and grabbed the compad out of his hand, knowing she would not have been able to do that if he had not been weakened by his wounds, and stunned by the numbers of his people who lay dead around him.

She pinged base camp and waited for an answer. A harried voice came through the speaker. "Hash? What's happened?" She recognized Sergeant Marsdon's voice. "Sharpies are straggling in with bad burns."

"It's Letta Bain. I need to speak to Colonel Briley right away. Hash has been shot and needs a medic. And I firmly believe the Dullards are a sentient race. That makes the supply of weapons to the Sahaparais doubly illegal. It means our rights here are restricted. I'll make a full report later, but the colonel needs to know that right now."

"The colonel's already on his way to your camp. You can tell him when he gets there. Better be careful, though. He's furious. Means to see for himself what went wrong."

Letta broke the connection and turned to Hash. "We must get back to the tents. The colonel's on his way here."

Hash's arm was still bleeding badly. He pressed more of the greens against the wound as they walked. Their pace was slow. Hash stumbled several times, and she had to lend him support as they passed through the roughest part of the trek.

When they reached the tents, she bade Hash lie down while she hunted for the medkit. The lake weeds had mostly staunched the flow of blood, and they seemed to have medicinal properties, but she'd feel better when she got his wound treated with antibiotic spray and healskin.

After she had done all she could for him and ordered him to stay in bed, she retired to her tent, turned on her terminal, and linked the compad to it. Her full report of the Sahaparaian attack and the Dullard counterattack included her belief that the boiling water that spewed from the lake had not been a fortunately timed coincidence. Dullards had somehow engineered the eruption of hot water. How they did so would require study by geologists, hydrologists, and other experts. All she could say was that the Dullards knew how to defend themselves against the Sahaparais, a knowledge that revealed the Dullards as reasoning, planning beings. The deadly plume of water had stopped as suddenly as it had issued forth. Had it slowly dissipated, she and Hash would have been showered with boiling water as it receded. But it had cut off while the heavy flow still arched above them, pouring down on the dying Sahaparaian troops. The Dullards (a term that now more than ever seemed wholly inappropriate) must have caused the water to cease flowing as suddenly as they had caused it to begin.

She transferred her complete account and recommendations, along with a request for materials to conduct a thorough study of the Dullards, to Hash's compad, and sent it off to the Mother Ship.

Hearing the distant rumble of the crawler, she slipped the compad into her jacket pocket and walked outside to await Colonel Briley's arrival.

When the crawler halted outside the tent, the colonel leaped out and confronted her. "What happened here?" he yelled into her face. "Why are Sharpies straggling back with first degree burns? Where are the rest of them?"

"Well, Colonel, it seems the Dullards aren't at all dull," she said, giving him a sweet smile. "They somehow unleashed a focused stream of boiling water onto the Sahaparais. I tried to send you a report, but my terminal doesn't seem to be transmitting."

"That's nonsense." He glared at her while his driver sat stony-faced.

"Go to the lake and see for yourself," Letta said. "You'll discover what happened to the Sahaparais who didn't return."

"I _will_ go there." He signaled to Hash, who had stepped out of the supply tent. "Hash, come with me."

"Hash needs medical treatment," Letta said. "He's in no condition to accompany you."

"Since when do you make the decisions?"

"Since you assigned him to assist me here. Hash got shot protecting me from his own people. He needs to stay here until the medics come." She turned to Hash. "Go in and lie down."

"Yes, Missybain," Hash said, Relief evident in his voice. He turned and disappeared into the tent.

"We'll discuss this later, Bain." With that threat, the colonel climbed into the crawler and nodded to the driver, who turned the vehicle toward the lake.

Letta watched it until it passed over a rise and was no longer visible. A short time later the ground shook, and from her tent doorway she saw in the distance the huge plume of water and steam arc toward the sky and slowly descend toward the ground beyond the lake.

Hash came out of the tent and stared toward the eruption. They watched it in silence.

"Well, Hash," Letta said, as the plume subsided. "We're even. You saved my life a while ago, and I may have just saved yours."

What would happen next was out of her hands. Whether or not Colonel Briley had survived, his scheme had been thwarted. It remained to be seen whether she would be allowed to continue to study the Dullards as she'd requested in her report or would be sent back to the Mother Ship in disgrace. She'd commended Hash for his bravery and suggested he be appointed a liaison between the Terrans and the Sahaparais. All the rest was up to the Oversight Council on the Mother Ship.

The End

Also available from E. Rose Sabin:

#  THE BAD SEED

Erin McDowell

Celestial Date: 2568.12 A.E.

Voidskipper Phoenix – Candidate planet Alpha Calantari

Commander Alton Ramses Mission Log:

Phoenix AI reports estimated arrival at Alpha Calantari in ten hours; this will be the fourth world we have visited in the twelve years since leaving Earth.

... _Three worlds that ultimately proved incompatible for colonization. Three worlds that failed to save the human race. The experts told us that it could take decades to find a suitable planet, if not longer; I struggle to remain optimistic, but some days it just feels...impossible._

I continue to recuperate from injuries sustained while escaping from the Maltaran Hive World four days ago. Another six hours in the regen pod should have me back to full health before arrival at the next destination.

*Addendum to prior mission report: Apparently, the Maltaran drone venom has the additional side effect of extreme hallucinations, lasting twelve to twenty-four hours; now that I have recovered and upon further review, there were never any pink pterodactyls or unicorn bodybuilders on the Hive World.

I

Gliding silently toward the landing spot indicated on his sensors, Alton marveled at the city below. A floating metropolis the size of a small continent, it was an impossible combination of technology and nature. Everywhere he looked, the planet's twin suns cast complicated dual shadows across buildings made of smooth woods and stone, melding with bright LED lights and shining metal alloys, all hovering in the clouds over this alien landscape.

The city consisted of numerous separate pods, each miles in diameter, arranged in a rough hub and spoke pattern, with a large central area consisting of greenways, common areas, and water features. Elevated walkways radiated out from the hub, leading to a wide array of structures. The buildings varied widely, from skyscrapers nearest the hubs, made of gleaming metal and glass soaring hundreds of feet from the clouds below, to rows of plain stone one and two story buildings lining the outer rims of each pod. As Alton skimmed by on his way to the landing site, he let out a low whistle. "Is it just me, Nix, or do those buildings look like they grew in place?" The artificial intelligence had become his sounding board during their travels, often providing valuable insight on their missions. He glanced down to a small cluster of brown and black stone buildings that reminded him of a shopping center back home, "I mean, they just look so...organic."

"You are correct, Commander, in that I cannot detect seams and joints that would be common with most construction methods used on Earth. Also, I am detecting byproducts of photosynthesis, so it would seem that at least parts of the buildings are indeed organic."

Alton shook his head at the thought of living buildings combined with modern technology, but his thoughts were interrupted as Nix informed him they would be landing in two minutes.

Thrusters hissed quietly as the Voidskipper drifted to a gentle landing on the edge of the central hub of the largest pod. An octagonal stone dome with black ironwood doors a dozen feet high rose in front of him. Even before the ship had fully settled, the quicksilver metal canopy slid back soundlessly, and Alton lifted himself from the pilot pod. Running a hand over his non-reg, salt and pepper stubble, he listened to the click and ping of the cooling Voidskipper shell mixing with a buzzing undertone that he couldn't immediately identify. Dropping to the ground, he surveyed the platform and the huge dome facing him.

The platform beneath his ship was between the dome and one of the greenways. It appeared to be smooth granite, white with silver streaks throughout, yet somehow...alive. There was a light coating of some type of purple dust on the ground, and his foot sank slightly with each step, cushioning but never leaving an imprint behind.

"Nix, what is the atmospheric makeup again?" Alton murmured, knowing his comm implant would automatically open the channel to his ship AI.

"Oxygen level is dangerous at thirty percent, and nitrogen is twenty-four percent, but your nano-cells have compensated; you may feel slightly unbalanced for a few minutes, but no long term disorientation is expected." The slightly lilting female voice he preferred for the AI replied with clinical precision. "Atmospheric pressure is below Earth norm, while gravity is slightly higher due to a larger planetary core consisting of an incredibly dense, unknown substance."

Alton knelt down, running a finger through the light coating of purplish dust as he looked across the platform to the large ebony doors gleaming in the sunlight. Striding toward the doors, the smell of rotten eggs washed over him. "Sulfur, huh? Anything our systems can't filter out, Nix?"

"No Commander, I am already replenishing my storage tanks."

"Great. How long before the engines are recharged?" Nothing dangerous had shown itself yet, but Alton wanted to be ready for a quick getaway if needed. This world looked promising; but then again so had the previous planets, initially.

"At the current rate, the Void Engine will be fully charged in eighteen hours. We can jump thirty minutes after that."

Running a hand along the smooth surface of the door, Alton searched for some type of handle or other method of opening it. "And our passengers are resting comfortably?"

"All twenty cryo-pods are functioning at optimal efficiency, if that is your implied question. All of the colonists are in a state of cryo-sleep hibernation, so they have no awareness as to the comfort of their surroundings."

Grinning, he pressed a small, swirling, dark brown bump resembling a knot of burl wood, blending into the rest of the black door. It depressed with a quiet click. "Well, I don't guess I can get into too much trouble in less than a day, right Nix?"

"History prevents me from confirming your assessment, Commander." The AI sounded smug for a machine.

Alton laughed as the doors parted slightly with a tiny hiss of equalizing air pressure. "Fair enough," he said as he peered through the gap between doors, "so we check out the area, make sure it's safe, and then start waking passengers. Sound good?"

"Given that the city appears to be abandoned, yet still functional, a thorough safety scan and analysis will take less than eight hours, not including the time required to investigate unknown factors."

Shadows and dim lighting obscured the view beyond the doorway as Alton strained to make out details. "Picking up anything here, Nix?" He pulled the closest door open a few more inches.

"I have a fairly complete map of the surrounding buildings in the immediate area, which I am uploading to your cerebral display. My sensors are picking up slight anomalies several blocks away, but I am unable to pinpoint their cause or exact nature."

Alton peered between the doors, "Well, sounds like something I should take a look at, since I have some time to kill."

II

The octagonal dome turned out to be a transportation depot with numerous tunnels leading out into the city, and it took him only minutes to find the tunnel leading toward the anomalies. Thirty minutes later, Alton's legs were burning from exertion. The combination of heavier gravity and the sponge-like flooring seemed to suck his legs deeper with each step. He felt like he was walking through a hollow branch of some giant tree. The tunnel around him was seamless and perfectly round, with clear glass windows set at regular intervals on either side.

Leaning against the tunnel wall, Alton pulled a hydro cell from his pack, taking several deep drinks as he caught his breath.

"Nix, you there?"

"Of course, Commander. Where would I go without you?"

Alton chuckled and shook his head. "You found anything else? Still no bio signs?" Despite scanning for sentient life forms from orbit, local scans were more sensitive.

"Nothing yet, although I am detecting slight energy leakage from the area of the anomaly."

"Anything I should be worried about?" He already knew the answer; Phoenix would have warned him if she had detected any danger.

"I don't believe so, but I am continuing to scan and analyze."

Twenty minutes later, Alton faced an enormous chamber resembling a sunken amphitheater, easily three football fields across and a hundred yards deep. Row upon row of seating circled the huge arena, and the features of the bottom blurred from this distance, even with his enhanced vision. Pulling his scanner from its holster, he tapped the screen for several seconds before sweeping the area.

"Nix, I'm sending you some readings from this amphitheater. The energy spike appears to be coming from a small booth of some sort on the other side, but it doesn't read as any energy signature I've ever seen. It'll take me a few minutes to check it out. Stay in contact, and let me know if anything new shows up."

"Of course Commander. I have to tell you that—"

Alton cut her off, "I know, Nix; you don't recommend I go near the anomaly, it's too risky, blah, blah, blah. Your concerns are noted and ignored."

The flat AI voice managed to sound affronted. "Very well Commander. I was only fulfilling my responsibility to ensure your safety."

Alton re-holstered his scanner and drew his particle blaster before moving behind the top row of seats ringing the huge arena. He made his way along the narrow walkway, constantly glancing down the steep drop to the arena floor. Several minutes later, he pulled himself over the far side railing and stood facing the structure that was radiating the anomalous energy spike.

Resembling a large rounded phone booth in size and shape, the small building had the same hybrid techno/organic feel that the rest of the city had. Torpedo shaped and seamless, it appeared to have grown up from the ground. Alton circled the booth twice, pulling out his scanner on the second pass.

"Nix, the energy is definitely coming from this thing, but from the outside it just looks like a solid piece of stone or wood. I don't see any kind of controls or input devices. If it does something, I'm missing it." Holstering the scanner, he raised a hand, "about the only thing I haven't tried yet is—" his fingers lightly brushed the surface, and a three dimensional menu flared to life as he jumped back, "—touching it."

Stepping back, Alton watched as the holographic menu expanded to several feet across. The symbols and letters were completely alien, yet hauntingly familiar.

"You getting this, Nix?" he whispered, not wanting to interrupt whatever it was he had triggered. "Any of this hitting in your language databases?"

Several heartbeats passed before the AI responded, "I don't have any direct matches with known languages; although it appears to have components from almost every language we currently have on file. I should be able to come up with a rough translation codex within a couple of hours, given the complexity and scope visible here."

Alton gave a small grunt of frustration, "I'm not going to stand around for two hours while you figure out how to say 'hello' to the computer here." Scanning the largest symbols, the familiar feeling washed over him as he focused on an interconnected trio of diamonds with a dozen alien letters below them, "any idea what that one is?"

"Given the limited context and syntax I have to work with, it could be anything from a power switch to a drive-thru order for a donut and latte."

Alton snorted, "Was that a joke, Nix? AI's aren't supposed to be capable of humor, you know."

"Not at all, Commander. I was simply attempting to convey to you the extreme range of possibilities based on my current understanding of the language, in an attempt to prevent you from pushing the symbol that you clearly intend on pushing."

Alton smiled at her comment as he reached toward the symbol. "Well, Nix, who am I to argue with an advanced artificial intelligence such as your—"

Without a sound, Alton disappeared.

III

Intense light flared before he could squeeze his eyes shut, sending a stab of pain into his temples. It lasted less than a second before dying, leaving only floating after-images as his eyes struggled to adjust. Alton took several deep breaths as his nano-cells repaired the minor damage to his retinas and activated endorphins to stop his building headache. The pain subsided and he looked around. He was in a completely different location. A large, featureless room smothered him with blank walls.

"What the hell? Did I press the 'Jail' button?" he mumbled, hoping he was joking, but dreading the answer, "Nix, what the hell happened? I'm in a box, but I have no idea where I am."

Silence washed over him. "Nix? Can you read me?" he pulled out his scanner, which appeared to have survived the transition, but several seconds of taps and adjustments yielded little results. "Nix, if you can hear me, my scanner doesn't appear to be able to read anything in this room. I need an extract as soon as possible."

Switching off the scanner, he sat with his back against the nearest wall. "Why build a room with nothing in it? Even a jail cell needs a window and a door," he tapped a finger against the brushed metal floor as he struggled to figure a way out.

"Commander? Can you hear me?" Phoenix asked in his ear.

"What happened to you, Nix? I thought I lost you."

"Nothing happened to _me_ , Commander. _You_ , however, appear to have been transported instantly to another part of the city. I am approaching your location now."

Relief flooded through Alton. "Great, can you tell me how to get out of this room?" he asked.

"I am unable to access your visual broadcast for some reason Commander. Can you describe the room?"

Alton chuckled, "Not much to tell, Nix. Four walls, ceiling, and floor. All metal. That's it."

The AI didn't respond for several seconds. "Based on the holographic interface that teleported you, logic would suggest a similar interface would be used in your current location. You simply need to find the correct location for tactile response."

"You want to put that in English?"

"Start touching things until something happens, Commander."

Alton walked toward the opposite wall with a hand extended, "Why didn't you say that in the first place? So I just keep going until I find the right—"

The rest of his thought went unspoken as a holographic pedestal materialized in the center of the room covered in the same alien language as the previous console.

A soft male voice emanated all around him, "What is it you are looking for, human?"

Swallowing his surprise, Alton replied, "For starters, I'd like to know where I am, and how to get out of this room."

"You are currently in auxiliary control node Omnicon, approximately 250 feet below the surface," a slight hiss alerted Alton to a panel opening behind him, "and you may exit this room through that doorway. Is there anything else you require?"

Alton couldn't suppress his growing excitement. _This level of technology could not only sustain us, it could take humanity to the next level,_ he thought _. If they can teleport me here, what else can they do?_ _Extend life? Wipeout disease? End war?_

"Nix, did you get all that?"

"Yes Commander, but I believe we have a problem."

_That doesn't sound good_ , he thought. Voice dropping to a whisper, he asked, "What kind of problem?"

"I am currently directly above your location, but as soon as I landed, some type of interference field appeared, preventing me from sending or receiving anything other than audio between us."

"So you can't help me find my way out of here, right?" Running his finger over the pedestal, he called out to the room, "Any chance I could get some help here? You opened the door, care to point the way topside?"

The same male voice surrounded him. "Stand by for security assistance."

That sounded ominous, but before Alton could respond, the pedestal disappeared without a sound, followed a second later by the open door. He stood in the center of the blank room again, looking around with a gulp.

Seconds later, four columns of light grew around him. Tensing, he turned slowly. _Guess this is security_. The columns formed into humanoid shapes, three males, and one female. Each was a different color from head to toe; hair, skin, eyes, and clothing were all one specific tone per individual. Overcoming his surprise at seeing intelligent life forms, Alton addressed the closest being. "My name is Commander Alton Ramses, and I—"

The leader flicked a finger at Alton with a sneer. "Do not move, human. You have violated this node's security, and you will now be judged."

Invisible bands of power wrapped Alton in an electric embrace that prevented any movement as the four closed in on him.

* * *

The four figures approached as Alton struggled against his bonds. Alton glared as the leader stepped in close enough for him to smell the alien's strange body odor, like damp straw beginning to mold. His skin sparkled with a gold hue complementing the gold-yellow of his hair. However, the most striking feature was his pitch-black solid pupils. Alton felt uncomfortable looking into those depthless eyes. "Don't bother to fight your restraints. I can assure you that you will not escape them." At somewhere near eight feet, he was easily the tallest of the four, but even the shortest, a woman on the far left side, was easily seven feet tall.

Alton forced himself to relax and the leader nodded. "Very good. Now we can proceed."

Trying to regain control, Alton barked, "What gives you the right to swoop in here and hold me? I'm just a scout for humanity, searching for a suitable planet for my people. This planet appeared abandoned, so I was investigating. I didn't do anything wrong!"

"And what were you doing in the control node to begin with?" Asked the man to the right of their Gold leader. This man had a much whiter tinge to his skin, with matching white hair in a short, spiky cut.

Alton blew out a frustrated sigh. "I was investigating a possible danger, based on our early analysis."

White nodded, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. "You mentioned looking for a suitable planet; suitable for what, exactly?" All four figures focused on Alton, waiting for his response.

Alton paused. How much should he tell them? As security for this city, they would view his intrusion as rude at best; trespassing at worst. However, they might also be his best chance of finding an alternate location in this area of the galaxy if their planet was not an option. He quickly made his choice.

"The passengers on my ship are the last of my species, and I'm responsible for finding a suitable planet on which we can make a fresh start." He looked at all four beings, trying to gauge their reaction, but they were unreadable. "This planet seemed ideal; intact infrastructure with no inhabitants, so yes, I was planning on setting up here. But I understand now that this is your city, and I didn't intend to trespass. If you let me go, I'll be on my way as soon as my ship is ready." He looked at them hopefully, "Although I would appreciate any information you can give me about possible planets that might be suitable in this galaxy."

None of the beings moved for several minutes. Suddenly, Gold swooped in so quickly that Alton flinched within his bonds. "How typical of your species; refusing to take any responsibility for your actions!" Heat radiated off his golden skin as he pressed his face within inches of Alton's. Sweat beaded his brow and he flinched back in confusion from Gold's anger as the alien thrust a finger toward him. "You find something you desire and simply assume that you can take it for your own!" Small arcs of electricity crackled as he swung the finger to point at Alton with ominous finality. "Then you find out it belongs to others and expect them to point you to some other planet that you can plunder for yourself!"

Alton considered his next words carefully, "Look, as I told you, we scanned as much as we could, but found no signs of sentient life. I had no way of knowing that you still lived here, since you still don't show up on my equipment. Now that I know you are here, I'll be on my way. No harm, no foul. Just tell me what you want me to do." He didn't like the thought of being beholden to these powerful creatures, but with the invisible bands on, he didn't have much choice. He unflinchingly met Gold's angry gaze with the full weight of his responsibility, "I'm trying to save my species. I have to try anything."

Gold replied with slightly less fury. "This is not simply about your actions today, Alton Ramses. This is the culmination of humanity's inevitable march toward a final choice between evolution and destruction."

White piped in again, "We have watched your species from the time we placed the first seeds of life on the planet you called Earth, as we have done with so many species on countless planets, for thousands of millennia," the other creatures nodded as he continued, "but humanity was always different. The brightest and most resourceful of all our experiments, humans could have been our greatest triumph. Indeed, many of us hoped that humans would one day evolve and replace our race as the Guardians of the cosmos, but it appears that will never be."

"Wait...experiment? You're saying we are nothing more than a glorified science project?" Alton sputtered.

White gave a slight shake of his head, "No, you were supposed to be so much more. As I said, we hoped you would one day replace us. Yet from your earliest beginnings, you humans have consistently used your intellects to harm and destroy one another at every turn. As a species, you seem incapable of advancing beyond your base instinct to kill each other in the pursuit of power. Coupled with your complete lack of concern for other life forms, humans have become the single most destructive and deadly creatures in creation." White's quiet recitation of the sins of humanity left Alton stunned as he struggled for a response.

"Enough of this," Gold's voice vibrated with anger, "this isn't a history lesson! Your actions today have demonstrated the continued disregard humans hold for all other creatures." The planet rumbled as his fury grew, and Alton suppressed a shiver. "Humankind is too dangerous to be allowed to utilize the technology and capabilities of this planet."

White raised a placating hand and spoke to the others, "Let us adjourn to discuss this further," he gestured and the bands of power released Alton as the pedestal materialized again. "You will remain here until we reach a decision." Nodding toward the pedestal, he continued, "This station will provide you with any food and drink you desire, as well as basic medical needs." He waved a hand over the display and the alien symbols morphed into Standard English. "You will also have access the core education and entertainment databases if you choose to access them."

"How long will I be--" before he could finish all four creatures shimmered, and then disappeared.

IV

Alton scanned the controls on the pedestal that White had left him. Ignoring the food and medical sections, he focused on a section labeled "Environment," containing several subsections. He touched a symbol that looked like a small living room, and was rewarded with a holographic display displaying various furniture choices. Tapping the image of a chair caused a bright shimmer several feet away as a sleek recliner suddenly appeared. "Well, Nix, at least I don't have to stand the whole time," he muttered, "guess I'll have to drag it over here, though."

Phoenix sounded in his ear as he stepped toward the chair. "Commander, you need to be very careful with these beings. My analysis of the alien language has revealed some alarming information."

Reaching for the recliner, he saw movement behind him and spun around. The pedestal had followed him, floating a few feet away, yet within reach. Grinning, Alton sank into the seat, which instantly molded to his shape, providing optimal support and comfort. Sighing contentedly, he watched as the pedestal floated to hover over his lap, lowering automatically so that he could easily read and use the controls.

Alton's confidence returned slowly. "Relax, Nix. I admit that Gold guy is an ass, but we _are_ the intruders here, you know. I'm betting the others will calm him down, and then they'll come back here, pat me on the head like a good little pet, and send us on our way."

Without waiting for a response, Alton turned his attention to the pedestal. Looking down, he saw an image of a book flashing slowly. "See Nix, they even left me some reading material!" he chuckled. Tapping the book, nothing happened for several heartbeats. Just as he was reaching for the symbol again, a voice spoke.

"Hello Alton," a woman's voice came from the far corner of the room, followed by a gradual shimmer as a form took shape, becoming solid within seconds. She crossed the room and he realized that she was the woman from the original four that had left him here. Tall and shapely, she radiated power as she approached. As with the others, her hair, skin, and eyes shared a common hue; in her case, variations of green. Her skin shimmered like sea mist, while her hair resembled the dark fronds of a forest fern. Yet her eyes were what captured Alton instantly. Sparkling with power, their jade green depths glowed softly as she smiled at him. "I don't have much time, but there are some things you need to know before the judgment is delivered, and this is the only way I can do so without the other's knowing."

Alton struggled to respond as her eyes kept him captivated. A weak "Huh?" was all he managed while pushing himself out of the chair.

Green floated over and gently pushed him back down. "Relax, Alton. As I said, time is short, and I need you to focus if this is going to work." Her hands extended to hover on either side of his head, inches from his temples.

The move broke the spell and Alton recoiled, "What do you think you're doing?" he barked, pushing her hands away and sinking further into the chair as he tried to get away from her. "How do I know you aren't here to carry out whatever 'judgment' you and the other goons decided for me?"

"Alton, we haven't given you any reason to trust us, but you need to believe me when I say that I am here on my own, and that I only want to help you." Seeing the doubt in his expression, she came to a decision. "Very well, give me five minutes to explain, and I believe you will see the truth in what I say. Afterwards, if you still don't want what I am offering, I will leave you alone."

Alert for any tricks, Alton nodded, "You've got five minutes." Despite his reservations, her voice drew him in.

"My people are known as the Mynalar. We are one of the oldest species in the universe. We traveled the stars for millennia before your planet existed, and the planet Talos Prime was the center of our galactic realm." She saw the suspicion in his eyes. "Yes, that is where we are right this moment. As you've seen, Talos Prime is one of the most advanced civilizations in existence; it represents the pinnacle of our physical development as a race..."

Alton detected her hesitation, "But?" he prompted.

She sighed and glanced to the floor, "I am not proud of this, but it is important for you to understand what is to come. Before we became interstellar travelers, Myanlans were very similar to you humans in our desire for power and material wealth. We fought numerous wars, and came perilously close to extinction before we determined to travel a peaceful path. Our bloodlust nearly cost us everything, and it wasn't until our people put it behind us that we were able to evolve as a species." She looked up, "so you see, we will not do anything that could possibly aid a violent race."

"And you see humans as a violent race, right?" Alton already knew the answer, and he couldn't honestly disagree, given the history of humanity.

"Yes, although we still have great hope for your species in the future, your recent past indicates you are not ready for our aid right now. Regardless of your current good intentions, if you were to be allowed to settle on Talos Prime and use its technology, humanity would wind up using that power to expand and dominate their galactic neighbors." She floated back to within reach of Alton. "That is why you must allow me to do this for you."

He didn't flinch this time. "What do you want to do?" he asked.

"The others have decided that your memory of your time here will be wiped, and you will be transported to a galaxy far removed from here, so that there is no chance of finding this planet again." A small frown indicated her disagreement. "While I don't think humans are ready for access to everything this planet has to offer, I believe that much of our technology can be utilized to make your quest to save humanity much easier. I want to implant a mental seed containing much of our technological database deep into your subconscious, so that it is only available once you are far from here, and the others have lost interest in you."

Phoenix suddenly erupted in his ear. "Commander! You must not allow these aliens to tamper with your mind! We have no idea if anything they have said is true, and my findings indicate that they are actually--" Alton tapped his implant and the AI voice dropped like a cleanly sliced thread.

He knew his ship was trying to protect him, but he also knew that Green was being honest, he could feel it. And his gut told him this was the right thing to do. "How will I know when or how to access this information?" he asked.

"You won't have any memory of anything we have discussed, or the information I will place into your subconscious. I will provide you with a trigger; an object that you will have when you awake from the memory wipe. You will feel compelled to protect and keep this object close, and when the time is right, it will trigger the seed."

"What will it be?"

"I cannot tell you, or it could affect the memory trigger. I'm sorry." She lost focus, as her eyes widened slightly. "They are calling for me. We must do this now, or it will be too late!" She leaned forward, but didn't reach for him yet.

Alton sighed. "Fine. Let's do this. If it will help me save humanity, I have to try. What do I need to do?"

Placing her hands on his temples, she whispered, "Nothing, Alton. Just relax." She closed her eyes for a handful of seconds and Alton tensed in spite of her instructions. With a smile, she opened her eyes and slipped her hand down his cheek. "I see that I chose wisely with you, Alton Ramses. You are truly a good man. I know you will use this information wisely when the time comes." Floating back, she began to shimmer. "I must go. Good luck to you, Alton." Her deep green eyes were the last thing he saw before she disappeared.

V

Hours passed as Alton sat trying to access the memories Green supposedly implanted into his head. He didn't feel any different, and he couldn't fully believe that she had implanted some vast technology database in his head in a matter of seconds.

The familiar flash of light interrupted his attempts as the four Mynalan re-appeared in his room. Gold floated forward, his expression cold, but lacking the earlier hostility. "Commander Ramses, we have discussed your actions, and have come to a decision. Although your actions were rash exhibitions of poor judgment, we have decided they were ultimately harmless and not deserving punishment."

Alton smiled and started to say something, but Gold cut him off. "However, the human race is not prepared for access to our technology, and we have therefore decided that you will not be allowed to settle on this planet. You will not be harmed, but your memories of this place will be removed. Your ship's databases have already been cleaned of any data pertaining to your time here."

"You don't have to do that! I didn't find anything here that could be dangerous! Just let me go, and I promise I won't come back." Even with Green's warning, the thought of Gold wiping his memory left him queasy.

White replied, "We don't doubt that you would not try to return, Commander. However, we cannot take the chance that others of your species would find the record of your time here and attempt to return. The power here is too dangerous. I'm sorry."

Green floated forward. "I have been designated to carry out the memory wipe, Commander. Please relax, I promise you will not feel anything. Once the wipe is completed, we will return you to your ship, and you will be transported far from here. We are sending you to a galaxy that has several planets capable of supporting human life. You should be able to find a place for your people very soon." She winked without the other Mynalar noticing, and placed her hands on Alton's temples for the second time that day. "Goodbye, Alton Ramses."

VI

Alton woke feeling better than he had in weeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so refreshed after a sleep cycle. "Nix, how are we looking?" he asked as he grabbed his uniform from the footlocker at the end of the bunk.

"All systems operating optimally, Commander. We are approaching the Yalneki Cluster, and should arrive at the edge of the system in seventy five hours."

"And our passengers?"

"All twenty cryo-pods are functioning at optimal efficiency."

"Great. I'm going to take a shower, let me know if anything changes." He crossed to the tiny bathroom as Phoenix turned on the shower automatically.

"Of course, Commander."

Stripping off the shorts and t-shirt he slept in, Alton suddenly paused as his hand brushed something unfamiliar. Looking down at his chest, he picked up the silver medallion hanging around his neck and pulled it over his head to get a better look. A small gray mouse holding a seed of some sort in its mouth was etched into the silver. A slight tingle of confusion ran through him as he examined the piece. He couldn't remember wearing a necklace last night, or at any time in the past year, for that matter. Turning it over, it slipped through his fingers, and sudden panic ran through him at the thought of losing it. Gripping it tightly as he stepped into the shower, he settled it back around his neck, instantly calming him.

Pushing the confusion away as he stood in the hot shower, Alton ran his fingers over the medallion as he prepared to find the next home for humanity. Obscured by the steam, two emerald green eyes watched over him from the mirror.

The End

Also available from Erin McDowell:

#  THE CAT WORE ELECTRIC GOGGLES

Ian Hutson

AWOOGAH! AWOOGAH!

The klaxon seemed to bypass the human ear altogether and to burrow directly into the crew's stomachs, filling each to capacity with angry, stainless-steel bees.

Turing, the Senior Radio Operator, had his feet jammed under the instrument console so that he could use one hand to hold his microphone and the other to tweak the Bakelite knobs and levers of the communication machinery. Needles in the many dials flicked back and forth or spun wildly in complete circles, and all were lit by a danger-red glow. Turing had no idea whether his message was even being transmitted, let alone received by Jodrell Bank.

'M'aider m'aider m'aider! This is Her Majesty's Space Ship Beagle. We have been hit by an electro-magnetic interference. Navigation and helm systems are malfunctioning. We are out of control and heading towards Planet 21ZedNA9. M'aider, m'aider, m'aider...'

Whereas the crew was just barely hanging on with grim determination, Captain Arthur Faraday managed to stride with dignity across the bridge to his chair. His reappearance there brought some assurance, and also the odd sensation that impressing the captain was every bit as important as surviving the emergency.

'Somebody shut that ruddy klaxon off - I think we're all aware that this is serious.'

HMSS Beagle ducked and dived as she plummeted towards exactly the planet in exactly the system that they had been sent out to investigate - in exactly the _manner_ that they had hoped not to arrive. One moment her sleek metallic nose-cone was aimed at the planet - a body that had been sending out odd radio-energy waves - and the next moment she pointed out to the cold black of space. Tumbling randomly, her maneuvering thrusters and blasting rocket motors were quite unable to restore her former grace and poise. Scarlet red and emerald green navigation lights left twisted trails in the ionized gases as the ship hit the planet's atmosphere and continued her dive.

'Engineer - report!'

The Chief Engineer tried to stand to attention, to salute and to hang on to a cross-beam all at the same time.

'Captain, we're somehow stuck in the electro-magnetic radiations emanating from the planet. The navigation computer is inoperative; every capacitor, every potentiometer has been burned out. Helm is attempting to control our flight manually but the turbulence is almost tearing us apart.'

Beagle took an especially violent swing, and slide-rules, set-squares, protractors and paper star-charts were thrown from the tables. The ship's cat, Mr. Babbage, sent a fingernail-on-blackboard screech through everyone's ouch-bones as he was flung from port side to starboard side and the deck plates shone like new where his claws had left desperate tramlines. The moment the ship paused briefly in her aerobatics he resumed the aloof manner of a cat that had _intended_ to slide arse foremost across the bridge and slam up against a bulkhead. When the captain ordered "brace for impact" Mr. Babbage decided that his cat-igloo was the place to be, and that he would also just _incidentally_ take a nap in the foetal position with his paws over his eyes. He had six and a half good lives left and he didn't intend to waste one here if at all possible.

When Mr. Babbage regained cat-consciousness his brain reported an odd concerto of ghastly silences on the outside of his skull overlaid with a painfully loud twelve kilohertz hum on the _inside_. His vision seemed less sensitive than it should have been and focus was a manual process requiring not some little blinking. In short; nothing that couldn't be cured by a productive visit to his litter tray and then sticking one hind leg in the air for a damned good tongue-bath.

The human crew found themselves to be in similar states of health, although their diagnoses also included cuts, bruises, the odd broken bone and a diminished confidence in the crash-protection efficacy of sticking their backsides in the air and covering their eyes (one or two of them had woken in just such positions).

Captain Faraday, exercising the privileges of rank, was the first of the commissioned crew to see the light of day at the end of the concussion tunnel - and he was dismayed to do so through a gash in the fuselage through which he could also plainly see alien sky. It seemed that the more usual atmospheric safety tests before opening the outer hatch were now rendered superfluous. The Captain's nostrils twitched and registered nothing unusual, except perhaps for a certain extra-meaty aroma drifting over from the ship's cat's upturned and litterless litter tray. Mr. Babbage appeared to be straining cross-eyed in some feline yoga stance involving all four paws in close formation, and a certain amount of tottering about was involved as his centre of gravity was upset by the movement of a significant proportion of his overall starting mass.

Faraday took advantage of his early recovery to adjust his uniform, slick down his Brylcreem comb-over and generally dust himself off - the better to greet his groggy and disheveled crew while also intimating that mere crash landings were no cause for medical or sartorial disturbance in a truly _professional_ serviceman. By the time the lower ranks had begun to recover Captain Faraday was settled at his desk on the bridge, screwing the top back on his fountain pen after updating the ship's log with a single, pithy entry: 'The Beagle has landed.'

Planet 21ZedNA9 looked about as welcoming as an open-cast uranium mine. It was a rock covered in smaller rocks, with some of the rocks piled up into hills. Gravel made from _broken_ rocks rounded off the corners. To be fair, some of the rocks _were_ slightly different shades of the colour of rock and a river, of sorts, ran through the shallow valley. It was all a very drab affair indeed. If there were a sentient spark to be found here, thought Faraday, then it would be life but probably not as Mr. Darwin had ever known it.

Mr. Babbage stepped off his litter tray like a duke stepping down from a carriage, and he greeted the Captain's now conscious ankles with a head butt and a purr. Then he pranced out through the gash in the hull to investigate the scenery. Nothing ate him immediately so he sought higher ground where he might undertake his post-poop wash and watch the antics of _his_ crew.

HMSS Beagle's hitherto elegant nose-cone had been concertinaed against a particularly large rock. A shower of smaller rocks ranging in size from a Morris Oxford to a Bird's Eye frozen pea had been thrown over the main cylinder of the vessel. Her landing struts had collapsed in the impact, flattening one of her four fins and lozenging one of the stern jet cones into an oval maw. Wisps of steam and smoke were issuing from vents on the engineering deck and, as dusk fell, the lights behind the rows of portholes continued to flicker long after the new-fangled fluorescent tubes should ordinarily have warmed up and stopped clanking.

Mr. Babbage glanced to his left, disturbed by the flickering half-light of a shadow, and decided to go back onboard to see if the tin-opener had survived the crash. Twice on the short journey to HMSS Beagle Mr. Babbage hunkered down, hissed and spat at the shadows. Tragically, it seemed that the tin-opener was in sick bay with a broken _something or other_. However, it only took a little wildly inspired ankle-worship and a plaintive meow to discover a healthy _alternative_ who knew the neat trick with the wonderful tins of "Space-Kat" chomp-chomp chow. Better yet, this less experienced tin-opener had no sense of portion-control and erred on the generous side.

Repair crews bustled and the gangways were filled with hobnail booted footfall. Glaring torches and work-lights cast shadows everywhere, confusing the eye and upsetting the collective primal hindbrain in its constant quest to spot predators.

Twice Captain Faraday turned from his desk only to find no-one actually standing behind him. The Medical Officer was summoned on the respect-preserving pretext of hand-delivering a report of crew injuries. Discreet checks for the effects of concussion were then elicited behind a closed cabin door. The Captain's skull was pronounced to be anatomically similar to that of a heavy-set bull-elephant, and to be wholly intact and quite uninjured. The entire crew was a little bit jittery according to the M.O.'s summation, but that was to be expected following the crash - nerves had been jangled.

Mr. Babbage, finding the Captain's cabin door closed, leaned to one side as though accepting a pretend tickle from some kindly, unseen soul and then bounded away down the deck, on a mission.

Captain Faraday's steward, carrying a supper of Cheddar cheese and Branston Pickle sandwiches, wished that _he_ could be so easily amused by imaginary petting and pretend rodents. As he knocked and waited his eyes flicked to the end of the corridor, attracted by movement that wasn't there. He silently prescribed himself another Aspirin, to be administered as soon as he could get to the crew bar for an ale with which to wash it down.

As the lights in operational parts of the ship turned red one hour later for the ship's night watches Mr. Babbage tired of all the pretend attention he was receiving and retreated to his padded cat-igloo on the bridge.

Halfway through the night Captain Faraday woke in a sweat and a panic, forcing himself to reach out from the safety of his bunk into the pitch-black for a light switch, knowing that illumination would be the only thing to chase away his silly nightmare. In his dream he had been lying on his bunk, unable to lift so much as a finger and surrounded at close range by faces staring down at him, somehow draining the energy and the life from his flesh and bones. Only under the greatest exercise of will within his dream had he been able to force his eyelids to open, expecting to come face to face with someone or some _thing_. He swung his legs over the side of his bunk, glanced involuntarily at the shadows cast by the desk light, and held his head in his hands. Then he did something that he hadn't done since childhood - he checked under the bunk, peering into the shadows there for he knew not what. Perhaps for some lurking remnant of his dream.

Faraday dressed and walked out onto the bridge, disturbing the night watch and causing them to snap to attention. It seemed that all was well, considering, although the whole crew remained jumpy and unsettled. The Computing Officers were reported to be still deep inside the machinery room replacing the burned out thermionic valves and some of the wiring. Even so, navigation systems would be ready to be warmed up and back on-line within the hour. The Captain noticed that the Officer of the Watch had moved his chair so that it now backed against a wall instead of being open to the various doors leading onto the bridge. Faraday's experienced eyes also saw that such junior officers as there were on duty gravitated towards the bulkheads, eschewing their more customary positions in the centre of the deck and commuting back and forth when tasked.

Sensing the arrival of the Captain's senior ankles and privilege-conferring lap, Mr. Babbage emerged from his igloo and began to stroll over. Half-way on his sashay to the Captain, tail in the air, he suddenly hunkered down, spat and hissed. Then he decided on a change of scenery, chasing an imaginary something out into the corridor. Faraday tried but couldn't remember if the cat was one of those cross-eyed ones - its hiss had seemed to be directed into open space rather than at anyone present.

Captain Faraday decided to amble down to the Science Deck to see what progress had been made on identifying the odd radiations that had brought them to this system initially and had then brought them to their knees at the last by burning out the computer. Mr. Babbage caught up and tagged along. Who knew? The Captain might one day suddenly display the admirable skills of an Able Tin-Opener First Class, or some other _really_ useful rank. As they walked through the ship she somehow felt busier than she ought to be in this off-watch, even given the emergency. Half of the vessel was still on jury-rigged lighting though, and that is never pleasant - all harsh glare and darkness.

The Science Deck, behind its latched and pressurised quarantine airlock doors, presented an odd combination of smells, sights and sounds. Liquids gurgled in laboratory glassware over hissing Bunsen burners as the pulverised remnants of large rocks, medium rocks and small rocks from the brutally-furnished planet were analysed. The unspeakably moist, over-intimate aromas of the previous planetfall's biological investigations still hung about the atmosphere as a reminder that one of life's primary indicators is to consume, to process and to then discard organic matter. The sadly non-sentient aboriginal " _chimpansheep_ " of their previous encounter had proven especially adept at processing and then rather aggressively discarding organic matter. Such was first contact - a messy, hit and miss affair.

Thick wooden benches bore ugly stains as reminders that they had been soaked in the very juices of alien existence. Cream-enameled laboratory clocks ticked away the duration of obscure investigations and, at the far end of the room, sat Dr Newton, hunched over the half-ton mass of the ship's portable atomic microscope. Newton turned to check behind himself as though expecting someone to be there, and then appeared surprised to see the Captain. He almost left his skin behind as he jumped from one startle to quite another.

'Oh - there _is_ somebody there. May I help you, Captain?'

'Yes - you can draw me some ruddy scientific conclusions about this planet, and you can start by telling me why this bloody cat has taken to staring into corners, hissing at nothing and purring as though it's being tickled by ghosts. The whole crew's unsettled and when the crew is unsettled, so am I.'

Newton thought for a moment and decided against offering the results of the chemical analysis of the rocks. He brought his thought processes even further down, to the level of the almost totally _non_ -scientific mind. Mr. Babbage, the "bloody cat" in question, was throwing some figment into the air, watching as it "landed" and then "re-capturing" it. Newton hitched up his white lab-coat and crouched down, the better to peer.

'Domesticated felis silvestrus catis, a small furry, carnivorous mammal. Seems physically healthy and not to have been damaged in the recent uncontrolled landing exercise. Appears to be acting out classic post-hunting behaviour, pretending to play with its prey - the usual cruelty prior to consumption raw.'

Newton held out various nifty scientific probes towards Mr. Babbage who, being slightly offended by the examination, ignored him completely.

'Radioactivity - nominal, allowing for the proximity of the engines. Temperature... oh that's odd. There's a steep gradient in a small volume in front of the cat. I've lost it \- got it again - look, it appears to be moving as though the damned cat's actually playing with it! Remarkable!'

Newton waved the probes around but he was no match for the cat's antics and couldn't keep pace. He slipped an electro-spectral magnetometer from his lab-coat pocket and panned it across the floor, causing a high-pitched whine such as that given off by a metal-detector running over a buried Roman coin. Then he set the apparatus on the floor - the pitch rose and fell as the cat repeatedly threw something into the air and then caught it.

'He's got a ruddy mouse! An invisible mouse! I swear it.' Newton stood and put his chin in his hand; the classic scientist's pose signifying both "worthy of interest" and "damnably odd". 'Captain - in the locker behind you. The ground-survey backpacks, the electric goggles. Would you?'

Faraday opened the locker, reached in with both hands and passed one heavy backpack to Newton. Then he slipped into another backpack himself, pulled the goggles down over his eyes and pumped the priming-lever at his side. There was a delay of some few seconds and a slight hum as the circuitry warmed up and the goggles began to come online.

'Give it a moment Captain. This is delicate apparatus.'

The eyepieces began to give off a bilious green glow and to feed highly processed data from the special cameras directly into the two men's ocular organs.

Captain Faraday fell backwards and scrabbled a little to distance himself. Newton slammed into a cupboard on _his_ side of the gangway, causing his 'delicate apparatus' backpack to whine and re-set.

Mr. Babbage, when viewed in the electro-magnetic spectra, could plainly be seen to be playing with something best described as an unholy cross between the ghost of a mouse and a scorpion. It apparently had the social dispositions and attitudes of a dockyard rat. A glowing outline representation in the goggles, the "mouse" arched its tail overhead and jabbed repeatedly in the direction of the cat.

Newton was fascinated. 'Fascinating' said Newton as though recording aloud the results of an experiment. 'I think it's spitting electro-magnetic poison at the cat!' He tuned _his own_ goggles to further-advanced technical settings unsuitable for civilians or even for ship's captains.

The Captain seemed less than amused. He lifted his goggles and set about lighting his "serious thinking" pipe. 'What about the analysis of the signals that brought us here in the first place. Any more detail on that?'

'Yes Captain - the signals ceased once we were disabled and committed to landing.'

'Ceased? Just ceased - no preamble or natural disturbance?'

'Those frequencies just exhibit low-power grey noise now.' Newton played a tape. It was as though a million young sheep were bleating randomly over a poorly-tuned walkie-talkie channel. 'Is the signal important?'

'I think it may be abso-ruddy-lutely crucial. I suspect that this changes everything.'

The Captain left the Science Deck at a reasonably dignified trot, puffs of tobacco smoke being blown out of his pipe as though he were a steam-locomotive under load. He needed to get outside. Rushing down the gangway, scattering the sentry _and_ the sentry's warming flask of mulligatawny soup, Faraday replaced his goggles intending to pan around the landscape.

The sentry helped the Captain back up after he fell on his arse, and was careful to not notice that he was doing so as he did so. It was better for lower ranks not to acknowledge some things that ship's captains did. If the Captain wanted to jump out of his skin, stifle a very un-military squeal of shock and then fall down, then it was up to his crew to lend a hand and see nothing.

Focusing on the distant horizon through the goggles, Faraday had come literally face to face, nose to nose, over-sized eyeball to green-glowing goggle with a deep, churning, seething mass of alien life peering back at him.

Humanoid, certainly, but insubstantial and alive in ways that mankind was not. These creatures positively shone like beacons in the _electro-magnetic_ while being of no material consequence whatsoever to the non-augmented human retina. Life more significant than " _scorpimice_ " roamed the planet.

From being as good as alone and standing in the quiet night landscape, Faraday had found himself plunged into an unholy, crushing, heaving crowd in the quite literal blink of an eye.

It seemed that the horizon had rushed up about him on all sides and left him no air to breathe, no space in which to _live_. The barren rock was _teeming_! Positively swarming!

A bright outline of a head with huge puddle-like eyes pressed in over his right shoulder, eager to get a view of the goggle remote-control unit that Faraday had in his hand in a sweaty, vice-like grip. The first head was immediately jostled aside by another and another and the sensation of being surrounded quickly became unbearable - it was like being sniffed at and scrutinised by a million overbearing and yet invisible Gollums.

Faraday flipped the goggles off and felt a welcome return of exposure as his brain instantly placed him once again as just an isolated blip of life facing a bleak and barren landscape, empty from his toes to the far-distant horizon. The sensation was as though space-time itself had been snipped and spliced by a clumsy hand.

He took several _deliberately_ deep breaths, fought down his discomfort and chased hot adrenalin back to whichever glands it had escaped from. Then, as he had known that he would have to, he slipped the goggles back on. There was a capacitor-whine from the backpack and in the fresh blink of an eye all of the spare room in all of the world was gone once again, filled to capacity with bustling, over-curious life that seemed to have no _concept_ of personal space.

Just blue-white outlines seen through tear-streaked eyes, the creatures milled about, elbow to elbow, as insensitive to each other's needs as the crowd in the public stands at Ascot. In an exercise in pure self-control, Faraday turned himself to look back at his _ship_. The gangway that he had marched down seemingly at his ease was packed from side to side, stuffed from top to bottom with a heaving mass of this _other-life_ \- as though it were the entrance to a fairground and HMSS Beagle the main attraction. Faraday forced himself to be calm and rational and pro-active.

The creatures used the gangway. They were crowding through the main hatch. That surely indicated that they either wouldn't or _couldn't_ move through the hull material. He hoped it was the latter - oh above all, he hoped that they _couldn't_. Had any of them walked _through_ him? He couldn't recall. Faraday forced his feet forwards in some semblance of a full stride - and the alien horde almost tumbled out of his way, as though he were a juggernaut pushing through smaller traffic. In the goggles it was difficult to maintain his balance; his view of the ground was utterly obscured. His breathing became laboured again. He felt that he urgently needed fresh, un-used air and open space and normality about him.

Forcing his way back up the gangway, Faraday reached the deck of his ship. To the sentry, the Captain looked to be moving very stiffly and awkwardly - just something else to not be noticed. Captains could be such odd creatures sometimes.

Having proven something important to himself about his ability to function in a pure _hell_ of runaway over-population, he whipped off the goggles. With the naked eye the horizon switched once again from the end of Faraday's nose to some several miles distant and, away and above, to the happy, human _lebensraum_ of outer space. The deception was total.

Doubtless every inch of deck that hadn't been behind locked doors would be over-run. How many had entered the Science Deck with him, sharing his passage through the quarantine airlocks? How many had _showered_ with him earlier, before he tried to sleep?

Captain Faraday leaned hard on the big red-alert lever by the hatchway. He leaned on it as though he hoped to push it through the bulkhead plating. This was perhaps neither the most carefully considered nor wisest action of Faraday's career, but it was the only action that would hold down the lid on the queasiness with which the pressing alien population had threatened to overwhelm his senses. Klaxons sounded again throughout the ship and a crew that had been unable to get comfortable anyway admitted that it was awake, dressed in seconds and rushed to man their posts. He issued orders to the bewildered sentry that further _sightseers_ were to be denied access to the ship and then strode away, leaving the sentry wondering just why he was strapping on electric goggles in the deserted dead quiet of the tail end of his unremarkable night-watch.

When Faraday had travelled just fifteen paces he was very satisfied to hear a full-blown scream of surprise from sentry, who had presumably just donned the goggles. _That_ should keep the blighter from blabbing about captains squealing and falling on their arses.

Throughout the vessel human crew-members unknowingly pushed through as-yet unseen aliens, causing eddies and backwashes in the crowd, while the Captain - striding for his bridge - caused the _humans_ to dance aside and flounder similarly in _his_ wake.

Entering the bridge Faraday barked 'I will have my ship back, Mr. Hawking, I WILL have her back.'

The Officer of the Watch, misunderstanding, positively leapt from the Captain's chair and released his command. Unseen aliens, misunderstanding even more completely, jostled to try on the vacant chair for size.

'The ship is taken, Mr. Hawking, we have been BOARDED!'

'Boarded?' queried a confused Hawking, noting that the Captain _seemed_ sober.

Faraday flicked a switch and his voice boomed out on the Science Deck.

'Electro-magnetic goggles. How many sets? ANSWER ME!'

'Er - twelve, Sir. Twelve in total.'

'One set to the bridge, the remainder to the Master-at-Arms _at the double-double_.'

The Captain then flicked a second switch. 'Master-at-Arms - all _visitors_ to be put ashore immediately. Recruit any crew or officers that you need and report to me once done.'

' _Visitors_ Captain?'

'Science Deck will be delivering some goggles to you. Just put them on.'

Faraday held up his hand for silence, making the officers wait with him for confirmation.

A minute later in the background of the open comms channel there came the earthy expostulation of a six-foot four-inch, two hundred and forty pound Marine who had just found himself surrounded on all sides.

Satisfied, the Captain flipped the comms channel off and waited a few more seconds for the set of goggles for the bridge officers to arrive. They were quickly passed around, causing the whole watch crew to break into a cross between the solo rumba and the ant-hill twist.

The comms beeped - the Master-at-Arms. 'Captain - how do we? I mean has Science Deck found a way to...'

'Cabin by cabin, Master, cabin by cabin and deck by deck latching every hatchway as you go and then search every cubby-hole, every ventilation and wiring shaft. Lasso them with electrical cord and throw them out of the portholes if necessary, but find a way to CLEAR MY SHIP!'

Faraday then barked for silence once more on the bridge, and the hubbub cut off as though someone had pushed the needle across a record on a turntable. Everyone was looking around like swivel-eyed loons while also desperately trying to remember that they were officers, standing at something between _attention_ and _near-enough, considering_.

'Chief Engineer - how long before we could take off?'

Chadwick seemed reluctant to open his mouth to reply, probably in case some alien were to peer in and poke about, gawping at human tonsils - after all, they were poking into everything else. He pulled himself together. 'If we isolate the damaged sections still under rebuild and skip final testing of the engine recommissioning then we can take off as soon as the reaction matter tanks and the hydroponics tanks are refilled. We emptied them for repairs and we're pumping water from the river right now - about another hour, two at the most.'

'Make it faster if you can.'

The Chief Engineer's manner was as comfortable as that of a young dog waiting alone in a veterinarian's surgery and reading a magazine article about neutering through the ages. 'Captain, I'll get the crew passing a line of buckets if I have to.'

The Marines worked through the ship as a physical barrier sweeping the decks and ushering the "visitors" before them. Even as each section was confirmed cleared still no-one seemed comfortable in the middle of cabins and corridors, preferring to slide along the bulkheads to keep their backs protected. The crew wished that there had been enough electric goggles for one set each, and yet were grateful, in some animal way, that there was not.

Tanks filled, and with the last alien sightseer persuaded out and down the gangway, the main hatch was sealed and a countdown begun. Dials flickered and telltales began to glow as the reactors warmed through. The crew strapped themselves down as they had done a thousand times before, except that this time, to a man, they felt trapped and vulnerable rather than safely restrained and protected.

HMSS Beagle surrounded herself with clouds of vapour and steam. With her repaired atomic reaction cones angled downwards and her forward thrusters straining, showers of sparks sprayed through the fuel-mist feeds and suddenly Beagle created her own shadows, lighting the rocky wastes more brightly than the planet's own sun ever did. The hull began to vibrate and then to heterodyne like the sides of an old corporation bus climbing a long, steep hill.

Those _with_ goggles twisted themselves to portholes and mapped out a vast encircling swarm of alien life, with just a few of the brave or the foolhardy now dropping from the Beagle's fuselage and fins and running for cover. Those _without_ goggles tried to not obsess over the shadows in the corners of their cabins. Oddly, for those with a fear of crowds, even an _empty_ cabin or room would never again be quite the antidote that it once was.

Out in the calm of space the crew began to relax a little, feeling the claustrophobia of the pressing alien hordes ebbing away with each passing tera-league. In the Ward Room a tension-relieving debriefing was held over a bottle of Jura whisky. Captain Faraday was generously explaining why he had ordered an emergency take-off, leaving full "first contact" to be handled by another expedition at some later date. Even aside from the horror of the aliens being everywhere all at once and quite without any sense of personal etiquette or human manners, they had put him in mind of nothing more than a rabble, almost a flock of mindless young sheep without a shepherd. He couldn't bear the thought of Beagle gaining a reputation for bravely finding nothing but _non_ -sentient alien species.

As the Master-at-Arms refilled everyone's Waterford crystal glasses he confided that he _had_ been surprised by just how easily they had been able to clear the ship. The whole operation had given him the impression that the aliens who had come onboard weren't the brightest little lambs in the flock and seemed quite used to responding without question to the orders of authority.

The Senior Navigation Officer joked that maybe the alien shepherds had been stuck in traffic - if they were all made of the same insubstantial electro-magnetic bodywork how could any of them move about quickly in that mad crush of alien bodies? The ship _had_ been careening around like a wild thing so their crash-landing site would have been difficult to predict. If the situations were reversed and, as someone had suggested earlier, aliens had landed in England in the crowded stands at Ascot, the effect would not be dissimilar. A delay would be inevitable before authority could push its way through the civilians to respond, and the aliens would find themselves initially surrounded by gawping, undisciplined idiots.

Silence fell in the Ward Room, like the silence after a joke at a funeral.

Everyone jumped out of their skins when Mr. Babbage leapt out of his Ward Room igloo, let loose a meow and strode into the corridor, on a mission. The Radio Officer's ears heard the cat's purring fading down the corridor.

Not quite knowing why, everyone rose and followed.

Mr. Babbage was rubbing up against the steel of the hatchway onto the Hydroponics Deck, bumping his head against the metal and purring more loudly than ever. The temperature, humidity and lux monitor gauges on the readout alongside the hatchway were fluctuating wildly, their needles swinging like compasses in an electrical storm.

Captain Faraday summoned goggles and a team of sober Marines. Only then was the hatch allowed to slide aside. Virtually every officer on the ship was crushed in behind the Captain, peering over his shoulders or ducking beneath his arms to get a view. They were doing a damned good impression themselves of a gawping, idiot crowd.

Lush plant-life was growing in serried ranks under strip-lights for fifty feet either side of the hatchway and stretching a hundred feet back. The ship's crew depended absolutely on what was grown there during the months and sometimes even years between planetfall. Hissing water jets sprayed a fine mist that was shot through with nutrient-rich, oily rainbows. Among the plants, and also in serried ranks, stood a thousand or more blue and white outlined aliens, inch-perfect and eyes front and centre.

A Marine spoke out of turn. 'These ones look different. Sir, these ones have _discipline_.'

The Captain had difficulty finding his own voice but managed eventually to command what was almost a conspiratorial civilian whisper.

'So, if the aliens we were surrounded by on the planet were rabble civilians, _these_ would be the alien equivalent of what? Track stewards? The alien authorities? The ruddy SAS?'

'When could they possibly have come aboard though Sir?'

Faraday's brow furrowed. 'Chadwick - what's the diameter of the water intake pipes for the hydroponics and reaction tanks?'

'Hell's bells and buckets of blood Captain - we used the largest bore we had. It would be a tight squeeze, I suppose, but if these _are_ the alien equivalent of the SAS and they can swim...'

'Captain - if we can brush them out of the way like smoke then surely they can't be any threat, disciplined or not?' said a young rating, mostly to reassure himself.

The captain muttered. 'The immediate questions are, gentlemen, how do we communicate with them and what are their intentions? Do we come in peace or shoot to kill?'

One of the foremost aliens reached out a long, thin finger and touched the tip to a plant. The plant glowed and seemed in an instant to thrive, to become _more_ alive.

'Life force?' said the captain, brushing aside a proffered dog-eared pocket edition of Bradshaw's A Rector _U_ t _O_ mnium _T_ ranslatione.

The alien in the next row along reached out a similarly thin, ethereal fingertip and briefly touched the plant nearest _him_. That plant suddenly became desiccated, browned and lifeless.

'Death? Life and death. You have the power of life and death. Is that what you're saying?'

A third alien still pointed to the Royal Space Service logo painted high on the wall - a beautiful blue and white marble wrapped in the silk of a St George's Cross. Then he tapped his own chest and pointed again at the blue marble.

'England' translated Faraday, suddenly sounding weary. 'We have the power of life and death over you, take us to England they say.'

Mr. Babbage, a cat of pragmatic character and six and a half remaining lives, trotted out and very sensibly rubbed up against a senior alien ankle.

Captain Faraday thought for a moment, chewed with unusual vigour on the stem of his pipe and then allowed the hatch to slide closed.

'Mr. Chadwick, Mr. Hawking - to the Self-Destruct cabinet if you please. Ensure that the mechanism's mainspring is fully wound and set it for a twelve hour countdown _without_ chimes. Mr. Newton, Science Deck has just eleven hours and fifty-nine minutes in which to save me from having to blow this vessel, this crew and our guests to smithereens. One way or another, gentlemen, I do _not_ intend tomorrow's log entry to detail how HMSS Beagle carried an alien invasion force back to England.'

The End

#  THE SURVIVOR

J.C. Harker

With her nose full of the retched, burnt stench and her body scratched, bruised, and aching all over, she didn't dare open her eyes. Instead, she fought against the headache blurring her memories.

She anticipated the familiar beat of Slavers' drums to start any moment. But only the crackling of a fire and humming of wind filled the air. She couldn't smell any burnt human flesh, either.

The stowaway blinked rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. A wide open, motionless human eye stared at her. She screamed, but unsure who else might be around instinctively she covered her mouth. Blood trickled down a young woman's cheek from the fresh, and fatal, wound in the corpse's temple. It dripped from the woman's chin, pooling around the head and soaking the long, dark hair splayed on the ground.

The stowaway swallowed hard and tried to free herself from the material twisted and wrapped around her like a cocoon.

As she worked to release her arms something prickly crawled onto her already freed leg. Panicked, she kicked and shook the creature off and then untangled herself from the parachute.

There was something familiar about the dead woman. The elegant, blue dress resembled a night sky with tiny, studded crystals spread across it like stars. _Such garments belong at a Master's ball_ , _not the middle of a forest._

The stowaway coughed, choked by the lingering smoke. The clouds above shifted and she gasped when the light of two moons clearly illuminated the wreckage.

The escape. The ship. The scouring below deck, stealing leftovers just to survive—it all came back in one headache-inducing stream. She remembered sneaking into the shuttle, crawling through a vent, cutting through cables to get to the capsule chamber, and finally wrapping herself in the capsule's parachute. It all went well until the bang.

Another spark lit up and fizzled. Torn off branches littered the area. _They must have broken my fall._ She looked up. Enormous, leafy trees swayed high above.

"Where have I seen you before?" The stowaway stood up with a groan and looked down at the corpse.

She kicked aside the parachute she had cut off from the capsule—a decision that had saved her life but proved fatal to the unfortunate stranger.

The stowaway limped to the wreckage tipped at an angle against a tree. Exposed circuits buzzed and sparked at the front of the capsule. She focused on the middle section—a coffin like chamber with a broken glass door swaying on a loose hinge. When she stood on the tips of her toes to reach inside, her fingertips brushed against something soft and she pulled back surprised. _Velvet_? _Here_? She examined the inside further, but the only thing she found was a loose-hanging cryo breathing mask. A small display screen on the mask, faintly glowing in the dark, read "Fiana Hemille."

Something sparked near the stowaway's hand and she jumped back, tripping over the corpse. She turned to the dead woman and flipped the body onto its back. "Sorry Fiana, nothing personal, you understand."

Fiana and the stowaway were actually very much alike. Both of similar age and height. Both skinny, though she presumed for very different reasons. With a trained scavenger's eye she scanned the body. Anything she could carry and sell in the nearest town might prove handy.

A wide, silver bracelet glistening in the moonlight caught her attention. The jewelry slid off Fiana's wrist with ease. _Definitely silver,_ she judged, placing it in a pocket before patting down the rest of the body.

"Rest in peace."

She waved her hand in a parting gesture and stepped aside from the wreckage. Surrounded by a thick wall of trees and undergrowth, the stowaway glanced up at the moons and turned to the treetops with a sigh. Without a map, she'd need to climb all the way up.

She picked the nearest tall tree with thick, low hanging branches. The stowaway grabbed one to test its strength, but pulled her hand back. Her fingers burned from the sticky muck covering the bark.

"Yuck." She wiped her hand and examined the reddish marks. _Was_ _it_ _poisonous_?

With makeshift gloves made from parachute pieces using the knife stashed in her boot, she began the climb. Every muscle ached in protest and the pain in her ankle slowed her down. But fueled by adrenaline, she eventually reached the top.

Fear formed a knot in her stomach. The wild jungle spread all the way to the horizon. No lights, no towns or cities, not a single man-made structure in sight. Even beyond the horizon—just darkness. She knew she had boarded a colonist ship, but she didn't expect them to be pioneers.

A burst of light in the valley below startled her and she grabbed a branch for support. A hover-light rose above the tree tops, then another and another. The sound of falling trees echoed in the distance as she witnessed the forming of a clearing.

_Pioneers? The shuttle must have landed there._ As she mused, a hover-light separated from the group and headed in her direction.

She squeezed tighter on the branch. "The fire!" _They must have sent a rescue team._ She judged the distance and the speed at which the hover-light moved. At best she had two hours before they reached her.

The stowaway slid down the tree and discarded the make-shift gloves. She didn't know what the punishment was for crashing the capsule and she didn't want to find out. The dead woman's blue dress shimmered in the light of the growing fire.

Where had she seen it before? "No!" She covered her mouth, as the memory surfaced.

A photograph in a Master's house commemorating a Navi visit. A girl in a dress just like Fiana's walked onto a starship deck with her head raised high. The slave girl was the hero of a story whispered by women locked in Slavers' dungeons. Special, unique, selected by the Navi, the girl waved to the slaves, ignoring the Slavers and even the Masters. But they overlooked the disrespect; the girl being chosen was an honor for the whole planet.

Hair stood on the stowaway's arms and neck as she clenched the bracelet in her pocket. She lifted it up and traced the inside with her fingertips. As they passed over an engraving her breath quickened.

"Property of the Navigator Academy," she mouthed.

Bile rose in her throat. She thought she could get away with her original crimes. She could try to disappear, whether she lived in a small town or in the wild. But a dead Navi? They would surely investigate and scan the place, and then find her DNA. Even if it weren't her fault, just her presence at the crash site... She looked at the slashed parachute strings. It was her fault.

What could she do? The stowaway racked her brain for ideas, for any scraps of knowledge about the mysterious Navi women. They were rare. Rare enough that race, class, religion, and politics were disregarded in the selection process. Considered the pinnacle of the human gene pool, they didn't mingle with regular people beyond fulfilling their duties as Navigators. She swallowed hard. There was no way she was going to get away with this. Unless...

The mask! The woman must have still been in cryo. Maybe the colonists didn't know her. No dead Navi, no investigation. She twirled a lock of dark hair between her fingers comparing it to Fiana's. "This could work."

The gown's sleeves stretched beyond her wrists, but otherwise the loose fit suited her well. The modest cut of the dress helped disguise the differences in their figures. She put on the white slippers last. They were tight, but almost a fit.

The stowaway wrapped the body in the parachute and dragged it to the burning wreckage, adding some dry branches for good measure. She hoped the eventual explosion of the cryo tank would cover up her tracks. Leaving the bonfire behind, she ventured into the wild and pressed on until she heard voices nearby.

"Help." She dropped to one knee and leaned against a tree. "Help! I'm here!"

The hover-light scanning the area flooded her location with light.

"Please help me." She shielded her eyes.

"Navi?" Someone responded close by. "Are you both alright?"

Both? There were two Navi? But the wreckage contained just one capsule and there was no room for two people inside.

"It's just me."

People gathered around and a man in uniform, towering over the crowd, reached his hand out to her.

"Navi...?" Did he not know her name? _I_ _might_ _get_ _out_ _of_ _this_ _yet_.

"Fiana, Navi Fiana." She answered as if it were her name from birth. No pause. No hesitation. A natural born liar. "I was the only Navi there."

He pulled her up and helped her stand.

"I'm Brynt, the colony marshal. You must be the apprentice then." He glanced at the tablet in his hand. "I've got two Navi listed here, so your friend is still somewhere out there."

She could not sleep that night; instead, she tossed and turned under the silk covers. Did the Navi know each other? Brynt had called her an apprentice, was the other Navi a teacher? So many unanswered questions.

Several times the stowaway jumped out of bed ready to flee back into the wilderness. But the Navi quarters provided comfort and luxuries she had rarely seen and never before experienced. Without a fire to hint at the second capsule's location, Brynt had decided to gather a larger, better equipped search party the next day. Since she found no means to escape or survive in the wild, eventually the temptation of one peaceful night won. _I sure would enjoy Fiana's life._ The stowaway fell asleep with that thought.

A knock on the bedroom door woke her.

"Come in."

A young girl slipped inside, her blond plaited hair swaying from side to side in sharp contrast to her dark gray uniform. _A_ _colony_ _worker_ _then_.

"Navi Fiana." The girl bowed. "I'm Maya. I'm here to assist you."

_Assist me? What am I to do with this girl?_ Fiana tried to sit up, but the sudden movement flared up the pain in her ankle.

"Are you alright Navi?" The girl was immediately at her side.

"Mhm." Fiana nodded. "Just a bit weary."

"Should I get the medic? Brynt said you should rest."

"No! Uhm, I mean, no need. It's just a few scratches."

Maya gave Fiana a suspicious look, but did not object.

"I need to talk to Brynt about joining the search party."

"The marshal explicitly said—"

"Are you not here to assist me?" Fiana raised her voice. "I want to see Brynt even before breakfast."

"But Navi Fiana, he—"

"Who ranks higher here?" Fiana got out of bed, grabbed a clean dress from a hanger and made her way towards the bathroom. "Brynt can talk to me in person if he wants to tell me what to do."

It was a gamble, since she wasn't sure whether she did outrank him.

"But he's already left," Maya blurted out just as the bathroom door closed.

The gown refused to slip over her head and her arms got stuck in the sleeves. When Fiana finally stomped out of the bathroom her fists were clenched.

"He didn't speak with me first?"

The girl cowered under Fiana's gaze and answered in a trembling voice. "No Navi, he wanted you to rest."

"Never mind," Fiana waved her hand. "I can still catch up with them."

_At least he won't be able to say no._ "Let's grab some breakfast and you can—"

"Navi," the girl interrupted. "It's lunch time now."

Four hours later, the stowaway was glad she had demanded a pair of sturdy boots to go with the gun, knife, and other items she needed to get through the jungle. The tracking device in her hand placed Brynt's group directly ahead. She caught up with them by following the path they had spent time clearing.

Upon hearing voices in the distance she hid behind a tree trunk. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the knife. She saw no point in letting them know she had followed. Not that she had a plan either. _Best see first if the Navi is alive._

She cut through the web of low hanging vines to get a better view of the group in the distance. They gathered around the capsule debating. She caught a few words from the conversation. "Broken... gone... salvage..."

A twig cracked behind her and a hand touched her arm. For someone like the stowaway, when startled there was only one response. Slavers knew to prod their property with long sticks for that very reason. She turned around and the knife thrust forward hitting soft tissue.

"I know wh—" the woman's quiet words turned into a gurgle.

The stowaway pushed the gray haired woman against the nearest trunk, the blade still inside.

"Who..." The stowaway muttered, but one glance at the shimmering dress was enough. Who else would be wandering there?

She covered the woman's mouth, but she found no anger or defiance in the Navi's eyes, just sadness, maybe even pity. _How the hell will I cover_ this _up?_

Lost in thought, she missed the Navi's hand movement. The wrinkled, trembling fingers closed around Fiana's bracelet.

_You_ _are_ _now_ _their_ _only_ _hope_ , a strange voice rung in the stowaway's head. She looked left and right. The grasp on her wrist tightened.

The trinket comes to life under the woman's touch. A faint, blue glow seeped through the cracks between the metal segments.

_I_ _know_ _what_ _happened_ _to_ _Fiana_. _You_ _shall_ _carry_ _her_ _burden_ _now_. A click within the bracelet and a sharp pain in the stowaway's wrist, as if from a needle, followed. She tried to pull away, but the old woman had a surprisingly strong hold.

"How are you doing this?" the stowaway hissed quietly, lowering her hand from the woman's mouth. But only a sigh came in reply.

_There_ _isn't_ _much_ _time_. _They_ _need_ _you_ , _but_ _you_ _need_ _them,_ _too_. The Navi coughed and blood dripped down her chin. _One_ _is_ _not_ _enough_.

With each rough breath life escaped from the old woman.

"No, no, no," Fiana whispered, holding the woman up. "They're all right there; we can still take you back to camp. I didn't mean to..."

_I_ _forgive_ _you_. The Navi paused. Blood foamed at her mouth. _But_ _they_ _would_ _not_.

The old Navi's bracelet lit up. _When_ _it_ _is_ _done_ , _say_ _my_ _name_. _I_ _was_ _Samare_.

In three quickening breaths the woman was gone.

"No!" Fiana screamed, letting go of the body. Immediately she covered her mouth.

But it was too late. The sound of heavy boots hitting the ground neared. A moment later, Brynt burst from behind a shrub. He stopped when their eyes met.

"What are you doing here, Navi?" His gaze shifted to the body still warm at her feet. Surprise, shock, and horror flashed on his face before returning to the emotionless mask. He grabbed his gun and pointed it at Fiana.

"Arrest her!"

Her eyes widened. Was she not untouchable?

"It was an accident! I..." Both bracelets dimmed fast. Panicked she bent down and grabbed the one on Samare's wrist. "Samare," she whispered repeatedly, but nothing happened.

"Don't move!" Brynt adjusted his stance. "I _will_ shoot you."

Shivers ran down her spine. She dropped Samare's bracelet and raised her arms slowly.

"I..."

"Save it for the trial, Navi." Another man walked up and cuffed her. "Start walking."

The secluded Navi house made for a luxurious prison while the colonists debated what to do with her. The law was clear—the punishment for killing a Navi was death.

Three days had passed since Samare's death, and Fiana was still in the dark. Maya brought food three times a day, but would not answer any questions. Through the window, Fiana saw others, including Brynt, in the distance, but at best they shot fearful glances in her direction.

On the fourth day, what started as a headache developed into a migraine. But she wouldn't let the others know stress was getting to her. Instead, she used the time to learn and study. She browsed through the things that belonged to the Navi and read whatever she could find about the law, the Navi, and the colony. She pleaded, whispered and swore at the bracelet daily too, but with no luck.

Her worsening headache sent her to bed early. Again her dreams were filled with voices. Murderer, they called her. She woke up heaving and covered in sweat. "I didn't mean to," Fiana whispered.

As days slipped through her fingers, her appetite diminished and patience weakened. One time she threw the lunch plate Maya brought back at the girl. "What are they waiting for?" she shouted. "Kill me or release me already!" Maya ran out with tears in her eyes, and no one brought Fiana dinner that night.

Muscle aches joined the migraines and she kept losing track of time. When she hobbled to the kitchen the next day, she found the plate already on the table. She wanted to apologize for before, for the Navi, for... no, she wouldn't admit to that. But no one would let her. In a fit of rage, Fiana smashed another plate.

"Get up, Navi. The council will see you in an hour."

She opened her eyes to find Brynt standing in the bedroom door. "Finally. Are you here to take me to my trial?"

"No. There won't be a trial."

"Are you letting me go then?"

"No."

She turned away from him and sighed.

"The Navi will judge you when the time comes. The council needs you to call them first."

Fiana burst out laughing. Still shaking from the laughter she sat up on the bed and turned toward Brynt. "Let me get this right. I'm to see the council to arrange the arrival of my death squad?"

His face turned red. "Um, yes... no, when you put it that way..." His words turned cold.

"Just be ready in an hour."

"Thank you for seeing us, Navi."

_Not like I have much choice._ Fiana observed the people gathered in front of her. They seemed uncomfortable.

"Council members." She greeted them with a nod.

"We have been divided about what to do with you. Some wanted you executed, but you are still our Navi."

Nice of you to remind me I am at your mercy.

"We have decided that you will remain in custody until a starship arrives, so you may be judged by your own people."

She stood silent. _Where is this going?_

"In the meantime you are still our Navi, and you are required to perform your duties. Brynt will supervise your work starting tomorrow. Many things got destroyed in the accident, and we were unable to establish manual communication with the ship drones. You will use the backup Navi connection to order a drop. Brynt will have the list ready."

Blood drained from the stowaway's face. _They actually want me to_ be _a Navi._

"Of course," she replied, while her mind sifted through all the possible escape routes.

Yet again he stood at her bedroom door. She felt nauseous at the very idea of being exposed as a fake. She had a whole sleepless night to think about the consequences.

"I don't feel well. Can we start tomorrow?"

"With all due respect, Navi, you look well enough to me." _Did he just tell me off?_ The tapping of his foot against the floor brought back her migraine.

"I'm tired." She yawned and covered her forehead with her hand.

"Tired of doing nothing?" he snapped. "While you smash your plates and throw out food, people have been starving. While you lie in bed till noon, we fight for every inch of this settlement. We lost men, tools, supplies _and_ a Navi in the crash. The cause of which is still unknown, might I add, so who knows what else might pop up any moment."

The stowaway sat up and squinted at him. She saw the tired faces of the colonists through the window, but she didn't think much of it. They resembled her kin under the Slavers' rule. Was that not how life looked in colonies?

"And who locked me here with nothing to do?"

"You did," came the blunt reply. "Now you have work, so get ready Navi. A walk will do you good."

Something in his ice-cold stare and the way he pronounced her title worried her. Did he suspect?

The communication station was all the way across the village. Brynt didn't cuff her. His large frame was intimidating enough, though she wasn't sure who the passersby feared more.

The buzz inside her head increased the further they went into the settlement. By the time they reached the dome-shaped station she was leaning on Brynt's arm and fighting off the nausea.

They went straight into a large, circular room. Screens covered nearly half of the wall opposite the entrance. In the center, facing them stood a chair, a throne—and above it hovered an electrode crown connected to, a web of cables.

Fiana stopped, weak at the knees. There were no other controls, buttons, levers, or any sort of input devices. One word from the many definitions of the Navi she had read rung loud and clear in her mind: telepaths.

"Navi Fiana?"

His words faded into darkness as her body hit the floor.

She woke up briefly, shivering, eyes half open. Maya sat by the bedside, wiping the sweat from Fiana's forehead.

"How convenient." Brynt's voice boomed. "Just as she's meant to actually do something she 'falls ill.'"

"She's not pretending, marshal. The medic is on his way. You're out of your mind if you think you can fake a whole bucket of sweat."

Maya wrung a cloth into the half-full glass bowl in her lap.

"Better pray she gets well soon then. For all our sakes."

Whether it had been hours or days, Fiana didn't know, but her head had finally cleared. She sat up and reached for the glass of water on the bedside table, but it slipped through her feeble grasp and crashed on the floor.

Two sets of footsteps neared the open door. Maya appeared first and Brynt right behind her.

"Navi, you're awake! We thought we'd lost you—"

"Go fetch the medic, Maya. You can chat with the Navi later."

The girl nodded and ran out. Once the door slammed behind her, Brynt folded his arms and his expression grew serious.

"You might have everyone else fooled, but I know there was an extra person on the shuttle. The weight in the crash reports just doesn't add up."

She looked into his eyes and the familiar pulsing in the back of her skull returned.

"What? How dare you insult your Navi?"

He burst out laughing. "My Navi? Are you even Fiana, let alone a Navi? I can't prove my theory yet, but I searched your crash site. I found the body."

"What body?"

"Don't pretend to be surprised. A Navi would have read my thoughts already." _A_ _Navi_ _would_ _know_... _verge_ _of_ _starvation_... _and_... _drinking_ _water_... _we_ _need_ _the_ _supplies_ _from_ _the_ _ship_. _Azalia would have fixed—_

"Who's Azalia?" Fiana blurted out. His jaw dropped and he stared wide-eyed. She imagined her face expressed a similar level of shock. Did she just...

"Um, Aza... Azalia." His face turned bright red and he fell down to his knees. "Forgive me Navi. Please forgive me for doubting you. It must have been the stowaway's body I found. Please, Navi Fiana, I beg your forgiveness."

His hands were shaking and his thoughts were full of terror. From them she read the punishment for gravely offending a Navi, and she shivered too.

They did not speak about that incident again, and after another day of rest she finally made it to the communication station. Brynt still escorted her, but his attitude had changed.

Fiana sat in the chair and to her surprise the crown of electrodes immediately wrapped around her head. The screens in the room lit up, displaying the sky above the dome.

"What did we need to get?"

He stood beside her and handed her a tablet with the list of items. She inhaled and relaxed into the chair. She had a vague idea of what to expect from her earlier Navi research. Yet it didn't mean she knew how to operate the thing without any prior training.

_Relax_ , _think_ _of_ _the_ _destination_. She pushed the image forward and it obeyed. The bright sky gave way to the darkness of space and stars. The ship's dark outline stood out against that background. Although the image wobbled and occasionally lost focus, eventually she steadied it to get a good view of the vessel. _That_ _wasn't_ _so_ _hard_.

"Open communication line with..." She glanced at the tablet. "Starship C62-97Y 'Prometheus XII.'"

Red lights woke up on the ship's head, forming a pattern of concentric circles. Mesmerized by the large, brightening light in the center, she didn't notice the amplifier helmet lowering over her electrode covered head.

Silence and darkness swallowed her. A second later the back of her head felt as though it had exploded. Needles punctured her skin and dug even deeper, bringing tears to her eyes. But she couldn't scream. She couldn't move her body anymore.

Then the darkness dissipated. Fiana found herself at the edge of a translucent bridge suspended in space. Her hollow, naked body formed from glittering dust stood on one end and a pulsing gate of red orbs floated around the other.

Fiana pushed the pain away. Breath in, breath out. _It's_ _just_ _a_ _short_ _walk_. _Reach_ _out_ _to_ _the_ _ship_ , _pass_ _the_ _gate_ _and_ _this_ _torture_ _will_ _be_ _over_. Breath in, breath out. She took the first step.

The darkness around her exploded with lights and voices. She recognized the nearest as Brynt's frantic thoughts. The thoughts of the other colonists floated nearby, the whispers too fast, too many to understand. After a few painful seconds she drowned them out. But the bright lights on the horizon she could not dismiss. They pulsed and spat out words, cries, and screams: accusations that attached to every fear that surfaced in her mind.

She couldn't cross the bridge. Hell, she couldn't even take another step. Fiana's dust-form stepped back and the needles slipped out of her real neck. Heaving, she tore off the helmet and cast it aside, breathing heavily.

"Navi?" Brynt grabbed her arm, fear in his eyes. "Navi, you're bleeding."

Her ears hurt. She touched her left earlobe and stared at the blood on her finger. She shivered all over, sweat dripping down her back. He led her down the few steps, where they sat in the massive chair's shadow.

"I... I can't do it. I'm not..." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I mean, I'm just an apprentice."

"You can try again. I'm sure..."

"No. You don't understand. I can't do it." She shook her head. "It's like being torn to pieces, shredded alive."

"It must get easier with time, Navi. If you don't try, we'll all die in a matter of weeks."

Fiana paused and gaped at Brynt. _Weeks? How dire was the situation?_ "If that's your sick idea of motivation..."

"No, Navi." He frowned. "I'm sorry to put this burden on your shoulders alone, but if you don't bring down the supplies we are doomed."

"If only I had someone to guide me. I really didn't mean to kill her, Brynt." She sniffed. "I'd give anything to bring Navi Samare back."

At the old woman's name the bracelet on Fiana's wrist lit up. Fiana's heart rose as the glow brightened. But nothing else happened. She shook the bracelet and knocked on the metal. Great, maybe she accidentally broke her only chance of getting some answers.

"What happened?" He pointed at her wrist.

"I'm not sure."

"Maybe it will make a difference in there?" He handed her a tissue and she wiped off the blood and tears before sitting back in the navigator chair. At least this time the needles didn't take her by surprise.

Her dust body appeared without the bracelet, but instead she clutched a fist-sized, glowing blue orb. With the talisman in her palm she made a step forward. Yet again unbearable pain exploded in the back of her head and across her temples from the high pitched shrieks. Instinctively, she tried to cover her ears, releasing the blue orb.

Silence befell her and Fiana recognized the figure before her as it formed from blue dust.

"Will you take me to the other side?" she begged Samare's ghostly image.

"I'm afraid not my child. I really meant it when I said the burden was yours to bear. I do bring advice, though. What you're attempting to do is either done by a Senior Navi, or a pair. You're unlikely to do it alone, thus you have two options—advance or find a partner."

"But there isn't enough time for training and weren't you the last Navi here?"

"True, I was the last, and there is only enough serum in my bracelet for a half-Navi. If you wish to advance, release it with the word 'Sybilla.'"

"Half-Navi? So, when you said advance, you meant..."

"Yes, it's a physical transformation."

"So what's the catch?"

"Since you aren't a genetically compatible candidate, I had to improvise. The transformation will kill you."

"What?! How is that an option?"

"Oh, not straight away, my dear. It will eat at you slowly. You'll get five, maybe ten years if you're lucky."

"Any alternatives? A pair of half-Navi's maybe?"

"Even the half-dose has side effects. The initial transformation takes time, and creating a link between the two of you wouldn't be easy or quick either. You'll be better off with someone who's already experienced a bond with a Navi. Someone like Brynt."

"But he's not—"

"Yes, it's a lesser link when a non-Navi is involved, so it wouldn't shield you completely. You'd need his absolute trust and such a link goes both ways. But his previous experience will give you a fighting chance."

"Can't I just make him a half-Navi? Seeing that the whole 'Navi are born' thing is a lie, why not a man?"

"That would make it easier, but men can't survive even a tiny dose. So it's not an option. Choose wisely, young Navi."

With that, the figure dissipated and the pain pushed Fiana back off the bridge.

She weighed Samare's bracelet in her hand. Brynt had just returned with it from the evidence storage.

_The key to our salvation. Now which door to open?_ She had been thinking about the choice while she waited for him. "Brynt, Samare mentioned you bonded with a Navi before?"

His face turned red. "Yes, Navi."

"It seems I won't be able to reach the ship on my own, but..."

"Um, you want _us_ to bond? I am flattered Navi, but it is a very, um, intimate experience."

Fiana blinked and stared, then she blushed.

"Is there no other way? Something more... platonic?"

"That's the only way I know, but I guess there's no harm in trying." He scratched his head.

"Well, tell me all you know and let's see if we can stick to the _bare_ necessities."

"I still can't find you." Fiana's eyes opened and she pushed away Brynt's arm.

They wore one Navi bracelet each and held hands as they tried to establish a mental connection. She stood up, leaving Brynt sitting on the bed.

"It's not working. Why don't we just skip to the... non-platonic option? Everyone thinks that's what we're doing anyway." Fiana sighed. She was getting impatient after three days of failed attempts. Sybilla – the word was stuck in her mind, as she contemplated taking the second dose. After all, maybe five to ten years was better than a few weeks.

"It doesn't work that way, Navi." He avoided her gaze. "The physical connection only enhances the mental one."

"Is it a matter of time? You know we don't have much..."

"No. You're holding back, Navi. There's a dark cloud around you I cannot pierce. I've opened up completely, given up my secrets and desires. You need to do the same if this is to work."

"Where is Maya?" she asked the boy who delivered her meager breakfast.

"She is sick, Navi. The yellow ivy breached the southern wall and she's been badly burned."

"Will she be alright?"

"The medics are keeping everyone stable, but without the supplies from the ship..." He fell silent.

Fiana sighed. The attempts to scavenge some local food so far had failed. Most fauna and flora turned out to be not just poisonous, but aggressive too.

"Come in, Brynt." She called him from the navigator chair. "I thought it might be easier with the amplifier."

Fiana had mulled over her decision all night. She had told him about her childhood, her family, the rough life under the Slavers—and she even admitted to some petty crimes. She opened up about nearly everything except that one secret. She licked her parched lips.

"There is something I haven't told you." She waved him closer and handed him Samare's bracelet. "Remember, this is our only chance to save the colony. Without your support, I won't... I won't make it."

He stood behind the chair and placed his arms on her shoulders. "I've got your back, Navi."

She grabbed his bracelet hand with her own and leaned back. Familiar darkness surrounded her and the bridge appeared under her feet.

_Brynt_? She reached out to him.

_I_ _am_ _here_. He was just a voice. She still couldn't find him.

_I_ _have_ _to_ _tell_ _you_ _something_ _about_ _the_ _crash_.

_Yes_?

_I_ _really_ _didn't_ _mean_ _for_ _anyone_ _to_ _get_ _hurt_. Something stirred in the darkness. _You_ _were_ _right_. _I_ _was_ _the_ _stowaway_.

She took a deep breath. _Are_ _you_ _still_ _with_ _me_?

Silence. _Brynt_? Silence.

_Brynt_? Her voice broke down.

_Yes_ , was a reply, from somewhere close. A grey mouse made of shimmering dust sat on her shoulder.

She stepped onto the bridge. When the pain and voices tried to reach her she grabbed the mouse's tiny tail and wrapped it around a finger. She focused on his calm whisper. _One_ _step_ _at_ _a_ _time_. _One_ _step_. _Just_ _one_ _more_. Brynt's presence quieted the voices and spread warmth that eased her pain. The experience was still excruciating, but she braved the full length of the bridge.

Finally she fell through the orb-gate on the other end. With the link established, she could order everything from the ship's computer. They were saved.

Small orbs circled around the full length of the bridge as she walked back. She realized she wouldn't have to go through the pain again to communicate with the ship next time. She should have trusted Brynt earlier.

The needles came out, but something wasn't right. As her senses returned she yelped.

"Brynt?" She shook the cuffs around her wrists.

"You didn't think you could get away with it, did you?"

He pulled her up from the chair, away from the amplifier. Blood dripped down her nose and ears and she was covered in sweat.

"Now that we have the tools to restore communication, the Navi council will be notified of _all_ your crimes."

Brynt grabbed her shoulder to push her toward the exit.

"I walk through hell for you and your colony and this is how you repay me? I trusted you!" She shook her head and blood drops splattered on the floor. Her eyes fixed on the Navi bracelet he still wore. "Rot in hell. Sybilla."

The bracelet clicked in response to her command.

"Ah! What—" He choked on his words as convulsions ran through his body and foam formed on his lips.

She wiped the blood off her face and bent down to pick up the handcuff keys. _Damn. This stuff really does work fast on men._ The stowaway looked down at Brynt, dead. She would blame the crash on him, a thief of Navi property. As long as she ensured no other Navi came, she could make a home here for herself after all.

The End

Also available from J.C. Harker:

#  AETERNAE NOCTIS

Jade Kerrion

Darkness sliced, swift and precise, across the amber curve of the full moon.

The flame in his lamp flickered. Shadows danced over the rough-hewn stones of his low seat beside the fountain in the city square. Erich Dale lifted his quill from the parchment balanced on his lap and raised his gaze to the sky. An easy smile creased his face as he visually traced the spread of the bat-shaped wings across the back of the slender, humanoid form soaring over the city.

His breath caught; his throat closed around the gasp of awe. _Too lovely._

The icrathari's beauty—perfect and pure—evoked matching emotions. His chest ached as tears pricked at his eyes.

A pity he was the only human to witness the icrathari's flight. He threw a glance over his shoulder at the city of Aeternae Noctis. Its cobblestone streets were empty; its homes and shops darkened, a defense against the pale-skinned vampires who roamed the city each night of the full moon.

His people's defense was psychological, not physical. Vampires did not need light by which to see. Erich had watched them for years—long enough to understand their strengths, of which there were many, and their limitations, of which there were few. Vampires who inhabited a city of eternal night had nothing to fear from the sun.

They were, however, curious about how openly he observed them from his favorite seat by the bubbling fountain. Several months prior, one of the vampires had actually stopped to ask him, in the politest manner possible, why he was not cowering in the shadows, hiding like the other humans.

Erich had laughed and shrugged. "I'm a poet, not a warrior. The people of Aeternae Noctis tell me I'm of no earthly use to man or beast. I don't think the vampires will take any interest in me either."

The vampire's chuckle was low and amused. "I suppose not."

He was right. The vampires paid him no attention other than to nod in acknowledgment when they walked past him.

On his part, he made no move to defend the struggling humans the vampires dragged from their homes. He did not attempt to save the weeping five-year old children seized from their mothers' arms and carried into the vampires' stronghold, Malum Turris, the black tower that cast its cursed shadow over Aeternae Noctis.

Like a man transfixed, he waited only for glimpses of the icrathari, the vampires' overlords.

There were, he knew, more than one, but the one who entranced him wore her hair in a braid. From the moment he laid eyes on her several months prior, he could think of little else. Her predatory grace proclaimed her a monster, but the indefinable expression in her eyes declared otherwise.

Erich shook his head, his smile wry. As a poet, words should not have eluded him, but they did. He knew only that her eyes were not the eyes of a demon. He looked up, searching the sky for her.

The gust of chill wind heralded the silent beat of massive wings. Shadows flickered through the air and unfurled to reveal an ethereal creature. Scarcely five feet tall, it was so slender it seemed almost delicate. Its skin was pale, and its silver hair woven into a long braid it wore down its back. Large gray eyes slanted upward in a finely featured face that mirrored the murals of angels in the cathedral. Batlike wings stretched ten feet from wingtip to wingtip, and the horn-shaped bones that emerged from each juncture between the flaps of the black leathery wings were encased in studded metal. Dressed in leather bustier, pants, and matching boots, the icrathari strode past silent vampires to stand in front of him.

"Beautiful."

He had not realized he had spoken aloud until the icrathari's lips curved in a smile.

"Who are you?" His voice sounded thin even to his own ears. Did courage or stupidity inspire his question? There wasn't much difference between either in the presence of an icrathari who commanded hundreds of vampires with a wave of her hand.

Her eyes narrowed, but she answered. "Tera." The husky and rich timbre of her voice did not match her seemingly fragile appearance. She glanced at the parchment on his lap. "And you're an artist, Erich Dale."

He tilted the piece of paper to catch shards of light from the pale glow of the moon. Black ink captured in stark relief the curve of the impenetrable glass dome that separated the city of Aeternae Noctis from the outside world and trapped it in eternal night. Within the dome, an icrathari spread its wings in flight. The painstaking detail of the icrathari contrasted with the crude sketch of the dome. Erich held the parchment up to Tera. "I'm a poet, an artist, and beautiful things inspire me."

She accepted his gift. "You do not fear the night, and you do not fear me."

He rose. At six feet, he towered over her, but he did not, for a moment, doubt her superior strength. Several months earlier, he had seen her flip her wrist, sending an attacking human flying through the air. The man crashed into the wall of the smithy. He stumbled to his feet and shook off his disorientation. With a snarl, spittle forming on his lips, he seized the blacksmith's heavy hammer and charged at Tera.

Her calm expression did not change. She reached out and caught him around the neck. Her fingers tightened.

Bone snapped. The hammer toppled from the man's suddenly nerveless fingers. Tera's grip loosened, and the man collapsed in a crumpled heap. She turned away, but not before Erich caught a glimpse of the regret that flashed through her eyes.

She's not a demon.

A panicked cry of a child recalled him to the present.

Erich turned his head at the desperate wails that shattered the silence of the night. Five-year old children screamed and flailed in the unyielding arms of the vampires who carried them across the drawbridge into the tower.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his mind around the certainty he knew in his heart. _The icrathari are not demons even though they take our children from us. Even though they have imprisoned us in eternal night._

The people of Aeternae Noctis perceived the icrathari and vampires as more than captors; the inhuman tormentors were the Night Terrors—demons who possessed the power to block out the light of the sun.

In the fields surrounding the city, crops thrived beneath artificial light emanating in twelve-hour intervals from the tall columns interspersed in the fields, but humans were less resigned to darkness even though no one could remember any differently after centuries and generations of imprisonment. Sunlight was a story whispered to children at bedtime, a tale repeated by drunks in taverns, but it was also fact. Sunlight was the hope, the certainty that kept his people strong through the despair that should have otherwise consumed them.

Beyond the dome, everyone knew that sunlight blessed the Promised Land, cradling it within its benevolent warmth.

The chill of the eternal night cut through his thin cotton shirt, and he shivered. Erich understood the hate and fear that swamped his people, but standing face-to-face with Tera, he could not find those emotions in himself. _Sunlight be damned._ He would endure an eternity of darkness for the privilege of looking upon her. What was that look in her eyes? Deeper than loneliness. More profound than sadness. Why couldn't he find the right words?

"I'm not much of a poet," he confessed.

She turned to survey the silent city. "What in Aeternae Noctis could possibly inspire you?"

His jaw dropped. Couldn't she see that inspiration lay all around? Erich lifted his face to the sky—the pale perfect circle of the moon; an endless parade of stars, each one a distinct sparkle in the dark of the night. Aeternae Noctis glowed beneath the moon's eternal orbit; the polished stone walls of its buildings and cobblestone streets glistened like living silver. The stained glass in the cathedral shone with ghostly light, as if the radiance emanated from within.

"I find inspiration in the unaffected beauty of the night," he whispered. "In the peace and silence."

"Which is why you come out here, every night of the full moon."

He nodded. "The night is most beautiful then. The city is silent."

"But not at peace."

"No." How many adults and children had the vampires taken this night? How many families wept, broken-hearted, in their homes, their choking cries stifled against further discovery or retribution from the vampires? His shoulders rose and fell on a quiet sigh. "Necessity compels you, but you're not at peace either."

Her eyes flashed wide and then narrowed into slits.

"Isn't it true?" he asked.

"No one has ever dared say so."

"I know more about the Night Terrors than my people do. I _see_ more. The vampires ignore me. Instead, they seize the most talented humans—our most skilled warriors and hunters, our scientists and engineers. The useless ones—our poets and artists—are left unscathed. You take with purpose, which implies a necessity at work. I see it, even if I don't understand it."

Tera tilted her head, the gesture challenging. "And the children?"

"I don't understand why you take some five-year old children and leave others behind, but there is a purpose too, isn't there?"

Her wings ruffled. She nodded, her jaw tense.

He shrugged. "You don't owe me an explanation, though others would say that the truth is ultimately inevitable."

"You don't care to know much."

"I care to know only what matters to me. My poetry, my art. Beauty." _You._ "The truth will come in its own time. Everything else is irrelevant."

She frowned. "Even though you're trapped in the city with others of your kind."

He turned and followed her gaze beyond the curve of the dome. Outside the glass dome, moonlight washed over waterfalls cascading from cloud-enshrouded mountain crags. The few trees that claimed the mountain's highest ledges expanded into the abundance of pine forests before thinning as forests gave way to lush fields scattered with wildflowers. If he closed his eyes, he could hear the crash of water and smell the fragrance of pine and cedar. His fingers twitched, instinctively reaching for the rough bark of the trees and the velvet softness of wildflower petals.

His eyes flashed open. Reality smashed his vision into pieces, but enough fragments remained to keep the smile on his lips. "It's beautiful out there."

A flicker of guilt danced across Tera's face. Her gaze darted to the pale glow that encircled the uppermost level of Malum Turris like a bracelet.

Erich's eyes narrowed. _Why?_

He returned his attention to her. He opened his mouth to ask the question but his voice trailed into silence. Once again, his breath caught at the flawless perfection of her features. Tears stung his eyes. Compared to her, the most stunning human was scarcely more than a gargoyle. He quashed his curiosity. He did not need answers. The magnificent beauty of nature lay beyond the dome, but the greater beauty stood in front of him. "It's far more beautiful in here."

She turned back to him. After several moments of silent study, she said, "You are content."

"Why do you sound surprised?"

"No human has learned to be content, not in the seven hundred and fifty years of Aeternae Noctis's existence."

He laughed. "There's always a first."

Her expression remained skeptical.

He waved his hand to encompass his surroundings. "I have everything I need here. Quill, parchment, the quiet of the night, and inspiration."

"You love the night."

Erich nodded. "Yes, I do." Acknowledgment of that simple fact flooded him with peace.

She smiled, radiant beneath the moonlight. "Be blessed by the night." Her wings spread, beat down, and lifted her into the sky. For a moment, she hovered above him before turning away, darting like an arrow toward Malum Turris.

After that first midnight encounter, Erich saw Tera often—at least once each night of the full moon. She did not offer reasons for her presence in the city. Surely it could not be to watch over the vampires' activities; his people feared the vampires too much to put up a fight. She seemed approachable, even friendly, but her reputation warned him to keep his distance. Vampires gave her a wide berth, though Erich sensed their distance was inspired by respect rather than fear. Regardless, she lingered for an hour or two by the fountain in the city square, reading his poems, or far more often, watching him draw.

Even she, he realized with a self-mocking irony, had no appetite for his poetry. Apparently, no one—human, vampire, or icrathari—did. He was obviously as fine a poet as he was a skilled warrior. Yet who needed poetry when his muse was present? When she was with him, words failed him; he could not write. Instead, his quill danced across parchment in an attempt to immortalize her. He ached to touch the silver strands that escaped her braid to frame her face. Was her skin as soft as he imagined in his sleep each night? What would her voice—the now-familiar breath of silk over steel—sound like when roughened by desire?

Erich could not get her out of his mind and lived only for each night of the full moon, when he could see her again.

He had only hours to wait, he realized when he glanced up at the sky late one night—or whatever passed as night in a city of eternal darkness. With a smile, he looked down at the parchment in his hand. He had never fancied himself an artist, but perhaps, he had lacked only the right inspiration. A detailed image of her face with its solemn eyes and unsmiling mouth stared back at him. It was beautiful because it was too flawless to be otherwise, but her expression made it enchanting. It married hope with despair, a poignant reminder that the heights of one could not exist without the depths of the other.

It still fell short of the indescribable expression she habitually wore, but it was close. He would, he knew, spend the rest of his life attempting to capture it.

A flurry of motion skimmed across his peripheral vision. Strong hands seized him and dragged him to his feet.

His parchment fluttered to the ground.

"What is this?" a deep male voice taunted. Gerald, the blacksmith, picked up the piece of paper. "It's the icrathari." He tossed the parchment aside and spit on it.

Erich twisted but could not break free from the unyielding grip of the two men who held him. "Give it back to me."

"You're surprisingly coherent, for a blood slave."

His eyes narrowed. "Blood slave?" He shook his head, his denial frantic. "I'm not a blood slave."

"The demon didn't force its blood down your throat and turn you into an unthinking, worshipful zombie? Of course it did. Why else would you consort with it?"

"Tera's not a demon."

"Tera?" A female voice cut in. A young woman in her mid-twenties, scarcely older than Erich, pushed past the men who surrounded him. A cascade of flame-colored curls framed her face. Her green eyes were narrow slits. "And so it has a name. Does it know yours? Will it come when we make you scream its name?"

"Yuri," Erich pleaded with his cousin. "Don't do this."

"Don't do what? Don't fight back? It's better than cowering. Better than living with guilt. I couldn't protect them." Her voice cracked with pain. "They took Jana and Jack last month. They took my babies."

"Oh, Yuri..." His heart broke for her and for her bright-faced twins who had just turned five.

"The vampires and the icrathari...they'll pay. I'll make them." Her lips twisted into a grimace. "And you'll help me."

Against Tera?

His affection for his cousin, for family, warred against his instinctive need to protect his muse. Tera was not human, but neither was she a demon. She was not the monster they believed her to be. Turmoil churned through him. He shook his head. "No."

A sneer crossed Yuri's face. Her chin tilted up, and she glanced at Gerald. "You handle Erich. I'll make sure the others are ready."

Erich caught a glimpse of several men holding a net, its corners weighed down with stones.

An image of Tera, coiled helplessly beneath a net, flashed through his mind. Fear surged adrenaline through him. "Yuri, no!" he lunged forward, breaking free, but Gerald's companions pulled him back and tightened their grip on his arms.

The blacksmith leered at him. "Yuri wasn't too specific on what _not_ to do to you. By the time we're done, you'll be singing anything we tell you to."

He gritted his teeth. Like hell he would.

Gerald drew back his heavy hand and backhanded Erich. Bone snapped from the impact. Pain exploded across his face. He gasped. Tears swam into his eyes, blurring his vision against his tormentors.

If only it were that easy to escape the agony that followed. He did not cry out when Gerald drove ham-sized fists into his face and stomach, or when the repeated blows bludgeoned him face first to the ground. The blacksmith's voice boomed through his aching head. "You're not so pretty anymore. Go on, Erich, scream for the demon. Maybe it will come to save you."

_No, don't come._ He bit down on his lip until it was bloody.

Gerald scoffed. "Stretch his arms out. Both of them."

Dazed with pain, Erich stared at the ground as Gerald's massive shadow loomed over him. A grey mouse scurried across the pavement, darting from light into darkness. Shadows shifted into the distinct shape of a large hammer. Gerald swung the hammer over his head. "Your last chance, Erich. Call for her or you'll never write—never hold anything—ever again."

Erich closed his eyes. Blood dripped from his nose and mouth to stain the streets. The cobblestones felt smooth and cold beneath his fingertips. His voice trembled, but he spoke without hesitation. "Go to hell."

The hammer swung down. Iron smashed against stone, crushing fragile bones in between them.

Anguish—raw and brutal—shredded him. Erich screamed then, only once. He was scarcely conscious when Gerald brought the hammer down on his other hand. His eyes fluttered open. As if in a dream, he stared at the bloodied, mangled pulp where his hands had been. _Oh, God. No..._

His gaze traveled beyond his ruined hands to lock on the parchment carelessly tossed to the ground. Tiny splatters of his blood marked the edges of the parchment, but his precious drawing of Tera's face stared solemnly back at him. Despair and hope. In that moment, he knew only despair. _Don't come. It's a trap. Don't save me._

An inhuman war cry—part siren, part harpy—pierced the night. The people cowered, reflexively huddling into fetal balls. Four silver-haired icrathari, pale against the dark walls of Malum Turris, streaked down into the city square. Their black wings stirred the air into a vicious vortex. Claws and fangs ripped through the humans. Blood sprayed. The water in the fountain turned crimson.

His people, bleeding and dying, faded into his peripheral vision. Their screams became white noise. Erich crawled forward, dragging his injured body an excruciating inch at a time across the cobblestones. He had to protect Tera's portrait. It was all he had left, the last work he would ever produce.

He placed a shattered hand on the edges of the parchment and held it in place against the panic and terror flooding the city square. Heavy, booted feet trampled over his body in desperate haste to escape the fury of the vampires and icrathari. Frequently, a dying gasp heralded the low thud of another body falling lifelessly to the bloodstained streets.

Erich closed out a world pulsing with pain and withdrew to a place in his mind where he could share the night—quiet and peaceful—with Tera. They exchanged no words, but none were needed. They were united by a love for beauty in its myriad shapes and forms—both human and icrathari. It was the only world he understood, the only world he craved.

He lingered in that dreamlike state when delicate yet strong hands turned him around and gathered him up. The touch was gentle but he fought it, reaching down for the portrait on the ground. Another pale hand picked up the parchment, folded it, and tucked it into his shirt. With a quiet sigh, he pressed his crushed hands against his shirt, against Tera's portrait, and closed his eyes.

"Erich," Tera's voice recalled him. "Focus on my voice."

She was moving, each rapid step jolting shards of pain through his broken body.

He did not want to move. He just wanted to stay with her until the end. It would not be much longer.

A chill, colder than anything he had experienced, shivered through his body. The steady rhythm of Tera's booted feet tapped against steel, not stone. He forced his eyes open and stared without comprehension at the black walls closing in around him. Straight lines of corridors flowed into perfect curves of corners before straightening once more. Seamless construction. Smooth, flawless surfaces.

Was he in Malum Turris? It was like no place he had ever seen. Its use of steel, its impossibly perfect construction, and sterile, otherworldly appearance placed the tower beyond human skill and knowledge, beyond their time, perhaps even beyond their world.

Tera stepped over a threshold. Steel whispered against steel. In front of her, the floor yawned apart. Hot air rushed through the opening and thickened into steam as it collided with the cold air within the tower.

Nonchalant, she stepped into the void. Moments later, he was falling, though still cradled in Tera's arms. Her wings flared out, controlling the speed of their descent. Uncomfortable warmth enveloped him. Even the air smelled different. It grated in his lungs, as if infused with a million tiny particles.

His lips trembled as he tried to shape words, but injury and exhaustion stole his voice. _Where are you taking me?_

The searing breath of heated air became near unbearable, and he closed his eyes.

Hell. You're taking me to hell.

But the heat passed. When he opened his eyes, he lay on parched soil. Tera leaned over him, her lovely face cast into shadow by the massive domed structure that hovered several hundred feet above the ground, carried aloft by powerful gusts of air. Within the curve of the dome, he could see the cathedral, the city hall, and the buildings of Aeternae Noctis. Beneath the apex of the dome, seemingly anchoring the dome to its platform was Malum Turris itself.

His mind reeled. It was impossible! Aeternae Noctis was built on the ground. How often had he pressed against the curve of the dome and stared at the unchanging splendor of the world outside the dome. The eternal mountains, the endless cascade of the waterfall over pine forests and lush fields?

Erich closed his eyes, slowly, deliberately, and willed his senses to return. He willed the nightmare away.

When he opened his eyes, the domed city of eternal night was further still, racing away from the distant glow on the horizon.

But how? And why?

He recalled Tera's guilty glance at the ring of light emerging from the uppermost floors of the black tower. The unchanging perfect world outside the dome was an illusion cast and sustained by Malum Turris.

It did not answer the question why.

He looked back at Tera. His lips shaped the word he no longer had the strength to utter aloud. _Why?_

"Trust me," she murmured. She turned his face to the side, exposing the length of his neck. With a slither of bone against flesh, her pearlescent fingernails extended into curved talons, and she drew its sharp edge against his tender flesh, severing his jugular vein.

Blood spilled out of him and vanished, sinking into the thirsty earth, leaving dark stains. A deep chill expanded from a place deep within him and crept out to his extremities. His vision shrank as darkness closed in. The sound of his slowing heartbeat thumped between his ears, the gap between each beat longer, each beat softer.

He would die in her arms. _No better place._ Erich was too weak to smile, but he sank with gratitude into her embrace and closed his eyes.

He was not prepared for the flood of thick liquid into his mouth—like honeyed wine, but richer and far more intoxicating. It flowed without resistance down his throat, driving the chill and the darkness away.

His eyes flashed open just as Tera pulled away. Blood, the color of gold, trickled from a cut in her wrist. As he watched, her pale skin closed flawlessly over the cut. Her eyes were far more troubled than he had ever seen her.

Her lips shaped a soundless whisper. "Live. Live forever."

Bright lights flashed through his head, blinding him. The slightest sound seemed to echo in his skull and ring through his bones. Tera spoke of life, but the scent of the earth, pungent with death, rose to fill his nostrils.

His senses reeled from the bewildering and dazzling overload, spinning his mind into panic.

What is happening to me?

She turned away.

No, Tera. Please don't go. Don't leave me.

His body sweated and trembled. Everything...too loud, too bright. Too much.

Tera returned. Desperate, he reached for her, the anchor of his dissolving sanity. Her presence held the terror, the fear at bay. His mental voice sobbed with relief. _You came back. I knew you would._

Gently, she picked him up and deposited him into a shallow opening she had dug in the soil. It took him a moment to realize that it was a grave.

For a moment, her hand lingered on his face before she pulled away. The wrenching ache in her eyes steeled into resolution.

She stood and stepped back. Dirt flew into his face. It covered his body, burying him.

A voice, animal-like, devoid of sanity, maddened by terror, rent the night.

_His_ voice, he realized stunned. No, no, no! Don't leave me! _I need you!_

His unheard screams went on and on, roiling through his skull, even as the world around him fell silent.

Minutes passed. Hours. Perhaps even days.

Time had little meaning beneath the earth. When Erich finally found the strength to push the dirt aside and drag himself from his shallow grave, he rose to a world that was nothing like the world he had seen from within the safety of the dome. No lofty mountains graced by crashing waterfalls. No pine forests or fields blessed with an abundance of wildflowers.

Instead, a barren wasteland welcomed him—a world without water. The parched earth cracked into jagged lines that widened into crevices.

The truth of the world beyond the domed sanctuary of Aeternae Noctis—a city of limited resources, where children were regularly culled for the sake of the community's survival—was like a stake through his heart. Above him, stars glittered in a cloudless sky growing light with impending dawn.

He stared at the brightening glow on the horizon. Fear pitched in his stomach. He was a creature of the night—he had been even as a human—but he had never feared the light before.

Now he did, his terror instinctive, primal.

Transfixed, he watched as the band of sunlight consumed all in its path, wringing pitiful drops moisture from the soil and setting aflame anything that could still burn.

His only salvation lay in the domed city of Aeternae Noctis which raced through eternal night, but it was nowhere in sight.

Day crept closer, ushering death in its wake.

Erich drew in a shuddering breath. Despair crushed hope. The sunlight for which his people had yearned was the source of death. The paradise beyond the dome of which his people had dreamed was hell.

His muse had cursed him and abandoned him to eternal life in hell.

His bloodcurdling scream rose to the heavens, but could not drown out the sound of his breaking heart. Erich Dale, once human, now a vampire, turned and ran from the light of day. There was nothing left to do, nothing more he could do, except mourn the eternal night Tera had stolen from him.

The End

#  THE LAST OF THE JINN

K.N. Lee

Malah rummaged through the dead guard's clothing. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the man's chest as the heat of the room gained intensity. Malah grew dizzy and despite the heat felt a debilitating coldness crawl under her skin as her hand searched the last pocket.

Nothing.

She pulled her dagger from the guard's head and wiped it clean on the bottom of her nightgown. Her eyes scanned the corridor. Four dead Parthan soldiers lie on the stone floor. None of them had an antidote for whatever poison the clerics had given her. Her full belly churned. She pressed her hand to her belly and closed her eyes with a sigh. Life stirred beneath her palm.

Two innocent lives.

The Parthans may be strong and powerful, but her gifts gave her an advantage.

The Reen guards that patrolled the exit would not be so easy to kill. They were larger, stronger, and composed of stone.

Malah opened her eyes and breathed in deeply. Within moments, cold air made her golden skin tighten and her toes and fingers numb. Her arms raised and she squeezed her eyes closed as she fed power to the air around her. She peeked through one of her eyelids to see the stone guards turn from brown, to gray.

Frozen, they would not give her any trouble for the next few minutes.

Minutes. That's all she had.

Whispers filled her head as she ran down the chilly corridor. The dark didn't bother her, but the voices did. They'd never allow her to escape. Not when the entire planet needed her for its survival.

Malah didn't care about them anymore. She wanted to go home. If she could rid their poisons from her body, she could finally think straight again.

She cursed herself for being so stupid. Why had she allowed herself to fall in love? She should have known better. Love never ended well. Hadn't she seen the results of such a foolish emotion enough times before?

Malah wrung her hands. The gray guards slept upright, like statues, their hands formed into daggers, but kept inside the metallic scabbards at their sides. It looked like they simply had their hands in their pockets, but she knew better. She only hoped they wouldn't be activated before she could escape.

"One, two, three, four," she chanted into her cold hands. Her power was weak. She had neglected her practice for far too long. She rubbed her hands together and poured out a tiny burst of power. "Yolie! Please, come forth!"

A small light formed in the palm of her hand.

Malah smiled. Her heart thumped, but this time it was with hope. Perhaps her skills weren't too rusty after all.

The light turned into a ball. She kissed it and it began to take the form of a tiny figure. The figure uncurled itself from a ball and rested on its knees. Malah could have jumped for joy. Instead, she hid in a corner, with her back against the stone wall. She watched the tiny person look up at her with large red eyes that sparkled like rubies. Then, it tugged at its black hair, making it longer and longer, until the curling locks could be coiled around its body like a dress.

"Blessed One," the creature called. She stood in Malah's hand and looked around. "Where are we this time?"

Malah closed her eyes and sighed. She rested her head against the wall and shrugged. "Yolie, we are in big trouble. We are in Partha."

Yolie's big eyes widened. "No, Blessed One. We have to get out of here! This is not one of ours!"

"That's why I summoned you. I need your help."

Yolie nodded but pursed her thin lips. "But Blessed One, what do you need me to do?" She sprouted red wings and flew from Malah's golden hand to hover just inches from Malah's face.

Malah's gaze lifted to the open air ceiling. The passing sky beckoned to her. The clouds seemed to float and dance and she remembered what it felt like to be free. Free to fly with her family. She felt a stab in her heart as she realized that she would never fly with them again. She was the last, but she would not let that stop her.

"How did you get here, Blessed One?" Yolie asked. "We are far from home."

Malah sighed. She gave Yolie a sheepish look from beneath her golden bangs. "I was curious. I wanted to see what this new race looked like."

Yolie frowned. "Why? I don't understand."

Malah shook her head. "It isn't important. I need you to fly me out of here."

Yolie clapped her hands. "Oh yes! Yes! I can do it! Let's go home! Let's play together again. I do miss our games, Blessed One."

Malah glanced back. It was still quiet in the temple. She might have a chance. Her hands shook. She looked down at them and nearly wept. Blood covered her small golden hands. It had seeped into the crevices of her palm and dried to a dry, sticky, paste. She'd never had to kill anyone before. She'd never had a reason to.

Now, nine dead guards and a cleric would haunt her dreams for all eternity. Even if they deserved their fate, the guilt would never fade.

"Good," Malah said and stepped back to give Yolie room. "Go on. Shift."

Yolie made a face. "You forget, Blessed One. I need more of your blessing."

Malah sighed. She had forgotten. Her head was so full of fuzzy thoughts that she could barely think straight. She was losing time. The poison was too strong. Her vision blurred, but she nodded and held a palm out for Yolie to sit in. "Okay, quickly."

Yolie flew into Malah's hand and bowed on her knees.

Gold light filled the room as Malah ignited her blessing. Her golden body levitated as she breathed soft words into her palm. "I give you love. I give you light. I give you the power to Shift and take flight."

Yolie opened her eyes and smiled. "That was beautiful, Blessed One. Thank you."

Malah fell to her knees and hung her head, drained. "You deserve every blessing, Yolie. Now please hurry."

Yolie nodded quickly and flew into the air. She stretched her red wings and flexed her dangling legs. Her hair unwrapped from around her body and floated around her as she Shifted. Red feathers started to grow all over her pale naked flesh. Her face was covered, and her hair continued to float. Like a giant bird, Yolie's nose became a red beak and her eyes grew larger. She bowed to Malah.

"Climb on, Blessed One."

Malah leapt into the air with grace and landed onto Yolie's smooth back. She pressed her face to Yolie's feathers and held onto her neck.

"Take me home, Yolie," Malah whispered.

A loud explosion made Malah gasp. Shards of green magic shot out towards her. Something clamped around her neck and yanked her from Yolie's back.

Malah screamed for her friend as she was pulled from the air and sent crashing to the hard floor. Yolie fought back and was stabbed by the tip of a red bone spear. Her bird-like screech ripped through the air, sending waves of vibrations throughout the entire room.

Malah had to act quickly. She reached out and created a glowing door that hovered in the air. She could never live with the guilt of a friend's death, and so, she banished her. "Away with you!" she cried.

Yolie obeyed, as always. She nodded. Her white body flickered and faded into the cold air. Her essence seeped into the doorway and the door vanished.

Malah wiped the blood from her face and glared at the clerics in red cloaks that surrounded her. Protecting the clerics were Parthan soldiers with their bone spears.

Vornid peered down at her from beneath his hood. He reached a hand to Malah's face and grabbed her by her cheeks.

Malah squirmed as the abnormally tall cleric lifted her from the ground. She dangled before him like a child as his black eyes bore into hers.

"Who said that you could go anywhere, _Blessed One_?" he snarled.

* * *

Waking up was hard. Malah hadn't been beaten when she was returned to the royal chambers on the night of her failed escape attempt.

The Clerics injected her with more of their special poisons. The thick blue liquid filled her veins and forced her into a coma that was deep enough to make her sleep through the birth of her twin daughters.

Malah never even imagined actually birthing children. She'd never had to. She'd always had her blessings to keep her company.

She'd watched, from outside of her body, as her beautiful girls were taken from her stomach and ushered away. She'd wept and screamed, and no one had heard her. She'd pleaded with Dwy. She'd begged him to forgive her, let her have another chance at being a dutiful wife, and to, please, wake her up. She had been foolish, like a child. Curiosity got her tricked and captured.

Of course, no one could see her. The people of this land could not leave their bodies like the Jinn. And there were no more real Jinn. She was the last, and that is why they lured her with love and kept her prisoner.

She wondered if Dwy ever truly loved her. He'd been so gentle in the beginning.

Malah knew the truth. The Parthans needed her for this last task. That was when the harsh reality truly hit her. She was merely a vessel. A treasure used to make their race more powerful.

Malah retreated to the corner of her quarters and curled into a ball, and waited for someone to finally awaken her.

The moment she opened her eyes and breathed fresh air again, didn't come until four years had passed.

Dwy stood beside her cot. His black eyes were fixed on hers. He touched her face.

"Dwy," she croaked.

He reached over and handed her a cup of red liquid.

Gremmina. A drink from her homeland's enchanted springs.

Malah snatched the cup from him. She wondered how he had got his hands on the precious fluid as she drank the pungent substance down. She watched him with wide eyes as she hurried to drink every drop. When the cup was empty, she shot to her feet. She balled her fists up and glared at him.

"You stupid creature," she said. "You do know that Gremmina gives me enough strength to kill all of you. I could crush this palace into a pile of rubble."

Footsteps drew her attention. Her glare shot to Vorrid. He came from the archway that led to her study room. He was cloaked as always and carried a large pitcher of the Gremmina.

Malah stepped back. "It isn't Gremmina? Is it?" Even as she asked the question she knew the answer. It had to be Gremmina. She could feel its effects. But why would her enemy give her such a valuable weapon?

Vorrid nodded. He poured more into the cup. "It is, Blessed One."

Malah raised a brow. "You sound as if you mean it now. And yet, you do not pay homage." Her hands were held ready to summon all manners of creatures to aid her in killing them both. One thought stopped her. She had two girls somewhere in the palace that she would not leave without.

To her surprise, they both bowed to her.

Malah swallowed. "What are you up to?"

Vorrid and Dwy shared a look. Dwy was king. Vorrid was his personal cleric, the most powerful sorcerer in Partha. But while at her optimum strength, Malah did not fear anyone or anything. She would never let her guard down again.

"Shall I show her?" Vorrid asked from his knees. When Dwy nodded, Vorrid stood and turned to walk across the large stone room to the tall window that stretched from the high ceiling to the granite floor. Malah watched him.

Her heart beat loudly in her ears. She only wanted her daughters, Keema and Livie. Dwy had at least told her about their daughters' triumphs and milestones during her long slumber. She wondered if he knew that she had seen it all. Even if her physical body was at rest, her mind could still work wonders. She had watched them grow, but from a painful distance.

When Vorrid opened the black shutters, Malah slumped to her knees. Her hand shot to cover her mouth as she stared at the scene outside her bedroom window. The once lush and beautiful land of Partha was a black, desolate wasteland.

Malah stared at the scene with wide, horrified eyes. When she finally found her voice she stuttered, "What happened?"

Vorrid sat in a stone chair at her breakfast table beneath the window. He removed his cloak's hood and ran his long, thin fingers through his silver and black hair. He sighed.

"Sire," he began. "You should tell her."

Dwy took a deep breath. He was a big Parthan, with broad shoulders and muscles that bulged. He towered over her by two feet and now he looked small to her. He looked afraid.

That made Malah afraid. And Malah had rarely ever felt fear.

"You did this, Blessed One."

Malah came to her feet. Her jaw hung slack. "What?"

Vorrid nodded. "It is true. As you slept, you destroyed our land. We want you to forgive us, and leave."

Malah's hands balled into fists. She hadn't realized what she had done during her slumber, she'd been so focused on her children. She hadn't paid attention to what the dark places in her mind were doing to the world outside.

An almost evil grin came to her lips. "You should have listened to me. I told you who and what I was, and you tricked me. I may have been too young to learn everything from the other Jinn before they vanished, but your treachery has taught me a great lesson." Her palms opened. "I hope I taught you something as well."

She breathed into both of her palms and summoned two giants to restrain her husband and his cleric. The cleric and the king didn't even fight back. They were docile, defeated.

She raised a hand and the door burst open. Freedom. She darted like lightning through the palace.

"Keema! Livie!" she shouted at the top of her lungs until she was hoarse. She swept past palace servants too quickly for them to even catch a glimpse of her. When at full power, a Jinn was unstoppable. The Parthans knew that now. They'd never doubt again true power.

Her hair flew behind her as she searched for her children. Hate and rage boiled inside of her. The Parthans would pay.

They already had. She'd made sure of that. She didn't pause when she saw that there weren't any guards around to stop her. All she passed as she searched the labyrinth of hallways were frightened servants and clerics who bowed to their statues and begged for forgiveness and aid in their last hours. The sight almost made Malah feel bad for them.

Almost.

She finally sensed them, her babies. She could smell their sweet golden hair that was nearly the same shade as her own. Her little beauties would rule worlds once she took them from this place. She pushed through the double doors that led into the temple. She slowed down at the sight of rows upon rows of Parthan citizens and clerics bowed to the worship platform at the end of the red and black room.

Malah's eyes went down the aisle. She froze when she finally saw them. Malah's golden face turned red as she saw the bodies of her daughters laid on a pyre before the god Huji, a large snake-like statue of gold. To the bitter end, they remained pagans.

Her scream remained trapped in her throat. She felt every vein pulse with rage as black tears poured from her eyes. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak.

Their tiny bodies were impaled and now waited to be burned. Finally, Malah found her voice, and with a scream she called every creature she'd ever learned about as a child in the temples. She called them forth with one breath of power. Chaos erupted in the palace, but Malah was numb to it all. Her spawn killed everyone in sight as she slowly walked over to the golden pyre. She stroked her daughters golden hair and buried her face in the silken strands.

The black tears fell down her cheeks as she sobbed like a baby. She'd never had a chance to hold them. Not in real life. Only in her dreams.

A familiar whistle made her pause.

"Yolie?" she whispered.

"Blessed One! We can go now! Let's go!"

Malah turned to her. She almost smiled at her friend's beauty. She glowed in the midst of such darkness. Behind Yolie was a massacre. Her creatures had killed everyone in sight and now, they all bowed to her, silent and waiting for a command.

Malah pulled her children free of the piles and cradled their bodies into either side of her as she sat on the bottom step of the worship platform.

Yolie looked confused. "Who are they?"

Malah wiped tears from her eyes and sucked in a painful breath. The tears wouldn't stop. She could barely talk.

"They are mine."

Yolie flew over to her. She landed on Malah's knee and looked at the girls. "Yours?"

Malah nodded. "Mine. I don't even want to think of what they could have been."

Yolie lifted herself off of Malah's knee and flew before her face. Her small face was full of innocence and purity that Malah almost felt at peace just by looking at her.

"They could have been true gods, like you," Yolie said.

Malah turned away. The shame was too much to handle.

"Right, Blessed One?"

Malah simply nodded. She didn't want to admit that she had failed not only her people on her planet, but her children.

Yolie flew closer and kissed the tip of her nose. "Do not cry, Blessed One," she said.

Malah sighed and tried to will away the tormenting pain in her heart.

"We can make another world," Yolie said. "It wasn't so hard the first time. I remember when we started that world centuries ago. Since then we've become much better, right?"

Malah felt even deeper sorrow at her first failed world.

"Can't you breathe life back into their bodies?" Yolie asked.

Malah shook her head. She looked down at her children. Their souls were already gone. Malah stroked their hair.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a baby mouse skitter across the floor, the last surviving creature of her world. Yolie caught the tiny, grey creature, cradled it in her own small hand.

"Life is such a fragile thing," she said, before letting the creature go free.

Malah gently laid her children down, kissed their foreheads, and reached a hand out for Yolie to rest in. Yes, so fragile, but together, they would give life one last try. They would make one more world. Malah vowed that if they failed again, then she would simply rest.

She'd rest until the pain faded. She'd never fall in love with her creations again.

The End

#  BOONE'S JOURNEY

Kirstin Pulioff

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

The familiar pattern of flashing lights lulled her into the place between complacency and comfort. Talia's lips pursed, humming in beat to the light's pulsations as she flew through the motions, marking items systematically off her imaginary checklist. Landing gear ready – check, deceleration auto pilot – check, sensory gauge on – check, vodka – check, check. Everything seemed in place. Rebooting the computers on the Turinth Outposts had been part of her mission for the past five years, making this more of a habit than a challenge.

Preliminary reports done, Talia stretched out along her seat, resting her feet on the window above the control panel, letting the vodka seep down her throat until it burned. Even with her eyes closed, the lights flashed in her mind, amplifying the headache pounding in her head. No matter how many times she had made this trip, it still wore on her. Not even the harsh drink could erase the dull pain at the base of her neck, as the edges of the headrest cut in.

She had cursed the budgetary cutbacks over the years as everything conceived as a potential comfort had been reduced to bare bottom materials. Although whoever thought a padded seat cushion amounted to luxury had certainly never ridden in a cruiser for eighteen hours straight. But as long as the cutbacks stopped at equipment, and not her paycheck or liquor, Talia didn't mind. To her, the new bottle in her cabinet was just as impressive, if not more useful, than the new award sewn into her sleeve.

Truth be told, none of it really bothered her – the silence, the space, and the freedom outweighed any discomforts. She always made a show of volunteering, but honestly, she looked forward to this trip. Missions this easy rarely popped up, and in terms of simplicity, this one was mindless. All that it required was acceptance of isolation, knowledge of basic electronics, and familiarity with the outdated tools left at the outposts. The former she had in spades, the rest, she had learned to improvise.

Anchored to the second moon of Turin, the outposts served as a communication buoy and welcome sign for their quadrant of the galaxy. Nestled between two black holes, electromagnetic disturbance wreaked havoc on their communication and visibility. The solution was the outposts. Built hastily as the planets colonized, the outposts connected communication between planets through a crude hardwired system and a complex arrangement of satellites and transponders. The system needed to be updated, but justifying the cost was hard to explain when no one wanted to admit to limitations or deficits. There was a system in place, and that seemed to appease most – no matter how outdated that system was.

One more hour and she would be there. Beyond her feet, she saw the outposts emerge out of the darkness. Large metal beams stacked atop each other, narrowing in toward the top, making a ladder or a temple depending on the angle. The lights flashed along the edge of the beams, with a hypnotic pull, while underneath the metal a tangled web of wires hid.

She remembered her first trip here and the terror when she had climbed that metal monstrosity for the first time. It was amazing her heart hadn't jumped out of her chest; it hammered more than she had on the wires. Working with the archaic tools, she'd managed to burn through the outer shell of her suit with the soldering iron, and barely held onto the melted wires that ran throughout the beam. If it weren't for some quick thinking, and a reserve of brass nerves, the entire communication system would have faltered.

That victory drink had never tasted so good.

The thing about victory drinks though, after the first one, the rest pale in comparison, leaving a hollow pang of longing. She knew that feeling too well. Another sip of Amilibia vodka coated her throat, burning a slow path.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

She watched the lights between her boots, flickering in a pattern vaguely reminiscent of her previous night on Amiliba, and smiled. The sickly sweet drink rested on her lips, teasing her with its burn and memories.

Amiliba was a strange combination of agriculture and pharmaceuticals. From above, circular paths marked the different regions, as the natural farms wound between the greenhouses and manufacturing plants. Boasting the highest ratio of pills per person, warehouses lined the streets, responsible for both growing and transforming their food into capsules. As with any business or development, as technology changes, so do demands, and the waning interest created more abandoned buildings. These darker corners called to Talia, luring her in with other types of pills and promises. The closest planet to the base, Amiliba always proved an irresistible temptation before every mission.

The visions pulsed in sync with the lights and her lips parted in remembrance. Nights there flew by way too fast, and the distracting memories quickly faded with duty's renewed claim on her focus. But with this mindless mission, she could reminisce for one more day. That's what she wanted, one more day to remember the warmth of his embrace, his breath on her neck, and the way her body moved free of its cumbersome suit. The bottomless drinks and the thick haze of smoke helped erase any thoughts of preserving her reputation. One night was usually enough to remind her that she was still alive, that the restrictions of her suit and decorated awards hadn't erased her yet.

The thick, pink drink snuck through her smile, catching in the back of her throat. Before she could stop her cough, vodka sputtered out, coating the dash in sticky pink.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue, red, red, red.

Crap, crap, crap. Her feet flew down in an instant, knocking over manuals, and the rest of her drink as she leaned over the instrument panel. The lights above the round dashes flickered in warning, as her drink seeped between the cracks.

"No, no, no, this can't be happening," she protested. She swore loudly as she wiped down the instrument panel, watching as the liquid disappeared into the dash. Her fingers dripped with her favorite drink, a sticky mess.

Red, red, red, red.

She had no idea what to do. A knot tightened in her stomach as she watched the colored lights stutter in false patterns, no longer connected to the outpost. Her fingers found a way to her mouth, but the sweetness of the drink had soured.

"Base command, can you read me? Base command, come in. Dammit!" She slammed her fist onto the panel as the sporadic flickering slowly faded and the interior of the cruiser turned black.

"This is not happening." She flicked the controls up, down, and sideways, bruising her palm. "Dammit!" she cursed again.

Leaning back, the lights from the outpost taunted her. Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

Tears stung, brimming at the edge of her eyes. Her chin quivered uncontrollably as her mind raced. Silent accusations hit her. How could she be so stupid? And more importantly, she thought, noticing the darkness around her as the cruiser began to drift and spin away. How long would it take for someone to find her?

Get yourself together. She closed her eyes, letting the darkness fill her senses and realign her sight. Their suits, although garish and constricting, were lined with reflective strips. When she held her arm forward, she could see a few feet in front of her. The phosphorus light emitted enough to differentiate between the color-coded wires.

Deep breaths, slow breaths, she reminded herself, slowing her heart beat to dull thumps as her basic training resurfaced. There was nothing to this – a simple, systematic approach was required. This wire to that wire, and repeat. Backup systems were programmed into the cruiser for cases like this. She would get the lights up and running in no time. Probably with just enough time to find her hidden stash before realigning with the outpost.

Clearing the seat of the fallen manuals with her forearm, she wedged herself into the floor compartment, tracing the floor until she found the small ridges outlining the tool area. The box should have all the tools she needed, and access to the main control panel.

The squeak of the door broke the silence, following by the clanking of tools as she pulled and discarded most until she found what she needed. Even in the dim light she saw the clouds of her breath, reminding her that the heating system was connected to the main computer as well.

Time was running out in more ways than one.

The screwdriver slipped beneath her grasp, clattering as it fell to the floor. Her fingers froze from the stress and falling temperatures. Her mind conjured up repair processes her body could not carry out. Her second attempt to operate the screwdriver worked better, although the tip jumped out of its designated groove. Even in the panic-inducing darkness, she would not admit her ineptitude to be due to her trembling from fear. A ruse needed to be a ruse, even to herself.

She learned long ago in the dark tunnels, and isolation chamber, fear was not tolerated. Precise, calculated, fearless. Those were the qualities they wanted. That was what she needed to be. Wearing her suit, that is what she had learned to be. Her suit enabled her to disassociate herself from any predicament long enough to resolve the problem, sometimes longer. Maybe that was why she had volunteered so readily for this mission, and shed her suit so quickly on Amiliba. She licked her fingers, waiting for the familiar burn to come. It didn't.

Sweat dripped down her cheeks, despite the cold temperature of the ship. She read the red line on the temperature gauge: forty-five degrees, and dropping. If she didn't get the power on soon, she would need to get in her full suit, and there would be no room to maneuver in that. She needed the control panel open, and now.

With concentrated effort, she turned the screwdrivers until a faint click sounded. Anticipation flooded her as she gripped the loosened edges. Prying open the door, she jumped back as a mess of wires fell into her lap.

Her head hit the seat in frustration. The pit in her stomach widened as she pulled out each frayed wire. Her last string of hope diminished as the silver and copper frayed tips scratched her fingers. She threw the tangled mess against the wall.

Besides sabotage, she only knew of one thing that could cut through those wires: the dirty gray mice from Xangtu. They had docked there a month ago and apparently, despite her urging, no one had taken the proper precautions.

Now what was she going to do? She shuddered, and pulled the cuff over her hands for warmth.

She reached forward in desperation, hoping something would hold, feeling her resolve crack as sobs slowly burst forth, shaking her to the core. She grabbed recklessly, yelling as shorn wire after shorn wire fell limp to the floor beside her.

Her cries changed to delirium as her hand held still. Something was still connected.

Into the tool box past her elbows, her face hung close to the ground, she smelled the sickly sweet drink that had spilled. The pull was stronger than her disgust, and despite being tangled in the wires, her tongue found a way to the ground. Despite the slightly altered taste, the familiar burn returned.

Hanging upside down, sticky pink on her cheek, she probably would have laughed, had the circumstances been different. Resisting another taste, she dove further into the cramped space, cringing as the metal edges dug into her arms.

The silence broke with an alarm. A shrill buzzer filled the quiet, followed by her scream. She jerked her arm back feeling something burn her forearm. The rancid stench of burning skin quickly mixed with the ammonia stench of the coolant.

One quick look showed her mistake. In her clumsy attempts, her grabbers had slipped into the coolant capsule, breaking the protective seal. She watched in horror as the coolant sprayed out of the compartment. A pang of disappointment hit her, as the bottom disappeared under a layer of purple syrup. Before she could pull herself up, it had coated her shoes, the discarded wires, and the palms of her hands. The acid stung as it burned the outer layer and worked its way up her nose. The pain, although awful was tolerable. The smell was not. She pulled herself out of the tight compartment, and stared at the dark dash, praying that something would illuminate the darkness.

She could no longer hold back the tears. Banging her head back against the seat, she rocked back and forth, cursing her bad luck.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

She wanted to scream at the lights outside. Those infuriating lights laughed at her with each pulse. This was supposed to be simple. Her teeth began chattering, a drumming accompaniment to the new buzzing from the coolant alarm. This was going from bad to worse, fast. Taking off her boot, she lugged it at the dash, regretting her action immediately as it landed with a splash below.

"No!" she yelled, watching sparks fall from the one active wire into the purple coolant. A new whirling siren blared in her ears. Before she could register what she had done, the cruiser burst into alarm as sparks flew around her.

She winced as she pounded on the buttons, and flicked switches, hearing her voice crack as she called out into radio silence.

"Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup at the Turinth Outposts. Can anyone hear me?"

She held her breath, waiting for something, any form of acknowledgment.

"Come on," she yelled. "Answer me, dammit. Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts."

Nothing, not even static responded.

"Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts." Her words jumbled together, as she repeated her call.

"Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, electrical malfunction onboard, stranded, requesting backup. Turinth Outposts. Save me, I'm not ready to die." Her last words quivered.

A flash of light blinded her. Her instruments burst into flame. Terror punched her in the gut. Smoke filled the lower chamber and worked its way up quickly, choking her breath.

"Delta Foxtrot Turin 434, fire onboard, abandoning ship," she said through a cough as she grabbed her helmet and gloves.

Silence answered. The communicator was out, the computer down, and she had no locator for tracking. Without that bleep, she was adrift, lost in the wide sea of stars.

Forgotten, or presumed dead. With no more than thirty minutes of air.

"I can't die," she whispered into the fizzing background. "Not like this."

She looked around the dark cabin, searching the corners for anything that would put the fire out, or start the engine.

Her chest heaved as smoke filled her, burning her throat and lungs. Each second she delayed her escape, amplified the misery. Swinging her hands to clear the smoke, she felt her gloves slide over something. A soft undulating light flickered at her as the light from her suit highlighted a chain.

The emergency chain, how could she have forgotten about that?

Taking her gloves off, she gripped the frozen metal in her hand and pulled. It didn't budge. She tried again, nothing happened. The emergency program had frozen with the computer.

She threw her gloves back on and sealed the helmet around her neck, not wasting time on futile emotions. The smoke, although no longer choking her, blinded her vision. The fire no longer idly crawled across the floor. Red flames ate at the broken seat and above on the instrument dash, encroaching on the small personal space she had retreated to behind her seat.

She only had one more chance, if she could reach it.

Hidden behind a wall of black smoke and flames, the escape hatch became her sole focus. Thrusting through the wall of smoke and flames, she felt her skin melt beneath the thick suit. She fumbled in the darkness, feeling for the latch that would release the window. She had kicked it so many times resting back on the seat, but now, it eluded her.

Tears stung as they slid down her cheek, and sobs echoed in her helmet. This can't be it, not like this. Her fingers slid against the wall. "Not like this," she yelled out aloud as her hands grasped the rigid handle.

She pulled. The fire froze. Immediately all sound silenced.

Her skin hurt.

Turning her wrist over, she looked at the flashing red numbers, automatically started when the suit sealed, a descending and rhythmic countdown. Somehow that computer still managed to function, she fumed. With thirty minutes of oxygen, she'd only put off the inevitable.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

Beyond her shoulder, the pale outline of her yellow cruiser had already disappeared to nothing. Her gasps increased as the warning beeps sounded around her. Her chest tightened as she struggled to find the right emotion. A chuckle shook her body, exaggerating the hysterics consuming her. Drifting away, she watched the familiar lights disappear under the brighter cosmos as she melted into the dark void of space, joining the distant stars.

Her mind raced trying to find something, someone who would miss her. Trying to find something she had left behind. Finally, she understood why they trained her for isolation. It wasn't to strengthen her. It was to strengthen the program, a necessity to separate them from everyone else. No one would notice she was gone. No one would care. In the harsh light of despair, the worthiness of her cause dematerialized. Painful sobs racked her body until the tears ran dry and all that was left was a numb shell of emotion.

The steady rhythm of red light pulsing on her shoulder grabbed her attention. Under the red beam, highlighted like a fresh wound, her mission patches seemed to bleed. Not even her name, Talia Boone stayed pristine. She lost count of her awards, feeling no consolation in their honor.

She had travelled the galaxy, but now, on her final journey, she regretted how little she had actually travelled. Her cheeks chilled as a final stray tear fell down her cheek, followed by a sorrowful heart full of forgotten dreams. It is funny how in the last moments, the regrets stood out. The hallowed words that had shaped her life, the years of service, all revealed as empty and insincere.

With her eyes closed, she wished her heart to slow. The erratic beats slowly fell into line, a soft bump under the soft hum of the monitoring system. Letting go of the fight, she let her mind numb, allowed her consciousness to blend into the electronic noise, and embraced the emptiness.

Struggling to breathe, each breath constricted against her chest. An invisible enemy seemed to tighten its grasp with every intake of air.

Hollowness filled her. She opened her eyes slowly, expecting the darkness to swallow her whole. Instead the myriad of stars blended together in a haze of interconnected lights, rhythms, and pattern. One color streamed into another, emblazing the dark sky. New tears stung, refusing to fully disappear or release, waiting instead in a flood on the edge.

Time stretched and more star clusters and patterns appeared. Colors and combinations beyond anything she could imagine. Squinting at the carefully arranged stars, she wondered when she became blind to the beauty around her. At some point, she had forgotten to see them as more than a map.

Red, green, blue, red, green, blue.

She still found the pattern, and much more, hidden within the stars around her as they pulled her on a new journey.

The End

#  THE SECRET SIGNAL

##

## Matthew Kadish

Everyone on the ship was about to die. At least, that was the plan.

Typically when one signs up for a "suicide mission," death is part of the equation. The only question was when, exactly, that would occur. And by all accounts, it was going to happen the moment the _N-wave_ engine was activated.

Jax gripped the armrests of his chair tightly and took a deep breath to tame the chaos swirling in his gut. He took a little comfort from knowing that he wasn't the only one being racked by nerves. The tension on the bridge was palpable. Everyone watched Captain Vance, waiting for him to give the order that would determine their fates.

Vance sat in his chair, prominently situated at the center of the bridge, his light blue eyes gazing at the computer screens in front of him, which would let him know when the _N-wave_ engine had reached full power. Jax could hear the hum of the engine building, a sickening buzz that mixed in with the drumbeat of the blood pumping behind his ears.

Only fifty-six people had experienced _N-wave_ travel before – fifty-six people who had mysteriously disappeared without a trace and were presumed dead. It had all happened two years previously with the maiden voyage of the Thundercat – the very first faster-than-light spaceship. Humanity had colonized the moon. It had colonized Mars. With the advent of lightspeed travel, mankind had even made it to Jupiter's moons.

But that was all before Richard Pierson, of course.

He was the revolutionary who changed the world. A certified genius who had left great minds like Einstein and Stephen Hawkings in his wake. He'd pioneered matter/anti-matter conversion, quantum computing, matter replication, and cellular medicine. His advancements in science had jumped civilization ahead by generations. He had been the most respected, the most popular, and the richest man on Earth.

He was also Jax's father.

Growing up, Jax had seen his father work wonders as he made breakthrough after breakthrough in his lab. He'd watch his father in awe as he worked magic with the inventions he created. Jax always felt guilty that whatever genius his father possessed hadn't seen fit to find its way to him as well. He was just an average mortal, like everyone else. But his father never treated him like he was lacking. Instead, he'd regaled Jax with dreams and ideas, promising him that one day he'd get to see wonders the likes of which men had never imagined. But despite his father's kindness, Jax still harbored guilt over his inferiority.

Space was his father's greatest passion. He had liked to tell reporters and biographers about his childhood dreams of being a space explorer. He'd spend days and weeks at a time locked away in his lab, working on figuring out the key to his passion – the ability to visit far-off worlds in a matter of minutes instead of lifetimes.

The _N-wave_ engine was his brainchild. With it, humanity was no longer relegated to its own solar system. Now, it was possible to traverse vast distances by contracting space in front of a vessel and expanding space behind it, resulting in a quantum gravity wave that would propel the vessel forward faster than the speed of light. The _N-wave_ used a loophole to get around Einstein's universal speed limit, ensuring that travel in space would be as convenient as hopping a jet to visit another country. Visiting Alpha Centauri, Earth's nearest star, would take four seconds to travel to with an _N-wave_ , as opposed to four years traveling at the speed of light.

Working in conjunction with the United Nations, Pierson Labs helped foot the bill for the Thundercat, the first prototype _N-wave_ vessel. It was to make the journey from Earth to the colonies on Jupiter's moons and back. Jax's father had made it a point to captain the vessel himself, not wanting to sit on the sidelines as his creation made history.

And history it made, much to the horror of the world that had been watching.

Live feed from the Thundercat's bridge showed the countdown as the _N-wave_ engine powered up. When the clock hit zero, the engine engaged, and the feed disappeared. The Thundercat never made it to the colonies. It had just vanished, never to be heard from again.

Richard Pierson was thought to be dead by the world at large – killed by his own creation, along with the other brave members of his multi-national crew. But Jax refused to believe it. His father was the smartest man on the planet. He'd have never made a mistake that would kill so many people, let alone himself. Jax became obsessed with finding out what really happened to his father and his father's crew.

Once Jax had taken majority control of Pierson Labs, he had begun lobbying the governments of the United Nations to help support another mission. But after the tragedy of the first endeavor, _N-wave_ technology had been deemed a failure, and no country had been willing to sacrifice any more of their best and brightest for another attempt.

But Jax believed in his father's technology. So much so, he had spent his own fortune, and most of his company's, building a new _N-wave_ spacecraft. It was nowhere near as grand as the Thundercat – just a small, simple, grey metal vessel, the bulk of which was dedicated to the engine necessary to propel it to the far reaches of space.

He called the ship the Grey Mouse.

He'd assembled the best team he could to man it. Twenty of the finest men and women he could find – astronauts, engineers, and a small team of private military contractors. All of them signed on knowing the risk. They also knew the rewards should they succeed.

All his efforts had come down to this moment. The Grey Mouse had launched from Pierson Lab's space station orbiting the Earth's moon. The exact same coordinates the Thundercat had been set to follow had been punched in. Now the engine was ready to fire.

Captain Vance looked to Jax, as if asking permission to give the order.

Jax felt his chest tighten. His pulse raced.

_This will be the only time I get to follow in your footsteps, Dad,_ he thought. _I pray I have it in me to do you proud..._

Jax gave the nod.

"Engage N-wave engine," Vance ordered.

Sarah Smith, the pilot, flipped the switch to activate the engine. "N-wave engine engaged."

At first, nothing happened. Then an alarm beeped on Sarah's console. Before she could respond, a blinding flash of light filled the bridge, accompanied by something that could only be described as a thunderclap.

Jax grabbed onto his seat and gritted his teeth. It felt like he was being crushed by a ton of bricks. The entire ship shook violently around him. He could hear the grunts and cries of the rest of the crew. He felt his stomach leave him far behind and when he managed to open his eyes, all he could see was a bright blur as the ship seemed to shimmer before him.

And just like that, it was over.

No sooner did the _N-wave_ disengage than Jax vomited. The sound of retching and the smell of bile swamped his senses as other members of the crew had similar responses. Jax's head spun, and when it wasn't spinning, it throbbed. He unbuckled his safety harness and slid out of his chair, falling to his hands and knees on the cold metal floor of the bridge. The room tilted at odd angles until his head recovered. When he looked up, Captain Vance was hunched over his displays, vomit staining his neatly-trimmed white beard.

"Report," Vance croaked.

"N-wave jump completed, Captain," Sarah replied checking her readouts. A relieved sigh escaped her. "We made it!"

There was a weak cheer, followed by applause on the bridge. As far as suicide missions went, this one had gone pretty well so far.

Jax shook his head. _This doesn't make sense_ , he thought. _We used the same design as the Thundercat's engine. The same coordinates. Why would we make it and not my dad?_

"Radio the Europa colony," Vance ordered. "Let them know of our successful arrival."

"Um... sir," replied Li Ying, the ship's communications officer. "I'm not getting any colonial signals."

Vance gave her a curious look. "What do you mean?"

"The colonies, sir," she said. "They're not there."

Jax got to his feet and stumbled toward Vance. "Location," he grunted, his stomach a knot of nerves. "Where are we?"

"Pulling up star charts," Sarah replied.

Everyone on the bridge waited with baited breath as Sarah ran her star charts through the computer.

"I'm... I'm not getting a match," she said.

"What does that mean?" asked Colonel Dryer, the weathered head of the military contractor group.

"It means the computer has no idea where we are," replied Jax.

Vance grimaced. "External cameras," he ordered. "Put it on the screen."

The Captain rose out of his seat as the primary viewscreen came to life, the image outside the ship coming into focus. The scene before them caused the entire crew – to a man – to gape in surprise.

They were surrounded by thousands of spaceships – of all shapes and sizes – floating desolately in the surrounding space. And there, at the center of them all, a small emerald planet the likes of which none had ever seen, shone bright like a sickly jewel, its red sun blazing in the distance.

"Dear God," muttered Vance as he turned and met Jax's stare. "Where are we?"

* * *

"An error message?" grumbled Dryer. "You couldn't have noticed that _before_ we travelled to God knows where?"

Sarah glared at him, pushing her blonde hair out of her face and behind her ear. "It didn't occur until the _N-wave_ engine was activated," she shot back. "There was no time to account for it before the engine engaged."

The command crew was huddled around Sarah's station, trying to figure out what had happened. The fact that no star charts seemed to be recognized by the ship's navigation computer suggested they were no longer in Earth's solar system. The graveyard of spaceships they were floating among led them to conclude they were somewhere accessible by numerous alien races. And so far, all scans of the mysterious planet they were orbiting had come up inconclusive.

"What was the error message?" Jax asked.

"It was a computational error," Sarah replied. "Our course coordinates were adjusted the moment the _N-wave_ engine went live."

"You mean the navigational computer malfunctioned?" Vance asked.

"The computer didn't malfunction," Sarah said. "It was reprogrammed."

"By who?"

"No one, sir," Sarah replied.

"Then how was our destination changed?"

"I don't know."

Jax's head buzzed. Could this be what happened to his father as well? Had something reprogrammed his ship to travel somewhere he couldn't escape from?

"If the nav computer was given new coordinates to go to," Dryer said, "does that mean you can figure out where we are?"

"Not at the moment," Sarah muttered. "The computational error occurred because wherever we are, the coordinates are completely unknown to us. Whatever hit our computer pulled us here like a fish on a line... wherever 'here' is. If I could find a frame of reference, I might be able to figure something out, but until we do that..."

"We're stuck," Jax said, finishing her thought.

"Yes," said Sarah gravely. "And that's assuming that whatever reprogrammed our nav system won't do so again the minute we try to do another _N-wave_ jump."

Jax grimaced. He looked up at the viewscreen. The emerald planet lay before them, shimmering in the light of its red sun. The other starships floated around them, gently turning in space, like corpses in water.

"Get to work on those coordinates," Vance ordered. "I'll have some people start searching for whatever it was that reprogrammed our computer. With any luck, we may still be able to jump out of here."

"I wonder how many of them thought the same thing," Dryer grumbled, looking at the graveyard of spaceships outside.

Jax couldn't help but wonder that as well. His father was the smartest man alive. If he hadn't been able to figure a way out, what chance did they have?

_Wait a minute..._ he thought. _That might be the answer!_

"The Thundercat," Jax said. "We need to find it."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Pierson," Vance replied. "I think figuring out how to get home takes priority."

"Don't you see?" Jax said. "My father would have tried to figure that out, too! If his ship is still out there somewhere, it might contain clues as to what happened—"

"And how to get back!" Sarah chimed in. She looked at Vance, excited. "Richard Pierson was the smartest man to ever live. Maybe he could give us a place to start?"

"Not the worst idea I've ever heard," muttered Dryer. "But how are we going to find his ship? There must be thousands of them out there..."

"That might be easier than you think," Li Ying said, holding a headphone to her ear at her station. She turned and smiled at the group.

"I'm picking up a distress signal."

* * *

The Thundercat was floating among several other large ships. In a way, it did look like a cat – a sleek one with its ears pointed back. Seeing it made Jax sad. It looked doubtful it housed any survivors.

Dryer led his men to the staging area of the airlock where they climbed into their spacesuits. Jax joined them. Captain Vance voiced his objection about the head of this mission joining in such a risky endeavor, but Jax reminded him that the whole point of this excursion was to find out what happened to his father, and he wasn't about to pass up their first opportunity for some answers.

The Grey Mouse maneuvered a path through the drifting ships to the Thundercat's docking bay. Jax waited nervously among the armed men of Dryer's team for the ship to dock. The ship rocked as it made contact, and the airlock's red light turned to green, signaling it was okay to enter. Without the artificial gravity of the Grey Mouse, they floated through the open hatch to the Thundercat, the only light coming from the beams strapped to their weapons.

Inside the derelict ship, all was dark. The corridors were lifeless. The team went room to room, checking every corner they could find as they made their way further in.

"Where is everyone?" Dryer muttered over the comms.

"Maybe they're all in the bridge," Jax responded.

"This ship had a big crew," Dryer said. "You'd think we'd have seen some bodies by now."

As far as Jax was concerned, fewer bodies meant a greater possibility they were still alive. Despite the odds, he was hoping his dad had somehow survived.

Finally, they made it to the bridge. They opened the door to find that it, too, was empty.

"I don't get it," Dryer said. "The whole ship is abandoned. Where did they go?"

"We won't get any answers until we restore power," Jax said. He radioed Vance and ordered him to have the engineers patch the Thundercat into the Grey Mouse's generator. Once that was complete, he began booting up the bridge, restoring enough power to start up the systems.

Jax could feel a rising tension as Dryer and his men looked around as though they expected something hiding in the dark of the ship to jump out at them any second. He was on edge, as well. He'd started this expedition to find answers, and so far, it had only raised more questions.

As the Thundercat's systems booted up, a voice boomed throughout the ship.

"Aggatay. Zeppa Mine. Detaor Simpata. Aggatay..."

The assault team jumped, pulling their rifles to their shoulders and looking around frantically for its source. It was a deep voice, and as it echoed through the empty corridors of the ship, it couldn't help but sound menacing.

"Stand down!" Jax ordered, looking at the control panel in front of him. "It's just a recording."

Dryer glared at him. "A recording of what?" he asked. "Who on this ship would speak like that?"

"No one," grumbled Jax as he took a closer look at the computer's readings. "The recording is coming from the planet."

* * *

"Can you make out what it's saying?" Jax asked Li Ying as she listened to the message at her station back aboard the Grey Mouse.

Li shook her head. "It seems to repeat itself," she muttered. "Like it's on a loop. Do you hear these beeps?" She played the recording aloud. After the voice finished talking, a series of beeps sounded out. "I think that marks the end of the recording."

"Yeah," growled Dryer, gazing out the viewscreen at the planet. "But who recorded it?"

"Could have been anyone on one of these ships," Vance mused. "Under any other circumstances, this would be the find of the century. Who knows how many alien civilizations are represented here in the form of their spacecraft?"

"I'm more interested in why they're here to begin with," Dryer said. "And why none of them left."

"There's something else here," Li said, eyeing the waveform readings on her monitor as the recording played.

"What?" asked Jax.

"There are multiple audio signals encoded into the message," Li said. "Listen..."

She applied a filter, and suddenly the language changed to something new. It spoke, until the beeps came to signal the start of a new loop.

"I'll have to play with it some more," she said. "See what, exactly, is contained within the signal."

Before Jax could tell her to go ahead, Sarah spoke up. "Mr. Pierson," she said. "I've found something."

Jax joined Vance and Dryer at Sarah's station as she called up a datafile on the main viewscreen.

"Your father had a personal folder on the Thundercat's computer drive," she said. "There are a number of files here dated after the time they disappeared."

Jax eyed the files. Some of them were strictly data files. Others appeared to be videos.

"Open the videos in chronological sequence," he said.

Sarah did as commanded. The first video had an image of Richard Pierson on it. He was in his personal quarters. Jax smiled. His father was in the same Captain's uniform he was wearing the last time Jax had seen him. His kind, blue eyes gazed into the camera; his chestnut hair and beard neatly trimmed.

"Personal log, entry one..." Richard Pierson began. "The _N-wave_ test did not go as planned. After reviewing our ship's logs, we found that there was some type of signal which reprogramed our navigational computers moments before the _N-wave_ engine engaged. After further analysis, it seems this signal piggybacks off the quantum gravity waves the engine is meant to tap into, meaning it was impossible to see it until we entered the wave."

He chuckled.

"It figures, doesn't it?" he said. "My _N-wave_ theory works by breaking the laws of physics. I guess it's only natural lawbreakers will be punished somehow..."

He sighed and scratched his beard.

"Now that I know the signal exists, I plan to isolate it. With any luck, there will be a way to shut it off. Or at least, get around it. On the bright side of things... the _N-wave_ engine works! Now I just need to get back home to tell everybody."

The video ended. Sarah called up the second one.

"Personal log, entry two... isolating the signal is turning out to be more difficult than I anticipated," Richard said into the camera. "We've been conducting mini-wave jumps in an attempt to get a read on it. Of course, all our jumps pull us back into the orbit of this green planet. It's also draining our power reserves quicker than I'd like. The Thundercat was not outfitted for a long journey. If I don't get the readings I need soon, we might not have enough energy to keep trying."

Next video.

"Personal log. I've been sending teams out to explore the derelict ships nearby in search of supplies to scavenge," Pierson said, his hair and beard now longer than in the previous videos. "Under other circumstances, I'd be incredibly excited at the opportunity to study alien vessels such as these. But my teams have thus far found no signs of alien life on the ships. No bodies. No corpses. Very little supplies. However, all the ships here in orbit around the green planet have one thing in common..."

He glared into the camera, his eyes turning cold.

"They all have _N-wave_ engines."

Vance glanced at Jax. "That would certainly explain why all these ships are here," the Captain muttered. "They fell into the same trap we did."

The next video played. Richard Pierson's beard had grown out, as had his hair, falling to around his shoulders in a shaggy mane. He looked tired.

"I've... lost the crew," he said. "They all headed toward the planet in the shuttles, looking for food. I warned them to stay away. I theorize the planet is made up of a crystalline material which broadcasts the mysterious signal like some intergalactic radio tower. That's the only way to explain how it's able to reach so far. They will find no food or water there, but they no longer trust what I have to say. I theorize prolonged exposure to the signal may be affecting our minds. Only a few loyal followers have stayed behind with me. I just need a little more time... I'm so close to finding an answer. I can feel it..."

"There's only one more video," Sarah said as she opened the file.

The image of Richard Pierson was in stark contrast to the first video. He looked so thin. His eyes were tired. His beard had grown long, as had his hair. He looked like a completely different man as he stared into the camera.

"To any man or woman of Earth who might find this video," he said. "I pray you're never in a position to. But if you do... know that there is hope." The people on the bridge exchanged glances at Richard Pierson's words. Considering the circumstances, that was the first bit of good news they'd received. "I am leaving in my files coordinates back to Earth," he continued. "It took a long time, but I finally figured out where we are. We are in a solar system close to the core of our galaxy, approximately 20 million lightyears from our planet."

"Hole-lee crap..." muttered Dryer.

"That's... that's..." sputtered Vance.

"A hell of a long way from home," finished Jax.

"You will not be able to make a successful _N-wave_ jump," Richard continued. "Not until the signal is destroyed. I have discovered the source of it on the planet, the location of which I have also included in these files. I plan to take what crew I have left, and travel to the planet's surface in an attempt to disable it. If you are here... that means I have failed."

His face grew sad, and he looked down at his hands as he rubbed them nervously. He chuckled.

"I always wanted to explore strange new worlds... now it seems I'll have my chance..." He looked back to the camera. "If you're watching this... you will need to go to the location I've marked and disable the signal. I warn you – do not believe anything you hear. Do not believe anything you see. This planet... it is meant to deceive us. There is a secret here... one that the signal's creator wants kept safe. If you have any hope of escaping, you must do whatever it takes to destroy that signal, so that you can once again journey home."

He leaned closer to the camera. His face was so big on the screen, Jax felt like his father was looking right at him.

"If you do... and it's possible... tell my son..."

The hint of a tear began to form in his eye.

"Tell my son, I love him."

With that, the video went to black. Those on the bridge stood silently for a moment as Richard Pierson's final words settled on them. One by one, all eyes went to Jax.

"What do you want us to do?" asked Vance.

Jax seethed. If his father had failed, it meant he couldn't afford to do the same.

"Land the ship," Jax growled. "We're going to destroy that signal. And then, we're getting the hell out of here."

* * *

Dryer's team disembarked onto the surface with Jax in tow. The ground was crystalline as far as the eye could see, all made up of a brilliant emerald rock that contrasted with the deep crimson of the sky. Ragged pillars of crystal jutted out all over the place. The surface of the planet was littered with the wreckage of ships that had been impaled on the green spikes. It had taken the Grey Mouse hours of circling before it found an area flat enough to land on.

"Watch your step," Dryer told his men as they followed him. "This terrain is hazardous. The atmosphere here is almost non-existent. You won't last long if your suit is breached."

The men all acknowledged him. Dryer had the coordinates Richard Pierson had given them programmed into his datapad. The ship had landed as close to the coordinates as possible, but it was still a considerable march to reach it. As they approached their destination, the group froze.

A large circular crater dropped away before them. The ground at its base was flat and level. In the center stood a massive monolith, jutting thousands of stories into the air. It was made from the same emerald material as the surface of the planet with a massive symbol none of them recognized carved onto one face.

"Just a wild guess," muttered Dryer. "That's the broadcast tower."

Jax couldn't argue with his logic. "Come on," he said. "Time to interrupt the regularly scheduled program..."

The group made their way down the slope of the crater. As they approached the monolith, it appeared to grow even taller and more oppressive. A walkway lined by large emerald crystals, jutting up like columns from the ground, led to a grand archway into the structure.

There were no doors to the entrance. The team walked in, the lights on their weapons revealing their surroundings. In contrast to the green crystal outside, the interior of the monolith was made of veined grey rock. It was all chipped and crumbling, but still standing against the test of time. Majestic pillars lined the massive hallway inside. The veins in the rock glowed, giving an ethereal greenish-blue aura to the room. The group's footsteps echoed as they walked.

Jax had never seen anything like this in his life. The sheer majesty of the architecture captivated him. He gazed at the walls, which had drawings etched into them, the crevices of which glowed as well. There were pictures of what looked to be planets, surrounded by large spaceships. Images of alien soldiers clad in armor, with guns, killing other non-descript beings. Then, there was the same symbol that was carved into the face of the monolith, beams shooting from it, crushing all the aliens. Jax gazed at the drawings, trying to make sense of them. He figured it stood to reason that images would be a way of communicating to other races. But the images themselves were not very clear.

The group made their way further into the structure until they came to a large set of doors.

"Open it," Dryer ordered.

Two of his men rushed forward and pushed against the large double-doors as the rest of the group readied their weapons. A thick fog rolled out of the doorway, carpeting the floor around them. The inside was pitch-black, the darkness only broken up by the lights the group shined into it. Dryer checked his datapad.

"It's cold in there," he said. "Sensors are reading fifteen degrees Fahrenheit."

"Interesting," Jax replied. "Let's see what needs to be kept on ice."

The group made their way in cautiously. There were alcoves in the walls, containing statues of aliens. They were broad, with long snouts - similar to those of elephants - which hung down to their chests. They stood seven feet tall, their skin a light blue color which seemed to catch the light. Their foreheads sloped back, ridges of bone protruding from them. And they had large eyes, all of which appeared closed. One of the men got close to a statue, examining it. He poked it with the muzzle of his rifle.

"Ugly mothers," he muttered...

...right before the statue's hand reached out and grabbed him.

The soldier screamed as the alien's fingers dug into his chest. The group turned and aimed their weapons at the creature, but it held their man like a shield before it. The soldier's body convulsed as the alien pulled him tightly against its chest so he faced outward.

Jax looked in horror as the man's face lost all color, his mouth hanging open, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

"Help... me..." he rasped.

"Johnson!" Dryer called out to his man.

"Not... Johnson..." the soldier said. "Help... me..."

"Wait!" Jax shouted, keeping Dryer and his men from firing. The alien that held the soldier had its eyes open – large, cat-like eyes. It wasn't a statue after all – it was alive, subsisting in some type of cryogenic suspension that Johnson's prodding must have interrupted. "I think... I think it's communicating..."

"Yes..." Johnson replied, speaking for the alien.

"Who are you?" Jax asked.

"Prisoner... of the... signal..." it replied.

"What is the signal?" Jax asked.

"A powerful race... from long ago... set out to... conquer the galaxy..." it said. "Built this place... to prevent resistance..."

"So they could travel using the _N-wave,_ and no one else," Jax muttered.

"Yes..." it replied. "They're... gone... but their prison... remains..."

"Can you help us?" Jax asked. "Can you take us to the signal?"

"Yes..." it said, nodding.

The alien stepped forward with great difficulty, ice breaking from its body as it moved. It carried Johnson in front of it.

"You're seriously trusting this thing?" growled Dryer as they followed. "It killed one of my men!"

"He might not be dead," Jax whispered in reply. "And right now, it's the only thing that knows what we need to destroy."

They walked down the hall. Jax eyed each alien in every alcove, wondering how many of them were actually alive. They followed the alien to the center of the monolith – a great, cylindrical chamber that shot straight up, seemingly going on forever. A crystalline structure stood in the middle of the chamber, vibrating ever so slightly. As they approached, they saw bones and decomposing bodies melded with the crystals – a grim graveyard of those who had come before them.

And there, at the structure's base, Jax saw his father.

"Dad!" he cried, running forward, ignoring Dryer's shouts of warning.

Richard Pierson's body slumped against the structure, unmoving. His suit's helmet was off, his skin pale and white. Jax knelt beside him and shook him gently.

"Dad?" he asked, hoping beyond hope he was still alive.

His father's eyes opened. They were cloudy, but they seemed to recognize him.

"Jax..." he wheezed.

Then, his father's eyes transformed into green crystals. His mouth opened and an other-worldly voice spoke through him.

"Aggatay. Zeppa Mine. Detaor Simpata. Aggatay..."

His father's hand shot out, trying to dig into Jax's chest. Jax struggled to escape its grip.

"Kill... it..." the alien said.

Bullets tore into Richard Pierson's body.

"No!" Jax cried as he stumbled backwards, looking at Dryer in shock.

"He was already dead!" Dryer yelled. "You saw it! Something had taken control of him. And the same will happen to us if we don't blow this thing!"

Jax looked at his father's body. His heart grew cold as he saw this once great man reduced to a thin, bullet-riddled corpse. He steeled himself and decided to save his tears for later. He gazed up at the crystal structure, angry that it had robbed him of his father once more.

"Fine," he said. "Blow it to hell."

* * *

The monolith had collapsed in on itself once the charges were detonated. The group made it back to the Grey Mouse with Richard Pierson's body and their alien companion. They left the planet, flying back into orbit where they looked for a clear trajectory to make their jump.

Everyone on the bridge kept stealing glances at the alien, who was still cradling Johnson against his chest. The alien's cat-like eyes darted sharply back and forth amongst the crew. Dryer had stationed men close-by with rifles trained on it.

Jax was returning to Earth having solved the mystery of his father's disappearance, proving the validity of _N-wave_ technology, and having made first contact with an alien species... and yet, he did not feel it was a victory. Something troubled him. It was the look in his father's emerald eyes when he reached out to grab his chest that Jax couldn't get out of his mind.

Jax eyed the way the alien had its fingers dug into Johnson's chest. Had his father meant to do that to him? Did Richard Pierson have something he had been desperate to communicate? Had Jax been too blinded by grief to have realized it?

He glanced over to Li Ying, who was still obsessively pouring over the recording she'd made of the signal. Slowly, the hum of the _N-wave_ engine began to rise, signaling it was ready to engage.

"All systems are go, Captain," Sarah said.

"Everyone, brace yourselves," Captain Vance said. "It's going to be a bumpy ride."

With that, he gave the order to engage.

The second _N-wave_ jump was just as rough as the first. After it was over, Vance ordered the external cameras turned on. When Earth appeared on the screen, the bridge erupted in a cheer.

They'd made it.

"Well done, everybody," Vance said. "Li, let Earth command know we've returned."

Suddenly, Li's eyes grew wide as she turned to her screen. "Oh, no..."

Jax looked at her, concerned. "What is it?"

"The signal," she said. "The computer finally isolated a track... in _English_."

Jax looked at her screen as she played it. Richard Pierson's voice echoed throughout the bridge.

"<beep beep beep>I was wrong. The secret must be kept.<beep><beep><beep>I was wrong. The secret must be kept..."

Jax's mind raced. He thought of the drawings he'd seen. The videos his father had made.

This planet... it is meant to deceive us. There is a secret here... one that the signal's creator wants kept safe.

"The signal," he muttered, his mind piecing things together. He turned to the alien. "My father didn't fail to destroy it. He discovered that it needed to be protected! Why?"

The alien made a noise that could only be interpreted as a laugh.

"The signal... kept us from traveling..." it said. "Prevented my race from conquering... I was sent... to destroy it... but you... did our work... for us..."

"CAPTAIN!" Sarah screamed, looking at her console. "Multiple _N-wave_ readings! Ships are... _inbound!_ "

Everyone looked at the screen as fearsome starships, just like the ones etched into the monolith's walls, jumped into Earth's atmosphere, ready to attack. Jax looked at the alien in horror.

"The signal was meant to stop you," he gasped. "And we led you... right to us..."

The alien gazed at Jax, loathing in its large eyes.

"We shall... once again... conquer."

His father had figured out the warning. His son had once again failed to live up to his standard. Jax had silenced the signal. He'd exposed the secret.

And now, the whole galaxy would suffer.

The End

Also available from Matthew Kadish:

#  EXPECTATION

Michael Barnett

**L** ara awakes to the hum of the engines, as she does every morning. There is no sense of movement, so this is the only clue they are moving at all. Lara taps her wrist bracelet with her other hand, and the alarm vibration against the back of her wrist stops. She opens her eyes, throws off the covers, and swings her legs off the bed as she moves to a sitting position. Lara looks upon her one-piece suit, which she always wears, except when she goes through decontamination each day. After decontamination she gets to don a new set, and how different these clothes are from the ones her ancestors wore. She is so weary of white: why can't she wear the multi-colored dress, or the jeans of her ancestors? As her feet hit the floor, sensors turn on the viewers stretched across each wall. Scenic views of long-ago places she has never been appear; mountains, rivers, plains, and oceans. Lara has no connection with any of these scenes, but likes looking at the serene colors, and imagines being in these places. The clouds are her favorite, having a magical and somehow unreal quality.

"Why do you always wake up so fast?" her brother Lani asks, with a tinge of anger, from his bed on the far side of the room. "At least tell me you're awake and the viewers are coming on, so I can cover my eyes."

"You are such a complainer! You know we are to be at the nourishment center in five minutes, then on to history and science lessons."

"I despise those classes! Why does any of it matter?"

Lara stands and walks to the bulkhead viewer and waves her hand. The scene of a mountain river with waterfalls is replaced by a real scene of what is beyond the portal: parsecs and parsecs of vast space. She and her younger brother share the same distaste for this view, since what they see hardly ever changes. They always see swirls of stars, and objects which could be planets or asteroids, but at this distance, they can't be sure. She has decided she must tolerate this view to teach her brother another lesson.

"This is our world, where we are _now_ ," she says as she waves towards the view. "History tells us where we—our ancestors—originated. That is our _past_." She waves towards the panoramic views from Earth, and notices a detail she has always missed on a view of a meadow with a majestic mountain in the distance. Hidden in the grass is a small rodent, peering up at her. She scans her memories and remembers they called this a gray mouse; funny how she never noticed it before.

Lara turns and faces Lani, who is now sitting on the edge of his bed. She gives him her sternest look as she says, "Science and mathematics prepare us for our _future_."

"How many hundreds of times will you give me this speech?" asks Lani.

"How many hundreds of times will you ask the same dumb questions when we arise each day? We have no idea what to expect once we reach our destination. We need to be prepared for any possibility. I need to be confident you will be a valuable member of our team, not a liability."

"I will," Lani says to his older sister, with the confidence of a brave warrior. Lara knows better, since she knows him better than he does himself.

"Let's go, we can't be late," Lara says as she walks through the holodoor into the ship's interior. Lani hurries to her side as they board the anti-gravity cart, and grasp the handles.

Lara tells the cart, "Nourishment center," and they fly out over the main room, far above the terrarium. The height doesn't scare them, and both love the high speed in which they travel, since this adds excitement to their mundane life. Nobody else is coming from their rooms to join them, and they see that the other carts are missing outside the other quarters.

"Late again!" Lara says to her brother, sudden anger in her voice.

"Set your wake up alert for earlier. I never make you late."

Lara favors her brother with one of her disappointed looks, and shakes her head.

"You're moving your head back and forth as our ancestors did again. You are so impressionable," Lani says, with a mischievous grin.

Lara decides to face ahead, since she is tempted to push Lani from the cart and let him see if he can learn to fly before hitting the garden.

* * *

Lara and Lani arrive at the nourishment center and see the other carts parked there. They both step off their cart and walk through the holodoor. They're thankful that no one is looking toward them. Now there are fourteen people assembled, which is the entire complement of the ship's crew. Lara and Lani arrive at the nourishment bar and place their protein and carb meal orders, and the tubes are dispensed.

They walk to the table with their tubes in hand, feeling eyes on them, keeping their eyes on their meals.

"You two are late," says Remi, their commander, and father. "You are two day units late...as usual."

Lara and Lani gaze at their father and both nod in contrition as they say, "Sorry Father."

"Please be on time tomorrow. Finish eating. You are not having your regular classes today, but instead, we are following a different agenda."

Since daily classes covering the same subjects are what Lara and Lani have always known, cessation of them is a shocking revelation. Lara says, "What?" with real alarm in her voice at the same time as Lani says, "Awesome!" with absolute joy and relief in his. Lani's response elicits annoyed looks from everyone at the table. Of the many topics and lessons learned during their daily history lessons, Lani takes pleasure in making these long-ago exclamations part of his regular vocabulary.

"I have good news for you. In seven days we will be arriving at our destination, Gliese 581 G. As you are aware, "Galaxaura" is 20 light-years, or 120 trillion miles, from Earth. If not for the Brigadoon Wormhole, instead of a journey of 250 years, the journey would have taken us 761 years."

Everyone sits and listens without interrupting, having heard this same story so many times. They are patient, because their commander may tell the same stories, but he always adds something new at the end, and he doesn't disappoint.

"Now, for the first time since our journey began, the door to the command bridge has unlocked."

There is palpable silence in the air as the group looks up from their meals to make eye contact with their commander.

"That area has always been restricted," says Mira, the mother of Lara and Lani.

"It was...until this morning when I received a private message from the master controller on my interface visor. We are to assemble at the command bridge for further instructions at eight clicks, and zero units. That time is now."

The group rises as one, with the collective mood of those attending a funeral. The fear of the unknown command bridge, and that they are seven days away from an uncertain and real destination, weighs heavy on their minds. They are so accustomed to the day-to-day life they share; they forgot they are on a journey to a destination they will someday reach. They exit the nourishment center and board their carts, ready for a short trip to a part of the ship they have never been. Lara realizes her hands are squeezing her grips too tight. She glances at Lani, hoping to be comforted by a grin, but is surprised her brother has such a tense expression on his face; this makes her more anxious.

"Command Bridge," Lara hears her father say, as his cart rises, and moves into the distance.

One by one, the rest of their group mutter these frightening words. Lara realizes their cart is the last remaining, so says, "Command Bridge," in a croaked whisper. She is surprised the cart understands her as it rises and follows the line of carts in front of them.

* * *

They gather at a safe distance from the massive door. The commander takes a few hesitant steps towards the door, then freezes as a scanning beam targets him with a full body scan.

"My apologies commander," says a voice that comes from all around them, instead of a single source. This is a pleasant voice of an old man; the voice of a loving and protective grandfather. It is the voice of a grandfather who loves to tell stories of long-ago in front of a low-burning fire. Lara often wished she had such a grandfather.

"Please bear with me as I complete this security scan. I must be sure that you don't carry any surprises onto the Command Bridge. I hope you understand."

The commander remains silent, unnerved by this unexpected welcome. Without warning, separate beams each find the others, who stand in a semi-circle several paces behind the commander. Lara is surprised she feels nothing, and that she can't see the source of the beams. This technology far exceeds any technology she or the others know. Just as Lara finishes this thought, the beams blink out. The heavy door parts in the middle and slides open, and not a sound is made.

"Commander and your party; please enter," says the voice. "Party?" thinks Lara, searching her memory, and the only image that comes to mind was something from the historical archives called a birthday party. Lara realizes that other crew members are in as much bewilderment as she; not a single word has been spoken between them since they left the nourishment center.

Lara's father takes the lead and with measured steps moves through the doorway. With the most courage she can gather, she follows her father through the doorway, and can hear the shuffle of feet behind her as the others follow. She has never been this frightened in her life, as everything she has ever experienced has been so safe, and expected. This is not expected, and she has no idea if they will be safe.

After passing through the doorway, Lara sees her father standing still in the center of a large round room, with rows of chest high silent computers glowing with soft colors on the periphery. He stares off through a wrap-around portal, which allows them to see the outside space on three sides. She stands to his right, and her mother walks up on her right side. Lara feels better knowing they are near.

As soon as they gather, they hear a small thud from the doorway. They turn to see the massive door has just closed.

"Please do not be alarmed. Security is of upmost importance," says the grandfatherly voice. Chairs rise from compartments in the floor. There are fourteen.

"Please take a seat, we have much to discuss." They keep standing as if afraid the chairs will disappear back beneath the floor, with them included.

"Please, you have nothing to fear. There is so much to cover, and so little time."

They move to their chairs, Lara staying near her parents, with Lani following close behind. Once they are settled, a hologram of an old man appears in the center of the room, startling them so much, they let out startled gasps.

"Please do not be alarmed. What you see is a visual representation of the man who designed and built me." The hologram turns and waves his arms towards the rows and towers of glowing computers, which Lara assumes controls the entire ship.

"What was the man's name who built you?" asks Lara, surprising herself, since she wasn't planning on asking it aloud.

"That is an excellent first question, young Lara. My creator was Wilford Bradbury. I match his image from so long ago. You can call me Wilford. I must first tell you that because I _am_ the central computer, I am familiar with each of you, so introductions will not be necessary. I am positive that I have much information to impart to you, so I will do most of the talking."

There is a long pause as this hologram from the past turns and looks at each person, as if it has real working eyes. Lara isn't sure why this unnerves her so much. She is surprised to see that this hologram is dressed the same as the old people in historical archives, complete with the over the shoulder straps. She can't remember the name of these clothing accessories.

"I will start with the story of our beginnings, our present, and our future." He turns to look at Lara, and makes one eye close as he smiles. Lara doesn't understand what the closing of one eye means, but is surprised Wilford knows of her conversation with Lani, no more than ten clicks ago.

"You are aware that Earth was in the path of a rogue planet. Earth had five years before the collision, so drastic measures had to be taken to save mankind. With the combined resources of the entire planet, they built this ship, Expectation. You are aware of this, but the next part, you do not know. To get the cooperation and financial support needed for such an endeavor, the builders made a promise. They promised to preserve the genetic material from those countries which contributed finances, resources, or technology to this great undertaking."

There are puzzled looks from everyone, and Wilford hesitates, as if he is a real person standing there.

Wilford continues, "Earth's finest; politicians, scholars, and generous benefactors donated the genetic material, in the form of fertilized eggs, cryogenically frozen for long-term storage during this voyage."

The commander says, "The eggs are on this ship? Where, and I thought _we_ were the future of the human race?"

"Yes commander, you fourteen are essential to the survival of the human race, but within a hidden area of this ship, were 5,000 eggs. This Nursery is contamination free and service robots maintained the atmosphere, and monitored the egg's continued viability. Considering that it has been over 250 Earth years since we began this voyage, I am happy to report that 4, 937 eggs were still viable. This is much better than my preliminary estimates."

"You keep saying _were_ , instead of _are_ ," says the commander.

"That is astute of you, commander," responds Wilford, "We moved those eggs which were still viable, to the incubation chambers six years ago. I am happy to report that from the 4,937 eggs, 4,857 children reached maturity.

"Why so many children?" asks the commander, "We are all responsible for specific jobs when we arrive, and managing so many children will make those jobs impossible. Besides, we are well educated on the demands of hostile and unknown new worlds. We must be careful to build the infrastructure society at a gradual rate. The population will grow at its own pace, based on available food and water, and natural dangers..."

"Yes, yes, yes, we are well aware of population plans for hostile worlds, but Galaxaura is _not_ a hostile world."

The commander leans towards Wilford, "How can this be possible for you to know this fact?"

The Wilford hologram reaches out from his body where nothing is then pulls a holographic chair out of nothing. He drags it forward until he is right in front of Lara's dad, then sits in the chair. Lara thought she had seen everything which could possibly bother her, but this exceeds them all. Why does a hologram need a chair? This behavior, too, is too human.

Wilford leans forward in his chair, and makes eye contact with Lara's father. Lara is fascinated by how good this hologram is, even up close. She chances a quick glance around the room, but still cannot discover the light sources.

Wilford says, "The technology you live with, that you use in your daily activities, is a small part of what is available on this bridge. Before you ask, I am aware you are familiar with the technology on Earth 250 years ago, and that they were not at this level of technology. I agree with you on that. But, there were many advanced technologies buried deep in military and bureaucratic secrecy. The most stubborn and autocratic nations on Earth finally agreed to give up that technology for the survival of their peoples. Fear of extinction is a powerful force in motivating people."

Wilford pauses, staring at the commander and the commander responds with a single word, "Continue."

Wilford leans back in his not-there chair, placing his hands behind his head, also not there, saying, "Thank you commander. This ship has sensors so powerful; we have been scanning "Galaxaura", as you call it, for the past several months. Galaxaura is a true M-class planet. There is a single red-dwarf sun, but two other suns close enough to affect the weather. A year will last 37 days, and because Galaxaura does not rotate. Gravity is 110% that of Earth, so you will have difficulty walking until your bodies adapt. The unfortunate news is that though the range of temperatures is typically within a narrow range, that range is -24˚F to 10˚F. That is -31˚C to -12˚C, to you. This will mean you will need to farm within green houses. A landing zone has been selected, which lies in a valley between two mountain ranges. Fresh water is close by, and plentiful."

Lara's head is spinning from so much new information. The fact that she has never lived on Earth, gives her nothing to compare with Galaxaura. How will snow or a stream feel to the naked hand? There are trees and plants in their agriculture farm, so she knows the texture of those things. Her mind wanders, as she thinks of the wildlife. The possibility of finding exotic creatures is both exciting and frightening.

Lara's thoughts are interrupted by a question from her mother, "Why did we have to endure the security before you allowed us to enter the bridge?"

Wilford responds, as he faces her, "My programming dictates my actions. The entire survival of the human race depends on our cargo reaching Galaxaura intact."

"We are out in the middle of empty space, and Expectation has been in this empty space for the last quarter millennia. What danger could there be? From us? There is something you aren't telling us..."

Wilford frowns as if in deep thought, and then says, "That's enough for today. There is much for you to digest. We will meet again each day until our arrival to Galaxaura in seven days."

Wilford turns and faces Lara's dad, then says, "Commander, you are welcome here any time. I must ask the others to be here at this time each morning, and only then. Do you find my conditions acceptable?"

The commander responds, "I accept your conditions."

"Then it's settled. Oh, and one more thing; the access doors to the nursery in the stern of the ship, have just unlocked. Go to the children now...they are expecting you. You will find they can talk, and know much about Earth and Galaxaura, even at their young ages. Since you will be the children's caretakers on Galaxaura, spend as much time with them over the next week as is possible. Thank you for accepting my invitation and visiting with me today. It has been a lonely 250 years, and it's good to talk with people again. The upcoming week will be exciting, and I hope all of you are enjoying this time as much as I am."

With this, Wilford stands, and his chair disappears. He walks towards the entry way, saying, "Follow me, please. Your carts are now programmed to accept the word, children."

The crew does as instructed, and Lara is anxious to get off this bridge. Her thoughts are interrupted by the sight of the opening door. Lara is surprised that Wilford makes it to the entry as he turns towards them. How can the holographic image be so flawless and strong this far away from the bridge?

"Thank you for coming. See you tomorrow, and have a good day," says Wilford, as he steps back away from the door, and it starts to close. Wilford bothers Lara in a way she doesn't understand, which belies his grandfather-like, friendly persona. Why did Wilford not answer her mother's questions about the extreme security?

Lara reaches her group huddled near the carts, and as soon as she draws close, her father begins with a small whisper,

"Wilford is watching us," says the commander. "It is obvious to me that he watches and listens to us everywhere, and I cannot figure the reason."

"But why?" asks Mira.

The commander responds, "A week remains to discover that, but I'm not even sure we aren't being monitored now." They all gaze around, wondering at secret sensors anywhere and everywhere.

The commander continues, "Because we can't be sure any place is safe, we must guard against discussing any of this. I am going to spend as much time with Wilford as I can. I must try to understand our relationship with him. In the meantime, the rest of you go meet the children...as Wilford said, they are waiting for you."

* * *

Over the next six days, Lara and Lani spend as much time with the children as they can. They are fascinated by the different skin colors, shapes, looks, and personalities of so many children. The children learned to talk from the computers and robots, so they speak as Lara and Lani do. There is one rule: they can enter to spend time with the children, but the children cannot leave the nursery...Wilford says it's to keep them free from contamination.

Lara forms a strong bond with a young girl named Hope, who is eager and bright, and is the obvious leader of most, perhaps all of the children. Hope even has a well-developed sense of humor, and likes to squeeze Lara—something called a hug—whenever they arrive and leave. Despite this unfamiliar and unexpected body contact, both Lara and Lani find themselves warming to the children, and can't wait to visit them each day. Lara feels a connection with these young ones she has never known before, not even with Lani. Lara feels like a teacher and welcomes this new responsibility. The children often gather 'round and want to hear stories about life in other parts of the ship, about their ancestors on Earth, or anything which comes to mind. They are so wonderfully alive, so adept at learning, and so excited about the upcoming arrival on Galaxaura.

The commander arrives on the command bridge with the group each morning, and then stays with Wilford when they leave. It is always late each day before Lara's father joins them, lost in his thoughts.

Two days before their arrival to Galaxaura, as they gather for the last meal of the day, for the first time any of them can remember, the commander is last to arrive. His mood is much improved, as he smiles at them before getting his meal, then taking his seat at the table.

"Good morning," he says to surprised faces. "As you are aware, I am spending many hours with Wilford. I, too, was suspicious of Wilford, and why he had been monitoring us without our knowledge. Before this ship left Earth, not everyone on Earth agreed that the human race was worth saving. One faction believed that a deity was punishing Earthlings for the evil they had wrought, which included destruction of Earth's creatures, resources, and each other. The second faction had a more simplistic view: the people of Earth had had their chance, and now their time had ended, and the universe would move on without them."

"I don't see what any of that has to do with our current situation," says Mira.

"Once I finish, you will understand. Early in the voyage, a battle took place on this ship." There are visible looks of shock from everyone else, but the commander holds up his hand, to stop any comments.

He continues, "Of the original crew of thirty, ten were infiltrators from one, or both of the factions I mentioned. Their mission was to disable or destroy Expectation before it reached Galaxaura. Using smuggled stun and pulse weapons, they used an old communication's method called Morse code, to make their plans in secret, and coordinate their attack. During the uprising, the ten infiltrators were either captured or killed. Six of the regular crew died as well. During the battle, the infiltrators attempted to gain access to the command bridge, and they almost succeeded before being stopped. Our ancestors interrogated the captives, and learned who they were, why they were here, and of their objectives. You now know the entire story as to why Wilford is so careful in monitoring us."

"I don't understand, weren't all the infiltrators captured or killed?" asks Mira.

"They were never certain," the commander says. Lara has been staring at her father, engrossed in this story, and now, against her will, takes quick looks at the others.

Mira asks, "Even if they didn't discover every infiltrator, that was generations ago, and they surely are dead now."

The commander pauses and gives a pained smile as he continues, "In the words of Wilford, family or friends of the infiltrators may have been infiltrators who were undiscovered. These people could have passed on their mission through close family or friends of successive generations. Wilford referred to these people as sleepers, because they can exist in our group undetected, sleeping until they see an opportunity to act."

For the first time in her life, Lara doesn't trust the others beyond her own family. The longer she considers this, the more distrustful she becomes. Now she knows why Wilford scans them before they are allowed to pass onto the command bridge...not for whom they are, but for any weapons they may be concealing. She scans the faces of each of the others with a scrutiny she never had to use before, and observes the others scanning her in the same way.

* * *

They gather on the bridge for the last time, and they are much more relaxed with Wilford now. He has just explained that after they land, Expectation will be their base of operation and shelter until they can build suitable permanent shelters, and green houses. Expectation will never fly again, but it's comforting they have it for an emergency shelter.

Their chairs are now facing towards the front of the ship, as they watch the ever larger view of Galaxaura, as Wilford describes what they are seeing. At regular intervals, the main image is replaced with other zoomed images of the empty snow-covered plains. They see an ice-covered river two kilometers from their landing zone, and strange six-legged white rabbit-looking creatures scampering in seemingly random patterns across the snow. Wilford explains they will offer a constant source of protein, and even displays actual rabbits from long-ago Earth for comparison. In Lara's eyes, there isn't much, except for the long ears. Wilford talks about fish, or things resembling fish, which swim in the rivers, and are good for protein. Overall, their mood is exhilarated.

"We are now two hours away from landing," says Wilford. "Please take this time to gather your warm clothes and equipment, including pulse weapons from the armory, for self-defense."

They stare at each other, not knowing until now that they even had an armory.

"Your carts are programmed to take you to the armory...it is now unlocked. Hurry now, we have much to do, and the rest of today will be exciting indeed!"

The fourteen crew members are strapped into fortified landing chairs, situated at the edge of the garden. This happens to be the closest point to the doors they will soon exit. Wilford explained that by allowing them on the bridge during the landing, they would be a distraction. As a compromise, Wilford has activated a video screen in front of them, so they can view the landing. Because of the huge size of Expectation, Wilford explained that anti-gravity alone will not be enough to slow the ship. They will likewise use rocket engines, which will be loud...and they are that!

Lara's mind wanders ahead to their landing. She has no idea what cold feels like, but by the thickness of the heavy clothes they will soon wear, it must be uncomfortable.

"This is so awesome!" says Lani, without fail. "Are you as excited as I am, Lara? Imagine being able to walk wherever or how far we wish, and not running into a wall."

Lara is excited, but is tempering her enthusiasm with reality, knowing that there will be many challenges ahead. She is under no illusions that they will not suffer; despite their technology. Lara realizes Lani is looking at her expecting an answer.

"Yes, I am excited that our long trip is over, but anxious about our new life."

"Oh, brother!" responds Lani, using one of his other favorite phrases, then following it up with, "You are such a buzz kill!"

Lara looks back at the viewer, and is surprised to see that they are much closer to the ground. She is surprised she is not adept at judging closing distance versus speed of decent.

"We will be landing in five, four, three, two, one..." speaks Wilford, and then the falling stops, the engines slow to a stop, and nothing but silence awaits them. Lara isn't sure what she expected, but imagined a jarring sensation as they landed. The commander unstraps himself from his seat and is the first to rise, motioning for the others to do the same. The fourteen pilgrims to this new land gather at the table where their clothes are stacked, pulling them on over their white one-piece suits. They are excited, but share Lara's apprehension, as they prepare to face the unknown.

These brave explorers are soon dressed, including headgear with face masks, as the adults pick up the weapons and strap them to their hips. The commander picks up the handheld computer they will use to keep contact with Wilford. They will need the entire array of Wilford's sensors to warn them of impending danger.

Movement catches their attention, as the inner door opens, and they shuffle into the air lock. The inner door slides shut behind them. Now, the outer door opens, and the harsh cold hits them with a force that is new to them, but their clothing is adequate. Even though the light from the planet's suns is dim, compared to the inside of the ship, it is too bright, so will take a while for their eyes to adjust. They hear the outer door shut behind them. On faith alone, the commander walks out onto the frozen ground, and they follow. When they are a few meters from the ship, they are startled to see that they are surrounded by hundreds of broad, but squat white-fur-clad aliens. The aliens stand eerily still and point long shiny silver with gold inlaid weapons at them from two of their three arms. Like the rabbit-like creatures, whose fur they are now wearing, these aliens have six legs, ending in wide and flat feet, also covered in white fur. How did they get there, and how did Wilford with his advanced sensors not _know_ they were there?

The commander pulls his weapon, pointing it at the closest alien and pushes his fire button, and nothing happens, followed by the other adults who do the same, with the same affect. The aliens never reacted through any of this, telling Lara the aliens fully expected these results. Lara now studies the aliens as she and the others huddle into a tighter group. They have three large black spider-looking eyes, complete with fully-closing eyelids, no noses, and large, open mouths with protruding sharp teeth, and long snake-like tongues sneaking out of their mouths as if testing the cold, then retreating back into warmth. Their skin is light-yellow, and ridges of bone run from each eye downward to their bony chins. The rest of their bodies are covered by fur garments, including their hands, or whatever passes for hands under the fur. They stand silent and still, as if they are in no hurry: the outcome already decided.

Wilford's voice breaks the silence, "Commander, and your crew, submission is imperative, so do not resist; you must not be damaged. These are the Soksin, a warrior race. Two months ago, they discovered Expectation in the fringes of their space. They boarded our ship, erased your memories, and then gave you new ones. They reprogrammed me to become _their_ ship, and make sure our cargo got here safe..."

"What are you saying?" asks the commander, with misery and panic in his voice. "We trusted you! What is to become of us?"

"I was keeping a few facts from you Commander, but keeping these secrets was essential to the success of our mission. First, there was no uprising by insurgents on Expectation; nobody died. Fourteen people began this mission 250 years ago, and you same fourteen people completed the mission. _People_...that is not entirely correct. You are synthetic replicas of people, created to take care of the young humans, and you will live thousands of years; barring injury of course, so do not resist."

Lara knows she is having a nightmare, as her pulse races, and she starts to hyperventilate. Her ancestors used to experience nightmares, and then she realizes humans were never her ancestors, and this thought leaves her so empty and full of desperation, she doubts she will ever recover.

The commander asks in a wooden voice, "You said you had a _few_ facts..."

"Yes, yes, yes, there was one other secret, wasn't there? The Soksin are rather adept at capturing other races to be used as slaves, and as meat, when their regular supplies run low. You, my dear commander, along with the other thirteen synthetics, will be the caretakers of the 4,857 children, who are now the newest slaves and food source of the Soksin. Since you are synthetics, you will not be eaten, but you can still be destroyed."

There is the sound of a large door opening at the rear of the ship, and then hundreds of thick-clothed children begin stumbling out the door. As soon as they see Lara and the others, they begin to walk, and then run, toward them. Hope leads the large group, smiling and waving as she slides over the ice. Before long, most of the children are running across the snow, with smiles and waves of their own. They are far too innocent to recognize the threat of the Soksin...and far too trusting of Lara and the other synthetics.

Lara thinks she is as disconsolate as she can possibly be, but as she looks at these young and hopeful remnants of the human race as they trundle towards their doom, synthetic tears run down her face unnoticed. She recalls a verse from a book called The Bible, "I will bring them down like lambs to the slaughter."

The End

Also available from Michael Barnett:

#  AGE QUEST

Michael K. Eidson

Wind 66, Slide 8 Day 3, Luck-Day, 415 AC

Willem didn't know why his master was so sad. She usually was sad when she or someone she knew did something wrong. When that happened, the person who made the mistake would ask for forgiveness and everything would be all right again. His master never did anything wrong to Willem, but if she ever did, of course Willem would forgive her.

* * *

On his sixteenth birthday, Xandor bid farewell to his family and friends in Vagar to honor a dying tradition. He would travel to the distant city of Omensound to visit the Seeress and receive his Age Quest. The Seeress would only bestow such a quest upon a person aged sixteen or older. Those who sought such a quest and completed it were destined for greatness. According to Xandor's parents, there had been a time when a majority of young people made the trek to Omensound. These days, everyone seemed ready to accept mediocrity, due in part to the failure of most people to complete the quests they received. No one in Xandor's family had ever completed theirs, and Xandor was determined to be the first.

The young man wanted to become a Knight of Trisden, to patrol the nation-state of Manwor and protect its inhabitants from the malignant creatures living in neighboring countries and the underground. No one had ever become a Knight of Trisden without completing an Age Quest first. It was said Lord Bhir, the ruler of the capital city of Trisden, made it a requirement.

Jenna, Xandor's girlfriend, was still too young for her own Age Quest, but she walked with him on his way to the stables. Halfway there, she tugged on his hand and they halted. Looking down, her profile hidden from Xandor by her long brown locks, she offered him a leather pouch. He wanted to take it as a memento of her, but if it held magic meant to help him, he didn't want it. "What is it?"

Jenna chuckled. "He won't bite you."

"He?"

A grey mouse poked its head out the top of the pouch. Jenna blew the animal a kiss. "His name is Willem."

Xandor swiped his hair away from his eyes. "I'm not carrying a mouse to Omensound."

The rodent squeaked. Jenna stroked the animal's head with one finger. Lifting the mouse close to her lips, she whispered, "You have to forgive Xandor. He doesn't understand these things." Lifting her head, she batted her eyelashes at Xandor. "Willem is my familiar. When he's with you, I'm with you. What he sees, I can see. What he hears, I can hear. I can even feel what he feels. It will help me not miss you so much while you're gone."

Xandor held up a hand, the palm flat and vertical. "I don't want people thinking I'm a wizard."

Jenna pointed with her chin. "No one's going to think that with your father's sword hanging at your waist."

The weapon measured two feet counting the hilt. Xandor had practiced with the blade for four years, ever since he'd proven he could swing it. Now the blade and its sheath felt heavier than usual. He clapped a hand on the hilt. "Warriors don't walk around carrying mice in pouches. I don't want to be responsible for it. If I have to fight, it could get hurt. If you can feel what it feels...what if it died?"

"He won't die." Jenna grasped her boyfriend's upraised hand, pulled it down and twisted it, a motion he could have halted if he'd wanted. "Willem is smart and tough, like me. Take him." She rested the pouch and its contents on Xandor's now-upturned palm. The mouse looked up with imploring eyes.

"Jenna, no."

She stepped back, leaving Willem on Xandor's palm. "You either take him with you or you wait two Shifts to do your Age Quest, when I can do mine too. If you're not willing to wait for me to turn sixteen, you're taking Willem along."

In Pharas, the year consisted primarily of four elemental Shifts, called Stone, Wind, Flame and Water, accounting for 360 days of the 380 days in the Pharasian year. Each Shift was subdivided into ten Slides of nine days each. Of the twenty days not included in any Shift, New-Year-Day started the year, coming before the first day of Stone. End-Year-Day followed the last day of Water. The two Slides of Mid-Year came between Wind and Flame.

The nine days of a Slide had names: New-Slide, Even-Day, Luck-Day, See-Day, Mid-Slide, Rhymes-Day, Songs-Day, Rules-Day and End-Slide. Today, Xandor's birthday, fell on Luck-Day. He took that as a sign he'd succeed in his Age Quest and become a great warrior.

"You know I'd love to go to Omensound together," Xandor said. "Until this Slide I really thought we would. But I didn't know how I'd feel when I turned sixteen. It's perfect traveling weather now. I'll make it to Trisden in less than a Slide and with any luck, I'll find another caravan I can travel with to Omensound. I could be there by Wind's end or early Mid-Year. If I don't find a caravan at Trisden and have to go from there on foot, there's no better time to do it than Mid-Year, when all the elementals are resting. I'll come back after I finish my Age Quest, in time to go with you for yours. You won't have to go alone, Jenna."

"But we won't be doing our quests together." Jenna's voice quavered, but she pulled herself together and squared her shoulders. "All right. You've made up your mind and I won't delay you any longer. But you're taking Willem." She moved close and tugged at Xandor's belt. "If you want a goodbye kiss, you'll do as I ask. Now tie the pouch on or hand it back. Your choice."

Xandor fastened the pouch to his belt muttering, "I know I'll regret this." The mouse twitched its nose at him. With one finger he prodded Willem into the pouch. He turned to Jenna. "Now give me that kiss, you evil sorceress."

With a laugh, Jenna kissed him lightly on the cheek before stepping out of his reach.

"That's what you call a goodbye kiss?"

The mouse poked its head up again and peered about. Xandor paused, unable to refrain from smiling. "By the gods, you're a cute whisker. All the more reason not to take you. Warriors don't do cute."

Jenna waved her hand in dismissal. "The pouch is magical," she said. "It can be seen through from the inside but not from the outside. It's enchanted to produce a daily allotment of food and water for Willem, so you won't have to worry about that. It lets air in even when you have the drawstring closed."

"Impressive," Xandor said. "Did you enchant it yourself?"

She perked up at the compliment and grinned. "I siphoned off some magic from a few trinkets of my mother's to enchant it, yes. Now listen. Willem will sit still when others are about. No one will see him move. All you need to do is let him out to exercise when you can."

Once more Xandor pushed the mouse back into the pouch. "I have to get out of Vagar now, Jenna. It's not that I want to leave you behind. You know that."

Jenna said nothing. She took Xandor's hand and squeezed.

Her skin felt cold against his, as usual. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers one by one. "I swear, Jenna, you have reptilian blood in your veins."

"For the last time, none of my ancestors are hoobla. I'm as human as you are. Now let's go or you'll miss your ride to Trisden. You'll get your goodbye kiss at the stables, in front of everyone. I want every person on that caravan to know you're mine."

They walked hand-in-hand to the stables. If he had to leave Jenna behind, then the least Xandor could do was to hold her hand during their last moments together, even if such behavior in public was not considered a mark of a great warrior.

* * *

When the caravan came to a halt, sixteen-year-old Ursula remained prone on her bed. She'd reached an interesting passage in the _Tome of Elemental Understanding_ and wanted to finish it. She already knew the information presented—how a summoned elemental could do much harm to its surroundings in the physical realm if not sufficiently controlled—but felt fascinated at how the author, the esteemed High Priest Menslar of Omensound, presented the information.

Ursula looked up at the flame elemental suspended in the air above her head. She'd summoned it to provide her light while reading inside this otherwise dark and dismal covered wagon. Left to its own devices, it could burn down the wagon and all the wares it carried, which Ursula and her wagon-mate had been designated to protect, as payment for being allowed to travel with the caravan. Control of the elemental was key.

The other passenger in the wagon, an older woman named Theresa, stood up from her seated position on the edge of her bed. "This is the end of the road for me." Her children lived in Vagar, as she'd mentioned several times on the trip from Amorworl, where Ursula had joined the caravan. Theresa didn't know any magic herself, so she'd welcomed the presence of Ursula's floating flame elemental during their daytime traveling, especially since Big Hill didn't allow them to leave the curtain open at the back of the wagon. He didn't want any unauthorized prying eyes to know what cargo the wagon carried.

The trader's wares were packed in wooden crates, with slats set wide enough apart for a potential thief with the right magic to determine the contents from a distance if the curtain were open. Ursula had conducted her own examination of the crates and their contents, of course. Most of the crates carried orange ceramic bottles, packed in straw. What the bottles held, the merchant hadn't said, but a basic divination spell had revealed to Ursula that they contained a variety of magical potions. A label on the side of one of the crates identified its source as The Happy Herbalist in Hooblaport.

One crate held only books. Ursula had summoned a stone elemental the size and shape of a crab and commanded it to slide a book out between the slats. She'd been reading it since. The subject and author of the book had been pleasant surprises.

Finishing a chapter, Ursula laid the book on the straw-stuffed mattress and swung her legs off the bed. "A moment before you go, Theresa, please."

"Of course, dear."

Part of the contract between Big Hill and his passengers was the necessity for the wagon to be guarded at all times. If Ursula wanted to stretch her legs and see something of Vagar, she needed to do it before Theresa left. "I won't be long, I promise."

"Take your time, dear."

* * *

Tradesman Hildebrand's bottom spread out wider than his waist, which exceeded the girth of his broad chest. A knotted mass of black hair sat atop the merchant's head, and several loose strands cascaded down the sides of his plump face. A heavy mustache hid his upper lip and a thick beard cloaked his neck and shoulders. His disproportionately small eyes rolled in their sockets as he looked down from his perch atop the lead coach. His feet dangled to a height well above Xandor's head. "Are you soft, boy?"

Xandor stood as straight and tall as he could, a hand on his sword hilt. "No, sir."

"You look soft to me. I saw you kissing that girl. She's too young for a warrior like you. Are you practiced with that weapon on your hip?"

"I am, sir."

"Everyone calls me Big Hill. So will you, if you want to ride with me." He turned his head as though to look over a shoulder, but his neck wouldn't pivot that far. He shouted, "Ursula! Your new wagon-mate is here!"

Xandor looked at the trader. "Sir?"

Tradesman Hildebrand jerked in his seat. "Do you want to ride with me, boy?"

"Yes, sir, but I—"

"I said, do you want to ride with me?"

"I do, but—"

"Then stop calling me sir."

"Yes, Tradesman Hildebrand, um, I mean, Big Hill."

"That's more like it."

The sound of swishing cloth, like curtains being moved aside, came from the back of a nearby wagon. A woman looking three times Xandor's age stepped into view but did not approach. "Come here, young man," she said and then disappeared behind the wagon.

If Xandor had to share a wagon with a female, he was glad it wasn't someone his age. Perhaps Jenna would tolerate his being in the presence of an older woman for the trip to Trisden. He had no coin, so he had to take what opportunity he could that didn't require the exchange of money. Riding with Tradesman Hildebrand was the only way, unless he wanted to wait for the next caravan, which wasn't due until nearly the end of Wind. He wasn't prepared to wait even another day, much less twenty. If he had to share quarters with an old woman, then so be it.

The woman pointed a finger at the curtained back of the wagon. "You know the rules? Someone has to be guarding the wagon and its cargo at all times. It's your turn now. I'm off to see my kids." She strode away. Xandor didn't ask when she would be back.

He moved the curtain aside and climbed into the wagon. The interior was paneled with grey wooden planks, with a dirty white canvas stretched over an arched wooden frame for a ceiling. Two beds, one to the left and one to the right, occupied the rear third of the wagon. Each bed was large enough to accommodate one person. The beds had no sideboards, but each sat snugly against a wall, secured with metal hinges that would allow them to be folded up out of the way. A number of wooden crates rested in neat stacks beyond the beds.

A book by the title _Tome of Elemental Understanding_ rested on one of the beds, beneath a floating ball of flame. That bed was obviously Ursula's, so Xandor sat on the edge of the other. By the elemental's light, he untied Jenna's pouch and let Willem poke out his head. "I miss you, Jenna," he whispered, confident she was listening. "Are you upset that I must share a wagon with an older woman?"

Willem shook his head, as though he'd understood the question and the answer was no.

Xandor smiled for Jenna.

Footsteps sounded outside the wagon, growing closer with each step. Xandor urged Willem back into the pouch, which he stuffed under his pillow just before the curtain moved aside. Expecting Ursula, he stood to offer his hand to the older woman, but froze and stared mutely as a girl about his age climbed into the wagon.

In other circumstances, a greeting might have been proper. Instead, Xandor declared, "You're not supposed to be here."

Her stark white hair lay over her shoulders and breasts. She wore a tight black leather tunic that exposed her belly button. Black leather boots with red laces rode up to her knees. Red stockings covered the remainder of her long legs. Black shorts covered her private area and little else.

She looked at Xandor and snorted in derision. "You must be Xandor. Big Hill told me to expect you." She picked up the _Tome of Elemental Understanding_ , flopped onto the bed and started reading.

"Um, who are you?"

"I'm Ursula." She glanced at Xandor. "Don't get any ideas. We're wagon-mates. That's all. You stay on your side and I'll stay on mine." She went back to reading.

Xandor continued to stare at the girl he'd be traveling with in close quarters for the next several days. "I thought the older woman was Ursula."

"You must mean Theresa. No, this is the end of the line for her. She was watching the wagon while I stretched my legs."

He could imagine how Jenna would take this and it wasn't well. Xandor was tempted to leave Willem where he was for the remainder of the trip. With any luck, the mouse couldn't hear through the pillow, which would mean Jenna hadn't heard the conversation that had just transpired.

"You might want to sit down," Ursula said.

The wagon lurched forward. Xandor staggered but maintained his footing, but quickly sat on the edge of his bed facing Ursula. "Are you Big Hill's daughter?"

"No."

"Well, you're not from Vagar. I know everyone who lives in this excuse for a city. Where are you from?"

"Amorworl."

"On the east coast, right?"

Ursula lowered her book and turned cool blue eyes on him. "So you learned something in school. Yes, it's on the east coast. And before you ask, yes, I'm headed for Omensound to do my Age Quest. Anything else you want to know?"

Xandor gulped. "I'm going for my Age Quest too."

"Well, then," Ursula said, turning back to her book, "we might as well travel together all the way to Omensound. The Seeress will probably even have us do our Age Quests together. Won't that be fun?" The tone of her voice implied she was teasing him.

So Xandor teased back. "Has anyone ever told you you're rude?"

"Yeah, but I'm cute too, so that makes up for it."

* * *

Willem couldn't see, having been stuffed under a pillow, which meant Jenna couldn't see either. But the mouse had keen hearing and Jenna had heard the entire conversation between Xandor and Ursula. There was no way she was letting her boyfriend do his Age Quest with another girl. She scrawled a note to her parents telling them not to worry, that she had decided to travel with Xandor to Omensound. They wouldn't like it, but they wouldn't send anyone after her either. She'd proven many times she could take care of herself. She was almost old enough to do her own Age Quest. Why couldn't Xandor have waited just two more Shifts?

Jenna grabbed the arm of the nearest person. He was a family friend, someone she could trust, so she slid her note into his hand. "Take this to my mother, please," she said. Before he could question her, Jenna disappeared, literally, magically.

* * *

"We have a stowaway," Coup whispered to Big Hill. Coup was Big Hill's hired wizard. "It's the girl who kissed our latest passenger. She's invisible, so she has some magic, but I'm sure I can handle her."

Big Hill scrunched his face. "Which wagon is she in?"

"She's hanging on the back of her boyfriend's wagon."

"Has Ursula or the boy noticed her yet?"

"I don't believe so."

"Then let's deal with her the way we always deal with stowaways."

Coup held up a handful of silver feathers that shimmered with magical energy and drew one from the lot. "She won't make a peep until after we sell her."

Wind 72, Slide 8 Day 9, End-Slide, 415 AC

The caravan reached Trisden in the early afternoon, six days after leaving Vagar. Ursula stuffed the book she'd been reading through the slats of its original crate.

Big Hill held the curtain to one side. Xandor motioned for Ursula to disembark. He'd been such a gentleman on this trip, always letting her take her breaks first whenever the caravan stopped along the way. He hadn't made any advances on her, either. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She'd never had a boyfriend and never wanted one, but if she were to have one, she'd like it to be Xandor. Maybe.

"A moment before you go." Big Hill stuck out an arm to block Ursula and Xandor from moving past him. He squinted at one of his men. "Coup, if you please."

Coup climbed in and Big Hill watched intently until the wizard climbed back down and announced that everything was accounted for. The merchant clapped his hands as he turned to Ursula and Xandor. "Thank you for watching over my wares. Fare you well on your journey."

Ursula tilted her head and forced herself to look into Big Hill's piggy eyes. "I don't suppose your plans have changed and you're going to Omensound."

He rocked his head from side to side. "My route is the southern half of Manwor and nowhere else. You ask around for Tradesman Usher. If he's not here now, he will be soon. He works the Riven Plain. Don't go afoot to Omensound. The goblins will get you."

As men arrived to unload the Happy Herbalist crates, Ursula and Xandor sauntered away, peering about at the numerous other merchant caravans that had also delivered goods to the city. Ursula nudged Xandor with her elbow. He didn't flinch at her touch. Most guys who professed the desire to be warriors acted as though a wizard's touch was a curse. Xandor behaved as though he was comfortable with magic and Ursula liked that. "So are we traveling to Omensound together?" She hoped they were.

"I don't know."

"You have a girlfriend back home." Although she stated it as fact, she hoped she was wrong.

"Yes."

"So you don't want to do your Age Quest with me. I understand."

Xandor fidgeted with something in his breeches pocket. "We shouldn't. It's complicated. I'm sorry."

"It's all right." She inclined her head and walked away. Though she felt disappointed, she didn't dwell on it. She wasn't one to steal another girl's boyfriend. How had she even allowed herself to entertain the possibility of having a boyfriend?

Her divination magic should make the search for Tradesman Usher brief. Ursula would be on his caravan. If Xandor didn't want to go to Omensound with her, then he could find another way.

* * *

Xandor had often imagined how Trisden looked. He'd heard of Lord Bhir's castle, the tallest building in not only the nation-state of Manwor, but the entire world of Pharas. It loomed over the city at a height greater than he'd imagined. When no one was watching, Xandor loosened the drawstring on Willem's pouch. "The place is fantastic, Jenna," Xandor said. "I wish you were here."

But the mouse didn't raise its head. It didn't move at all. Xandor lifted the creature from the pouch, cupping it in his palm. It had been sleeping ever since they'd left Vagar. It didn't smell dead, though it didn't appear to be breathing either. Its eyes were closed every time Xandor checked on it. Perhaps its condition was a side effect of the pouch's magic.

Xandor didn't see how Jenna could view the castle when the mouse wouldn't even open its eyes. He wondered if something was wrong with the familiar. "Jenna, if you can hear me, please have your pet look at me. I think something's wrong with it."

The mouse didn't stir.

Footsteps sounded close behind. Xandor slipped Willem back into the pouch.

"There you are," said Ursula. "I found Tradesman Usher's caravan. It's the only one headed from here to Omensound in the next three Slides and it leaves tomorrow morning. I went ahead and signed you up for guard duty. There were several others waiting in line behind me and I was afraid you'd be left out."

"Yes, all right," Xandor said. He was too worried about Willem to argue and he did need the ride. He hoped Willem's condition didn't mean that something was wrong with Jenna.

* * *

Willem had felt Xandor's hand and heard his voice. But the mouse couldn't respond. It was as though Jenna's mind and body had shut down, forcing Willem into a similar if not quite identical state.

The mouse had never tried to initiate mental contact with his master. Jenna had always contacted him at her discretion. Now he wanted desperately to sense something from her, but for the first time since he'd met her, he felt completely cut off from her. He hated the feeling and tried to touch her mind. Though he didn't know how, he concentrated as hard as he could to make it happen. But she was unreachable. Willem kept trying. He could do nothing else.

Mid-Year 5, Slide 1 Day 5, Mid-Slide, 415 AC

A light knocking sounded at the door of Xandor's assigned room at the Minor Dragon House, a building maintained by the Omensound priesthood to board those seeking Age Quests.

The journey from Trisden to Omensound had taken twenty-two long days, much longer than Xandor had expected, but the horses necessarily kept a slow pace as they pulled the wagons along the overgrown path that passed for a road between the two cities. Fording two wide rivers slowed them down even more. Watching for dangers coming down from the mountains to the north or out of the dark forest to the south kept Xandor excited and alert for about three days. After that, he grew bored with watching for enemies who never materialized and passed his time talking with Ursula. She showed him some of her magic, easily finding items that he would hide. She was nice to look at, though her smile didn't come as easily as Jenna's. If he hadn't already had a girlfriend, he might have pursued a relationship with Ursula, but as it was, he tried not to lead her on. That didn't mean he had to ignore her.

He worried about the sorcerous girlfriend he'd left behind, largely because Willem remained in a catatonic state. Xandor worried that the mouse's condition was a reflection of Jenna's state of mind. Did she know he had traveled to Omensound with another girl?

"Enter," Xandor said, his mind still aflutter with thoughts of Jenna, Willem and Ursula.

A man in uniform pushed open the door. Xandor rose to his feet and stood with his back and arms stiff and straight. The guard stepped inside the room and held the door ajar. "The Seeress bids you attend her."

Xandor marched out. Two other guards waited in the hall beyond. They fell in behind Xandor as the first guard led the way down the hall. Xandor's pulse throbbed in his throat.

* * *

Ursula felt her heart had stopped beating as she bent to kneel before the High Priest Menslar. She'd never dreamed of coming face to face with the man who had written so many of the definitive texts on magic and elementals.

The corners of the priest's mouth turned down. "Do not kneel to me. Do not kneel even to the Seeress. No one here is more important than you." His smile appeared as she stood and gazed into his wise eyes.

She was speechless with reverence.

The door swung open. Three guards escorted Xandor in and left him standing next to Ursula. She glanced at him, but he kept his eyes on the High Priest., who looked pleased with Xandor, making Ursula feel a twinge of jealousy.

"You will receive your Age Quests together," the priest said. "While in the presence of the Seeress, do not speak, not even to ask questions. If you do not understand something, consider it part of your quest to determine the answer outside these walls. Follow me."

Ursula felt like taking Xandor's hand as they passed through the double doors into the Chamber of the Seeress, but she knew he wouldn't allow it.

* * *

Willem legs tingled. He sensed her. Jenna was alive! He tried to move, but his muscles wouldn't cooperate. His master was still in trouble.

* * *

Jenna woke. A damp musty odor and the stench of accumulated fecal matter assailed her nostrils. She coughed against a gag. Her entire body throbbed with pain, but her wrists and ankles hurt the most, bound so tightly as to cut off the circulation to her hands and feet. Her fingers and toes were so numb she could scarcely feel them. She lay in a fetal pose on a clump of straw. Light filtered in through a cave entrance, beyond which Jenna could see blue sky. Where in Pharas was she?

Her last memory—gripping a rail on the back of Xandor's wagon before the caravan had departed Vagar—made her wince. She needed Xandor now, but he was off doing his Age Quest.

With another girl.

In her last waking moment, Jenna had felt a surge of magic and caught a glimpse of a silver feather as it was thrust into her hair by some invisible force. She'd been invisible too, but some wizard more powerful than she had rendered her unconscious, using the enchanted feather to do it. Somehow, the feather had since been removed, allowing her to regain consciousness. An attempt to raise her head to look for it failed miserably.

She reached out with her thoughts to Willem, but before the mouse responded something moved in the shadows next to her, breaking her concentration. A creature squatted on two legs, with scales covering its unclothed body and a long tail waving behind. A hoobla!

The hoobla clutched a familiar silver feather that shimmered in the sun's rays. Jenna trembled as she sensed powerful time-altering magic emanating from the item. She hadn't only been rendered unconscious. She'd been in stasis from the time she'd left Vagar to now. There was no way to know how long that had been.

"You is awakens." A forked tongue flicked out of the hoobla's fanged mouth and tasted Jenna's cheek. The reptile man ran a claw down the side of her neck. "Yes, you is awakens. You is hungry. I gets you food and water. You grows. You makes good stew." He licked her cheek again.

Though the sound was muffled by her gag, Jenna screamed.

* * *

Constructed entirely of wood without adornment, polished though it may be, the chair on which the Seeress sat could not be called a throne. Thrones were made of precious stones and metals. Even the simple white gown the Seeress wore was not made to impress. But Xandor stood straight and tall before this modest woman.

He nearly crumpled to the floor when Willem came to life in the pouch.

It wasn't a twitch or a squirm. It was a thrashing that immediately drew the attention of the Seeress. Xandor had felt anger towards Jenna only a couple of times in his life, but now he felt furious. She'd made no effort to communicate with him through Willem this whole time and now she dared to make a spectacle before the Seeress? But he had to maintain his composure and say nothing. There was little use in trying to cover the pouch with his hand. He simply stayed as still as he could and waited for the Seeress to order him to leave.

But that would have been too easy. Instead, she ordered with a cold, steely voice, "Open your pouch, young Xandor. I would see what you have brought into my Chamber."

He loosened the drawstring. Willem sprang out and ran down his leg. Once on the floor, the mouse tugged at Xandor's breeches with one paw while trying to run on the other three. When Xandor did not budge, the rodent spun its head from side to side, as though only now assessing where it was. Then it turned around and faced the Seeress.

* * *

Willem felt drowned in Jenna's dismay. He sat on his haunches and put his paws over his eyes.

* * *

Jenna hadn't realized where Xandor was when she tried to get his attention. He would be angry with her for interrupting his audience with the Seeress, but he'd forgive her after he learned the truth. Once he discovered she was missing, he'd not stop until he found her. The problem was she might not live that long. But perhaps there was a way for her to buy some time.

* * *

Xandor wanted to sink into the floor, but he didn't budge. The mouse collapsed and didn't move, once again comatose.

"Pick him up," said the Seeress.

Xandor complied, tucking Willem back into the pouch.

The Seeress looked into Xandor's eyes. He felt she peered into his soul and found him lacking. She turned her gaze on Ursula. Then she closed her eyes and no one moved or spoke.

Xandor's legs felt numb and he had a maddening itch behind his left ear that he dared not scratch. The Seeress finally opened her eyes, solid black orbs that made him feel stripped naked.

"Reunite the mouse with its owner. That is your Age Quest. Go." She closed her eyes again and sat in silence.

The guards ushered the two youngsters out of the temple.

Flame 32, Slide 4 Day 5, Mid-Slide, 415 AC

Ursula patted Xandor's brow with a damp cloth. "We won't make it to Vagar in this heat on foot. We barely made it here." With no caravan for the two travelers to join, the journey back to Trisden from Omensound had taken them over forty days. They'd had one encounter with goblins on the way, but fortunately Ursula and her magic had convinced the little green men that the two travelers had nothing of value to the goblins. Xandor had wanted to fight, but even though the goblins were small, they had the advantage of numbers. Ursula was glad Xandor had shown restraint and gone along with her ruse, pretending his sword was only for show and not even fit to be traded. She knew it hadn't been easy for him.

Now back in Trisden, their next order of business was to continue on to Vagar to return the mouse to Xandor's girlfriend, Jenna. Xandor had told Ursula everything. She feared the worst, for the mouse had been catatonic since it collapsed in the Chamber of the Seeress. Xandor claimed it had acted this way before, and both young people clung to the hope that the familiar's owner was all right.

"Where is Jenna?" asked a strange man's voice.

But Xandor knew the man and replied, "She stayed in Vagar. Why?"

"No," the man said. "She's not been in Vagar since she took off with you for Omensound."

Ursula's heart caught in her throat. Escorting a mouse from one city to another hadn't seemed like much of an Age Quest. She didn't know Jenna, but she knew how important his girlfriend was to Xandor. Ursula couldn't deny she liked Xandor, and even though she had decided their relationship best remained platonic, she felt a certain empathy with her quest partner. For his sake, she hoped Jenna was all right.

Xandor stepped back. "Jenna didn't go with us to Omensound."

The man scowled. "That's what her note to her parents said."

As Xandor clenched the hilt of his sword, Ursula sensed the intensity of his grief. "Give me the mouse." She held out her hand. "I can use it to find Jenna."

* * *

Willem recognized the feeling of magic. Something was happening, but he didn't know what.

Flame 49, Slide 6 Day 4, See-Day, 415 AC

Seventeen days on the road after leaving Trisden in search of Jenna, Ursula's divination magic tugged her in an unexpected direction. She pulled back on the reins and her horse stopped. Dread rose in her chest and she clenched her jaws.

Xandor slowed and turned in his saddle to face her. "We can't stop now," he gasped. "We're almost to the city. Jenna might be there. You can rest after our quest is finished."

It was only four days past the mid-point of the Shift of Flame, the hottest days of the year. The grass beside the road had burned away, leaving nothing for the horses to eat. No wildlife roamed aboveground. For the past two days the only nourishment for either human or beast had been the salt and water Ursula conjured. Xandor's face looked more like red metal than flesh, and Ursula could only imagine hers looked the same. Because of the heat, it had taken them nearly twice as long to come this far as it should have on horseback. They'd been lucky to even have the horses, but Xandor's friend had insisted they not go on foot in the middle of the heat wave. Xandor had refused to wait for it to pass and would have made this trek alone if necessary or died on the way. So here they were.

Having Willem in her possession made it easier for Ursula to work the magic to track his owner. Her divinations had led them from Trisden along the road southeast to Rareworl and from there to Mantruth, begging for food and supplies in each city. They followed the road east from Mantruth towards Hooblaport, the city of reptile men. The Hoobla Range brooded off to the south, outside Manwor and Lord Bhir's jurisdiction. Her magic led that way.

"We aren't headed for the city," Ursula said as she bolstered her courage and urged her horse towards the mountains.

"You can't be serious," Xandor said, making no move to follow. "It's one thing to visit a city of civilized hoobla. But the mountains are barbarian hoobla territory. They eat humans. There's no way Jenna is there. If she was..." He let the sentence trail off. "Your magic is wrong."

Ursula pointed at a beaten path on the ground. "Well someone makes regular trips this way." She continued on, not pressing her mount. Xandor would come to his senses and when he did, he could easily catch up.

"It's just not possible," he said loud enough to be heard over the sound of her horse's hooves striking barren rock. But he shook his reins and followed her into wild hoobla country.

* * *

Xandor's muscles burned from the climb up the steep slope of the face of the northernmost mountain in the Hoobla Range. Blisters covered the palms of his hands. But he kept putting one hand and then one foot forward, following Ursula, whose hands fared no better than his.

They'd hadn't climbed that far up the mountainside when Ursula said, "We're here."

Standing next to his companion of many Slides, Xandor looked at the cave entrance and into the darkness and silence beyond.

Ursula handed Xandor the mouse. The creature still did not move. Xandor dropped it into the pouch, not bothering to tighten the drawstring.

Ursula made to enter the cave but stopped, unnaturally still, as soon as she took one step inside. With one foot in the air, she was impossibly balanced on the other. If she were trying to hold that pose of her own accord, she should have toppled over, but she didn't.

Xandor had seen the effects of magic often enough to recognize them now. Ursula had entered a field of paralyzing or similar magic. In a panic, he grabbed her wrist and pulled. She fell back in his arms, limp. Carefully he laid her on the rocky ground.

She gasped and sat up. "What happened?"

"Magic," Xandor replied. "Wait here. I'm going in. If I freeze, try to pull me free. Whatever you do, don't go in again."

But Jenna's magic did not stop him. She'd made a contingency for him as he knew she would. He ran his father's sword through the back of the paralyzed hoobla barbarian, who didn't fall over or bleed, even when Xandor withdrew his blade. He'd always expected his first combat to be more confrontational, and he didn't feel like a great warrior for striking the blow, but he instinctively knew that if he didn't dispatch the hoobla now, he'd regret it later. It had been caught in Jenna's magical field just as Ursula had been and might also be freed of it at any moment.

Xandor lifted the motionless Jenna from the straw and carried her outside. Then he untied her and pried a silver feather from her grip. From inside the cave came a gurgling and the sound of a body collapsing to the floor.

Jenna's eyes fluttered. She squinted up at Xandor. "I knew you would come," she whispered.

"I should have waited for you," he replied, fighting back the tears. Great warriors didn't cry.

* * *

"Hello, Jenna," Ursula said, offering the recovering girl some conjured water. "You have some powerful magic."

"This is Ursula," Xandor told Jenna. "She has powerful magic too. If not for her, I'd never have found you."

"If not for her," Jenna said, "I wouldn't have tried to follow you and ended up the prisoner of a hoobla barbarian wanting stew meat." She gulped some water. Then she met Ursula's gaze. "Thank you, Ursula. This wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have been so jealous."

When Ursula had started out from Amorworl, she'd had high expectations for her Age Quest, hoping she would uncover some great truth about her world and herself. Perhaps she had. She reached out and the girls briefly squeezed each other's hands. Ursula nodded. "I will help you with your Age Quest, if you'd like. Just as soon as I finish mine." She looked at Xandor and the pouch.

The mouse stuck out its head and squeaked. Xandor lifted the animal. "If you would like the honor," he said as he handed the creature to Ursula.

When Jenna took Willem from her, Ursula let one tear fall.

* * *

Willem had never felt so happy. He squealed. The three youngsters laughed.

"I'm sorry," Jenna told him telepathically. "I'm glad you're all right."

Willem reveled in the reestablished mental connection. Maybe Jenna had done something wrong, but he forgave her, of course. He would always forgive her.

The End

Also available from Michael K. Eidson

#  EXCEPT THE DUST

Robert Carter

A nostalgic meeting in the desert, but not all is as it seems ...

Chen squeezed her jewel and looked about her, captivated from the first by the beauty of what she saw. A magnificent slow desert day was starting, lit now by the fierce little eye of the sun. A pale sky, dawn pink. Long shadows cast across the land ... When Ryder had chosen this place he had chosen well.

The jewel that hung about Chen's neck told her all she needed to know. She knelt, picked at a small vein of rock and examined it. It was gypsum - pale and wind-smoothed. Her effortless education told her much about the land around her and how it had come to be. It was sculpted by wind erosion, an eerily beautiful but desolate place. Once seething with water, it was almost waterless now, and, to use a loaded word - hostile.

The sandy plain was rust red, making it hard to scale visually. There were no straight lines here. It was raw, random, nothing here yet to hint at the interference of man. A cold desert with a thin wind that suggested extreme altitude. She had known other places like this and had always loved them. But Ryder's choice had little to do with aesthetics, this particular desert landscape had a poignant significance for him personally.

Curious, she lifted up another rock. This was of a different kind, and thanks to her jewel she immediately knew all about it. A glittering crystal embedded in the rock-matrix briefly caught the distant sun, echoing her mind's illumination. Where the rock had lain on the ground, undisturbed for eons, there were fine spicules of ice hiding. Left exposed, they would evaporate under the solar rays, so she put the rock back exactly as it had been. What was the use of making unnecessary changes, and so, as Ryder had said, leaving evidence?

A dark swirl of soil to the south-west drew her attention. Perhaps this was the track? She raised a hand and splayed her fingers. The wind was an easterly, and blowing at a little under eight meters per second, enough to drift a haze of rosy dust across the desert crust. But the track was still there after all this time, and quite visible.

A daily wash of ultra-violet sanitized this place, hard radiation, baking the surface. Nothing lived here now. Nothing had lived here for a very long time.

The six-wheeler had come this way - how many years ago was it? Ryder would know the exact figure. Ryder had been responsible, in his shepherd's way, for sending the vehicle here. A helping hand, so to say. A nudge in the right direction. One of his many projects.

With her jewel she detected some white remnants. Clearly man-made. There must be other debris nearby too, remains of metal and plastic. Chen suppressed the impulse to range around and play with what might be discovered. These relics were best left untouched. What was it Ryder had once said in another, very different place about the importance of covering their tracks? "Tread softly, Chen. When they come this way again in the future - and they must - then they'll know someone had been here, and won't that make for a torrent of unanswerable questions?"

"If they come this way."

He had been quick to turn. "Do you doubt it? I hope they do. I hope you can convince them, after your own fashion, of course, Chen. Oh, but I shouldn't interfere. My time is nearly over, I know that."

"It's a pity we have to keep them in the dark," she had said. "During your tenure, didn't you ever want to let them know about us?"

"All the time." He had smiled his most charming smile. "But I always reminded myself that letting them know would have done them no good in the long run. And that's the question we must keep foremost in our minds: what is it that, in the long run, will be best for them?"

He had made it sound like a warning, and Chen had thought that Ryder's long, lonely tenure must have been something of an ordeal, given the magnitude of the problems he had had to face. Rarely had so many difficulties beset a career. The course of human history had hardly run smooth since the day that baby Isaac had first come into the world and Ryder had sought out the farm house with his hopes and plans burgeoning. Little Isaac had been Ryder's first project, and a stunning success he had been.

"You must love your work, Chen. And you must learn to love them, if you can. They can be infuriatingly stupid, wilfully destructive, immensely stubborn. There is no reasoning with the worst of them. And, as has been so often pointed out, they simply are not yet able to handle the truth."

"Do you think so?"

"Oh, be assured of that. They are still many centuries away from Revelation, but the day will come."

She felt a pang of disappointment. "However, you don't think it possible that that day will fall on my watch?"

"Oh, no. No, no. Perhaps the one who comes after you may be able to offer them the message. That rather depends on how you acquit yourself."

"A thousand, perhaps two thousand years?"

"Who can say? I regret to tell you that some of them are still dying of malaria and famine." And the sadness of his words had been like an admission of failure, or at least a suspicion that he, in his time, might have done more.

All that had been said at their first meeting, in the middle of a blistering high noon, ghosting among the awesome grey cliffs that rose above the so-called Eastern Sea of that dead companion world. Ryder had chosen that rendezvous too, ostensibly for the spectacular dawn view it afforded of her new home. And it had been no disappointment, her first sight of the so-called "Blue Dot" a little above a magnificent crater rim and suspended in a black sky.

And now, Chen was here, on another world, a true planet this one, where the sky was pink and the high cirrus clouds reminded her of home. Chen, dancing across dry ice, jewel-enhanced, membrane-wrapped against the elements, her delicate body was drifting in the wind, following the tracks of an ancient six-wheeler to where Ryder was waiting for her. What wisdom would be vouchsafed to her at this, their second and final meeting? Whatever it was, it would be worth listening to. Experience always was.

Yes, Ryder would certainly give good advice, but it would be her last. There would be no one to help her once she reached her final destination. In truth, the remote outpost to which she had been assigned was but a speck. Years and years would pass without any guidance. There would be decades of sending away reports with no echo and no sanction. She would be alone and would have to do as she saw fit. Appreciation, strategy, execution, all within the wide framework of policy. It would all henceforth be up to her.

An awesome responsibility, was it not, this steering of worlds? Yes, of course. But essential, to help them grow onward and upward. To ease them past the known hazards that could so easily trap the unwary and send them the way of the dinosaurs. As a good gardener must tend her garden, so must she tend those many billions of young shoots and help them come to greatness.

Her physical body felt good inside the membrane. It muted the cold, nullified the radiation, protected her. She experimented with the joints of her body, striking poses, drifting, dancing along lightly. The Plain of the Meridian, that was what someone had chosen to call this rock-strewn waste. The name was apt. It could easily be have been named for the fabled Middle of Nowhere, or The Abode of Hermits.

"And this breeze that kicks up the dust," she said aloud and with the faintest trace of a smile, "is the wind from Nowhere."

The debris, when she found it, was in the style of ancient makers, first-generation materials such as those shown in the museums and galleries, or discussed by the archaeologues. This one was hallmarked with a half-obliterated sign. She read it:

7dr

It made no sense, nor could her jewel help her. Its arcane meaning was lost, if ever it had had one.

Ridged tracks led away across the plain and she followed their strange squiggles and swivels, knowing that the tortured path must bring her to Ryder. This meeting would be another pleasure for her, but a bittersweet moment for Ryder. After all, he had constantly urged his charges to think about what was "up there." He had whispered in ears and used his considerable political influence. Most of those he had tried to persuade could not see the value of such expenditure - "Twenty-five billion dollars for a box of rocks? What are we? Crazy?" But not all of them had been so small-minded. There had been real enthusiasm, hiding here and there, among the masses.

Ryder had been only the fifth permanent observer and now his time was done, after five hundred difficult years, give or take an orbit or two.

* * *

Ryder waved at her. Tall and handsome and always in his prime. His jewel glittered prettily, acknowledging her. You just want to oblige him in all he asks for, Chen decided. Charisma had been his tool and his signature, a manner that eased his dealings with all who met him. He seemed at first to be standing on the six-wheeler, but no part of him actually touched the machine. He looked like a statue fashioned in first-generation materials, a rider upon a giant insect having silicon wings.

"Opportunity!" he said, laughing at her doubtfully raised eye-brows. "That was the name they chose for it."

"That is a most apt name to associate with this moment."

"Indeed!" He held a hand out towards the six-wheeler. "It was a technical triumph in its day. It ran and ran, and nothing could stop it. Not even when these silicon panes fogged up with dust and almost starved it to death."

"Ah, yes ... electricity. This machine made electricity from light to sustain itself."

Chen's eyes watched as a small whirlwind tracked toward a line of broken hills then dissolved on the rim of a crater. This was a hazy sort of place right now. But the brown equatorial plain was growing brighter as the sun lifted higher. On Earth there was a day of similar length, but the year would be only half as long, her brain reminded her.

"In retrospect," Ryder said, "solar power was probably a mistake out here, but you know -politics. In the later missions they went back to using plutonium. You'll find that of all the natural phenomena, radioactivity is the one that still scares them the most."

"I think I know why."

"Do you? Perhaps you do." There was something of the priest about Ryder. He pointed past her and subtly changed the subject. "Did you notice the marks where it bounced as it came down?"

"Yes. I purposely took a long look at the remains." Chen looked back along the track. "May I ask you: what does the inscription 7dr signify?"

He puzzled at that. "7dr? Where did you see such a thing?"

"Marked on the empty lander."

"Oh ... oh, I see!" Amusement, and more of that charming energy. "You have it up-side-down. It's JPL."

"Which stands for ... " The information came immediately from the jewel to re-stock her mind so that the information seemed like a recalled memory. "Jet Propulsion Laboratory?"

"Indeed. An essential project of mine. In the beginning I asked Dan Guggenheim to come in with me. Of course, he agreed. After all, it had been one of my recommendations that had led his father into mining and smelting. It was all a question of money, you see."

She shook her head, also amused. "Was there ever a great family fortune that you weren't behind?"

Ryder laughed. "Very few. In my era, I tried to make money the mechanism. It's a more predictable ruler than gods -- so much easier that way."

"Their name for one such god was 'Mars,' a god of war, I believe," she said, knowing the coming subject had to be breached.

"You are correct, of course."

"I wondered ... if you would tell me about the war?"

His spirit seemed to collapse inside him somewhat, and he floated lower. "I count the catastrophe that played out from 1914 to 1989 as my worst failure. There was no avoiding it. And whatever you may hope or choose to think now, you will find that there are times when war is the quickest and cleanest way."

That was shocking to hear, for the idea made her heart weep, and she wondered if perhaps he was not making excuses for himself.

"I see."

He saw her disappointed reaction and said, "Well, think of the bombs, Chen. If not for Hiroshima and Nagasaki how many more would have died?"

"It is, I suppose, possible to think of it that way."

She said nothing more, and so he said, "Yes, I know it sounds cruel and stands against all that we believe in, but it was the shortest way out. Humankind is not easily controlled, and some individuals are affected by an insanity that is terrifying to behold. A greed for absolute power, you might call it. And once such people grasp it, they never willingly let go."

Was it possible, after all, that Ryder had - what was that obscure expression for individuals too long severed from their own culture?

Gone native ...

Had the constant drudgery and the wasting of all his best efforts sapped away his ideals? Five centuries of riding the human storm alone had reduced him, she had no doubt, from the bright spirit that must once have burned.

"Has not the spreading of democracy helped to make despots a rarer breed?"

"I guess so ... on the whole, yes. Some clever wit among them once remarked that democracy was the least worst system they had yet come up with."

"How ironic. They could not know that idea was one of our gifts to them."

"Quite so. However, both Marxism and National Socialism were their own ideas, which shows what a mess they tend to make of their Eden when they are left unattended. But, dear Chen, I am reluctant to dwell too much upon their defects. They do have many redeeming features, and you will find yourself falling in love with them, despite their faults. Come along with me. It's time I showed you what I asked you here to see."

They drifted together through the dawn, drifting through the dusty carbon dioxide air, sporting with the meagre gravity of this world, and ultimately following the footprints, as Ryder talked of this and that. He had lived a dozen incarnations since his first landing at Edgehill. He spoke fondly of young Isaac and his later friendships with the other geniuses whom he had fostered, but his fondness for Isaac Newton and Charles Darwin and James Maxwell stood out.

They came at last to the remains of another lander, the one with the corpses inside.

"They landed here to visit their previous handiwork. Pictures were broadcast all over the world. I can see it now: three men clunking around in their cumbersome pressure suits, staring out from their golden face-plates. No membrane to preserve them. A single unforeseen critical malfunction -" Ryder clicked his fingers "- and they all died together."

He showed his compassion by producing a single salt tear that glistened on a smooth five hundred year-old cheek. "They lay down in their seats to die together and the people back home saw them holding hands an hour or so later. Ghastly. The stuff of nightmare."

"Yes."

He looked to her with guilty eyes. "You realize, of course, that I could have undone it all with the smallest touch of this ..."

He lifted up his jewel, and smiled the saddest of smiles.

"Such is the nature of responsibility," Chen said, understanding his heartache. "Who was it who said that any sufficiently advanced technology would be indistinguishable from magic?"

Ryder's eyes scanned the russet horizon. "Ah, now that was another of my English friends. And his words were - and are - most definitely true. If human beings saw us doing any of the things of which we are capable, most of them would run to the very ends of their Earth."

"All except the very stupid and the very smart."

"Ha, Chen. Quite so." After a pause he said: "Where will you choose to live at first?"

She looked at him, a modest side-long glance. "I was hoping you might advise me on that."

"A permanent base is impossible, of course - you must literally move with the times. Nanjing might be a good starting point for the time being. I have a villa there. It's yours now. As is my old London property, and the modest penthouse that I frequented for many years atop the Corcoran art gallery in D.C. Very few people ever knew about that. The private elevator was most useful, but Google Earth eventually put paid to it. There's still the townhouse in Kalorama Heights though."

There had been several times during their last illuminating talk, the one they had enjoyed on the dry, mouse-grey shore of the Eastern Sea, that Ryder had mentioned he had taken a number of human lovers throughout his tenure. Dangerous? Perhaps. Tragic? Invariably. How could it be otherwise? She did not yet know if she could bear to do the same. Only time would tell.

Now Chen looked down at the tragic footprints. Man tracks in the brown powder left by unwieldy space boots, a little eroded over the decades but still sharp enough.

At last, Ryder shook off his memories. "So ... that's why I asked that we meet here. Human beings are so apt to lose heart. They get wrapped up in their own little problematic world and lose the long view. Do encourage them, if you can, to think bigger thoughts. In the century since the fatal landing they never again ventured here. It has been a long time since anything has moved on Mars ... except the dust."

The End

Also available from Robert Carter:

#  BITTER PROPHECY

Susan Hawthorne

I. Pentra

As the first pink light of dawn softened the edges of the starless night, the village of Pentra began to stir.

Gef shuddered awake at the sound of banging at the door. He rose with a groan holding his aching head. A long night at the Ale House made being roused at such an hour an unhappy occurrence.

The banging became more insistent.

"Hold yer rapping," he shouted, "I'm coming." He heaved himself out of bed, rubbing his ever aching hip.

Gef whipped the door open and found two acolytes from the House of Priests before him. "Go away and come back at a decent hour, the sun's barely up!" he snarled.

He would have slammed the door but one of them moved forward, preventing him that satisfaction.

"Sir, we ask you to accompany us to the Hall of the Brotherhood. Father Auras has a matter of some urgency to discuss with you."

Gef leaned on the door and sighed. "I have to wash up and get dressed. It'll take awhile."

"Very well, sir, we'll wait."

As they stepped back, Gef slammed the door with a curse. He rubbed his eyes in a vain attempt to clear his vision. Squinting, he found his clothing on the floor by the bed. Ripping his sleeping gown over his head, he began to dress, complaining about the Priests as he did.

* * *

Gef paced as he waited for the Head Priest to come and tell him why he'd been summoned.

"Why me?" Gef asked as soon as Auras entered the room. "I've done yer bidding again and again. It's someone else's time."

The Priest at least had the courtesy to look abashed. "You have the... ah... background to know how to accomplish this sort of thing."

"Because I used to be a thief? I paid for that. I'm a good citizen now. Haven't I paid my bloody taxes like I'm supposed to?" Gef seethed at this disruption to his life and the fact that the Priests would never let him forget his past.

"Yes. And that's why we chose you. You have the skills we need from your previous life and now you've proven your loyalty to us. Now listen, a child appeared in a sacred vision and proved to be a vile threat to the Brotherhood and our village. Have you ever heard of the Prophecy of Silar?"

Gef blinked in confusion. "Of course, but the child in that prophecy is supposed to bring prosperity."

"The Spirits have shown otherwise. This child will have wondrous powers and it will _appear_ that she uses them to bring Good, but her true goal is to destroy the Priesthood and stand in our stead."

Gef shook his head in dismay.

Auras glared at Gef. "She must be stopped. When we cleanse her here, before all the people, they will understand the importance of the Priesthood and thank us for our fearlessness in confronting this evil!"

"Kill 'er, you mean. Kill the child of the prophecy that everyone's been waiting for!" Disgust lined Gef's face.

"Sacrifice. It's the only way to protect our way of life. You may not realize, Gef, but the understanding of prophecy is a delicate matter. When a prophecy nears fruition, its true meanings often become clearer. You are the only one we trust to do this. We're counting on you." Auras rubbed his hands together.

Gef sighed. "What's the plan?"

"We have a boat that will take you across the sea to Lysis, a three day journey. From there, we've arranged a peddler's cart for you to take to Silar so you can spirit the child away."

Considering the Priest's offer, Gef said, "I'll need help."

"We have the funds for that."

Gef thought aloud. "I'll need someone to go with me to Silar. I'll need extra hands on that job. And a woman, I think, to watch the child on the journey back over the sea."

The Priest nodded in agreement. "We will pay you 6,000 getlaks. With that you should be able to hire a couple of lackeys and still have a fortune for yourself. We will pay you one third now. The rest will be paid when you return and hand over the child. And this is to be kept quiet. Do you understand the need for discretion?"

"All they need to hear is the coins jingle. They won't want to know more."

Gef roughly accepted the getlaks to hide his excitment. He never expected such an amount.

Once outside, Gef grinned as he headed home. He knew exactly who he wanted on his crew. Though no blood relations, Magdalah and Krell were the closest thing to family he had. This money would soften the years ahead for them all. Magdalah had been like a sister to him. And then there was Krell. Not too quick, except with his dagger, but always willing to help Gef when needed. Somehow, after so many years, they'd bonded into family. After this job, they'd be set for life. They could get out of Pentra and out of the reach of the Priests.

'Yes,' he thought, 'life will be good once this is behind us.'

* * *

Just a few days later, as he boarded the boat, Gef found his joy dimmed. Captain Lagnor met him with contempt.

Lagnor looked Gef over with a sneer. "I've worked with the Brotherhood for years. I've never had to work with the likes of you." He laughed. "You're nothing but a worn-out old thief."

Gef folded his arms tightly across his chest. "I'm a lawful citizen of Pentra, Lagnor."

"Captain Lagnor to you, lackey. Hah! A thief and a liar! I've asked around, I know all about who you are." Lagnor made a sweeping bow. "I suppose at times one evil must be pitted against a larger one. It would seem you are the perfect choice to steal the Priests little prize."

Gef's hands itched to wrap around Lagnor's thick neck, but he thought better of it. The satisfaction he'd get from killing the man wouldn't be worth the coin he'd lose.

Gef's face blazed red as Lagnor laughed. "Be mindful who the master is. See you don't forget it!"

"Yer no master over me, Lagnor! I'm here to do a job just like you. If you aren't up to workin' with the likes a'me, you can go re-negotiate with the red-handed Brothers. Surely they'd be interested in yer thoughts on who they hire."

Lagnor stiffened. "I wouldn't bother planning what to spend that coin on, Gef. The Priests know how to handle troublemakers like you."

With a frown, Gef watched as Lagnor turned and stormed into the wheelhouse, slamming the door. He heard crashes as objects were thrown into the walls and curses hurled into the air.

After Gef and Krell helped Magdalah settle into the small compartment under the galley where she would keep the child, they sat at her table, talking.

"I don't like it," Gef said. "Lagnor's hiding something and I need to find out what it is."

Krell nodded.

"Now, don't go lookin' for extra trouble, Gef." Magdalah patted his arm. "I know you don't like Lagnor much, but what could he be planning?"

"I don't know, but I'll find out, I assure you."

II. Lysis

Three days later they entered the port of Lysis. Early that evening, Gef and Magdalah walked through the streets looking for just the right tavern. Finally settling on one that looked most like one the locals would visit, they sat and ordered an early dinner. Gef sighed, glad to get off his feet, the dull ache in his hip had grown to agony. The damp sea journey hadn't been good for it.

Most taverns had little meat but in a port town seafood abounded. They'd been looking forward to this meal. As they feasted on steaming bowls of fish stew, crusty rye bread and a block of cheese, along with hearty tankards of ale, they watched the regulars stream in and sit near the bar. As they noted who the talkers were and thought about who they'd approach to learn more about this child of prophecy, they ate and chatted, letting the ale work its wonders on the locals.

Gef soon struck up a conversation with an old fellow named Brey who sat with a small group. He asked about the market and what things sold best, trying to behave like the peddler he portrayed. Finally he worked his way to the question he wanted most to ask.

"So, what's this I hear about a prophecy 'round these parts?"

Brey nodded. "Aye, that'd be in Silar, about four hours hence. Years ago, long before my grand pappy's birth, a prophecy come down from the Priest's Hall about a child to be born in Silar by an unnatural path."

"A girl," interrupted Jona, one of Brey's cronies, "and she'd have great powers and bring prosperity to us all." He eyed Gef with suspicion. "You ain't one of them disbelievers, are ya?"

"No, indeed!" Magdalah broke in. "We'd love to know more. Did this unnatural birth take place?"

"It did." Brey tugged his beard. "Silar is a small village. They only have the one Priestess. No grand hall, ya know. News like that travels far and fast."

Magdalah nodded. "There's many a village like that outside of Pentra."

The old fellow across from Brey sputtered. "Pah! A bit over five years ago the Priestess come up in the family way. Said the prophecy grew within her! Some of us know how a child comes into the world and _prophecy_ has little to do with it! We're all farm lads, we know how a birthing comes about. Anyone who believes that story is a fool!"

"C'mon Hotch, you know it weren't like that! Yer treadin' on blasphemy!" Brey frowned at the old man. "This weren't no regular birth. Yer ill temper gonna get you in trouble."

Turning back to Gef and Magdalah, he went on, "The pregnancy became obvious real quick and ended even sooner. At just four months, the baby came. Four months to birth? How can you explain that? The birthing took three days but the attendants said the Priestess never cried out. When the child finally come she never heaved a cry neither. The Priestess gave 'er a kiss and said 'My mission here is fulfilled.' Then she closed her eyes and left this world." He leaned back in his chair with the air of a man who'd proved his point. "The child had a healthy weight with a thick cap o' curling blond hair and eyes as blue and clear as the sky above. The Priestess had named the child Merrith, as the prophecy said. Now if that ain't an unnatural birth, I dunno what is." He gave Hotch another glare.

"Oh, the mother died, how sorrowful." said Magdalah. "Who takes care of the poor orphan now?"

"Lady Barrow. She's descended from the founders of Silar, quite wealthy. She and her niece, Farra, took the child to raise. The Priestess asked her to before she died, you see."

"Is it possible to see the girl?"

"Nay, they don't show her off. In fact, she's guarded." He waved his hand. "I'm sure you know the prophecy, the Priests have taught it for mor'n a hunnert years. She's supposed to come into her power soon and the prophecy said some would want to do her harm. But if you go to Silar, you might see her in the market with Farra or in the gardens surrounding the house. You can't get close enough to talk to her, of course. But you might get to see her."

Gef winked at Magdalah, "Now that might be enough reason to visit Silar, eh?"

With a nod and a smile to Brey, Gef said, "It's nice to meet ye, Brey, and yer friends. We'd best take our leave. Perhaps we'll see you again while we're here."

They shook on that, then Gef lead Magdalah out. He waited to speak until they'd neared the quiet port.

"Shouldn't be hard to find the house of the wealthiest woman in town, eh? This may be an easy job."

Magdalah shook her head. "But the child's guarded, Gef. How will you get past them?"

"I'll look about when I get there, o'course, but it's a small village far from the main roads. The guards are probably just local men. I doubt they're well trained. And in the dark of the night, they probably feel safe in the house and won't be very watchful. We'll watch for men posted outside, but somehow I doubt that will be."

"Well, I hope you're right. I'll be worrying the whole time you two are gone."

Gef laughed. "You'd better concentrate on resting. Once we return you'll have a wee child to chase. She'll probably run you ragged."

Magdalah laughed. "Oh, five years isn't so wee, but I'm looking forward to it. Though I never had any of me own, I always loved the little ones."

Gef turned to Magdalah and looked into her eyes. "Remember where we're taking her, Mags. Don't get attached."

She sighed. "Right you are. I'll say goodnight now and see you both off in the morn."

* * *

Early the next morning, Gef and Krell set off in the cart, bumping and bouncing their way to Silar. "You'd think they'd have better roads so near the city at least," Gef complained.

Krell nodded and held his hat.

"Listen, Krell, when we get there, stay with the cart. If anyone asks any questions, just play like you don't understand 'em."

Krell nodded again. "Aye, Gef, I don't know nothing."

"I doubt if that happens, but you never know. We'll find the house first, circle about and see if they have any guards outside. Then we'll hide you and the cart in the woods as close as we can get. I plan to walk the market area to see if I pick up any other information, then tonight we'll do the deed and be on our way."

Krell smiled. "Aye, be on our way, that'd be good. I'd like to be away back to home."

Once they had the cart tucked away, Gef walked to the market square. He'd wandered about for perhaps half an hour when he saw what he believed to be his target.

A young woman strolled through the square holding the hand of a small blond child trotting at her side to keep up. Two men walked slightly behind, sharing a pint and trading jibes. Another walked off to one side.

Gef chuckled to himself. He and Krell had quickly found the largest house in the village. It had to be the right one. And, he noted with joy, it was a sprawling single story surrounded by gardens and trees.

Now, if these were the guards he'd have to contend with, he had a very good feeling about this job. He could imagine the weight of those getlaks filling his pockets.

He noticed the woman kept the child near wherever they went. She would probably be the most watchful of all. Gef wondered if the child slept in the room with her. That could be a bit of a problem.

Carefully keeping them in sight, he pretended to look through the shops. He watched as they bought something at the apothecary, then the bakery, and finally, some cloth at the mercantile. Gef waited until they left the square, counted to a hundred, then followed in the same direction. He rubbed his hip absently as he walked. The damp of the ship had settled into it, causing it to throb. The jouncing of the cart hadn't helped either. He'd be glad to have this done and be back in Pentra sitting in the warm Ale House with a fine draught after collecting his getlaks. Then he, Mags and Krell could start making plans to move out of the city.

The long, straight road made it easy enough to see them well despite their distance ahead.

III. Swept Away

The moon's silver glow bathed the town of Silar with a cold light. One sleek pale ray stole through Merrith's window to caress her soft cheek. She slept with the careless abandon of innocence, wrapped in the knowledge of her warm, safe world.

Gef and Krell approached the house with trepidation, circling it first to look for any trace of guards. They found one man at the front door and another near the child's window, but to their surprise, they were both asleep! A sharp tap with his truncheon made sure they stayed that way. They followed the moonbeam to the window with the bright curtains and the stuffed doll. Using his knife, Gef pried the latch, which sprang open with a solid click. For a moment he stood still, but heard nothing stir within. He slid the window open. His gentle movements were almost unimaginable for such a large man.

With a muted grunt, he squeezed through the tight opening. Krell waited outside.

As he waited for his eyes to adjust to the dimness, he listened intently for any sound, but heard none. Approaching the little bed, he stood over the sleeping child, pressing the point of the knife he still held against his large thumb while he studied her. He put the weapon away before leaning over to prod her shoulder. She didn't even twitch. Her breath came slow and even, whispered through gently parted lips.

He lifted her into his arms and fumbled at his belt for the small vial that hung there. The cap popped off easily and he poured the contents on the sheet and pillow, staining them dark red.

"Farra won't like that," the child stirred and murmured in his ear, gazing over his shoulder.

Every muscle in his body stiffened ready to subdue any outburst, but her calm, steady gaze stayed him.

"She won't mind so much," he whispered, heart pounding. "Once the sheets are changed, she'll forget all about it."

She gazed at him for a moment as if considering his words. "You don't need to be afraid."

Startled, he said. "I'm not afraid."

She smiled, "I told the guards to sleep, Farra and the Mistress too. They'll be sad, but we can go now."

_She knows!_ The thought leapt unbidden to his mind but he shook it away. That would be impossible.

"Where are we going?"

"To a place filled with butterflies." It was the first thing Gef thought of that a child might like.

"Oh, good." She smiled, and rested her cheek on his shoulder.

Then she popped back up. "Oh wait, I need to get Tiki!"

"No, shh, we can't tell or bring anyone. Here, let's put your robe on." He stood her on the floor and pulled her robe on, then recoiled as a small grey mouse jumped to the windowsill.

Merrith lifted the mouse and kissed his head, then put him in a pocket in her robe. "I have to bring Tiki."

Gef picked her up and handed her out to Krell who waited below.

"When will we see the butterflies?" she asked Krell, as he wrapped her in a dark shawl.

"Butterflies? Ain't no butterflies where we're goin'." Krell ducked his head and blinked rapidly.

Landing beside him with a thud, Gef took the child back and held her protectively. "Of course there's butterflies, Krell."

Krell's eyes widened and his head bobbed, "Oh, aye. Of course. The butterflies. Must've slipped me mind, them butterflies."

Gef glared at Krell, but Merrith already slept again. He looked around, then motioned Krell to follow.

They slipped across the lawn into the shadows under the trees, carrying Silar's hope with them.

Tucking the sleeping child into the back of their peddler's wagon, they urged the old nag on. The wagon rumbled steadily through the night under the watchful gaze of the moon. Gef noticed with relief that his hip had quit aching.

Well before morning, they'd reached the harbor.

As Gef lifted the child from the wagon, she opened her eyes. He looked around uneasily. "I don't like this, it's too quiet."

Merrith smiled. "No need to worry, we're safe."

Gef didn't have time to ponder how she knew this; they needed to be on the boat and away.

Lagnor watched them approach. "It's about time you two got back," he said in a low voice.

Gef frowned. "Look, you, I don't like none of this, but it's done. We're the ones what put ourselves in harm's way. You had naught to do but wait. Just get us back home so those black-robed devils can pay us our blood coin!"

Gef didn't know why he felt so angry. He'd been ready enough to take on this job. The Priests had convinced him they needed this child to keep the realm safe. He was doing his godly duty and being well paid to boot. But he didn't like putting the girl in Lagnor's care. He just wanted to be home with this mess finished. He didn't looking forward to the next three days on the tiny boat.

They took Merrith gently below decks into the waiting arms of Magdalah, who crowed and cooed as the child opened sleepy eyes.

"This cannot be an evil child," Magdalah whispered to Gef with astonishment. "What can these priests be thinking?"

"Not for us to judge," Gef answered, looking away before she saw his own doubts. "I'm going up to the wheelhouse. I'll check back on you later." And he lumbered back up to the deck above.

"Rest now, little pretty one," she whispered, "let the gently rolling sea rock you to sweet dreamland." Magdalah settled her into the small bunk and covered the child with the shawl she'd been wrapped in. Merrith slumbered gently as the waters carried her further and further from her homeland.

When the rising sun turned the waters to a bejeweled pathway, Merrith sat up, her gaze settling on Magdalah in the rocking chair at the foot of the bunk.

"Are you my guardian now?" she asked, no hint of trouble in her voice.

Magdalah chuckled. "No, child. I'm just here to help you while we travel. I've no doubt you're hungry. I've made you some gruel with a bit of bread and cheese. Not what you're used to, I'm sure, but it will fill you up well enough."

The child smiled sweetly, arose and walked to the crude table where she tasted the gruel. "Thank you, Magdalah, it's good. Where is the man who will take me to the butterflies?"

"Butterflies?" The woman looked puzzled. "You must mean Gef. He's here on the boat. Krell too."

Merrith reached into her pocket and pulled out Tiki, the grey mouse, offering him crumbs from her bread.

"Oh, my!" Magdalah backed away. "A mouse!

"Don't worry, Magdalah, he's my friend. He won't hurt you."

"Well, oh, a friend you say? Perhaps we can find a nice little box with a lid for him to ride in, where he'll be safe."

Just then the boat gave a lurch and Magdalah almost fell. "Gracious, it seems the sea is a bit rough. Here child, hop on the bunk where you'll be safe and I'll tell you a story." She didn't notice the mouse scamper out through the door that had swung open when the boat shifted.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Gef stormed into the room with the mouse in one hand and a crumpled sheaf of paper in the other.

"Magdalah, get your things together, we're getting off this boat, now! Hurry!"

"What? We're in the middle of the sea, we can't get off! Whatever are you talking about?"

He handed the mouse to Merrith.

She kissed the mouse's nose and tucked him safely back in her pocket.

Gef waved the paper at Magdalah. "I found that mouse outside the wheelhouse dragging this, so I grabbed it – the mouse and the paper – and it's lucky I found it! Lagnor plans to sell us out. The paper describes it, remember I told you he planned something! This isn't his real boat. He has a much bigger one, a proper ship. It's going to meet us in a few hours, pretending to belong to the priests. They'll send a demand that Lagnor bring the child to them. Then, once he complies, he and his men will ram us and shoot flaming arrows into boat, leaving us to drown or burn."

Magdalah clutched her chest and stared at him in horror. "No, no, what will we do?"

Krell and I will take on Lagnor, you get everything together. Gather all the supplies you can as well. I'm not sure how this will end. My plan is to set Lagnor afloat in the lifeboat. Then we'll take this boat on a different route."

"Do you know how to sail?"

"No, but I've seen what Lagnor does, we'll have to do the best we can. If it doesn't work out the way I hope, we may have to take the lifeboat ourselves."

Merrith moved to Gef's side and tugged on his sleeve. "Captain Lagnor won't stop you."

Gef knelt before the child. "I hope you're right, Merrith. Keep those thoughts."

He left to find Krell while Magdalah began to pack.

Merrith sat on the bunk and said, "It's alright Miss Magdalah. Everything will work out well."

Magdalah wrung her hands and looked about, "Oh, dear, we have to be ready for anything."

Merrith went to her and took her hand. "Don't worry anymore."

With a sigh, Magdalah looked down at her little charge. A huge relief flooded her body. "I suppose you're right, my dear." With that she sat in the rocker and dozed off.

Merrith watched until her breathing became deep and regular, then she slipped out the door and up onto the deck.

* * *

Gef and Krell each had a knife and the element of surprise on their side. They walked toward the wheelhouse with their weapons held low and behind them.

When Lagnor saw them approaching, he rose and opened the door. "I'm a busy man, what do you want?"

"There's a problem with the lifeboat, we need you to come take a look."

"Do I have to do everything myself? What oafs!" Lagnor stormed past them and down to the deck. He looked over at the lifeboat, then back at Gef. "I don't see a problem, what..."

Gef and Krell had moved to stand on either side of him and were holding their weapons up.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Turn around, Lagnor. We're going to send you out on the lifeboat. When your _real_ ship comes along, they'll pick you up."

"What..." Lagnor sputtered. "I... I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I'm sure you don't, just turn around. We don't want to hurt you... actually I'd like to ring your neck and throw you in the drink, but we'll spare you if you cooperate."

Lagnor's face had gone a ghastly shade of white. "Don't hurt me - the priests did this, not me. They made me do it."

"Save yer breath, you coward," growled Gef. "We saw the letter and what you planned, all so you could collect all the coin for delivering the girl. It's not going to happen, now turn around."

Lagnor started to turn, then flung himself into Gef and knocked the knife from his hand. He ducked under Krell's arm, whose blade missed him by inches and grabbed the knife that had clattered to the deck. He turned to run toward the wheelhouse.

Then he saw Merrith. He grabbed her by her hair and pulled her against his chest, holding the knife in front of her.

"Stop, both of you or I'll sacrifice this little lamb right here and now!"

Gef and Krell stopped dead, staring at Merrith with horror.

"Both of you get down to the bunk with the witch. Don't come back up. If I see any of you, she's dead."

Merrith nodded and a single tear ran down her silky cheek. "I wanted to stop this," she whispered.

Gef's heart filled with dread seeing Merrith in Lagnor's grasp.

Krell stepped back and pointed. "Look."

Gef turned his head and saw the ship approaching.

Lagnor laughed. "Give up, Gef. It's over. You can't fight off all those men. They'll be here within the hour. I've got the girl, there's nothing you can do now."

Gef looked at Krell and shook his head in defeat.

Merrith made no struggle against Lagnor.

Glancing at the ship once more, Gef noticed it listing to one side.

"Oh, by the Goddess, would ye look at that!" The ship was sinking! He could barely make out the men on deck. He saw a lifeboat swallowed up by the sea as soon as it was lowered. "What the..."

A maelstrom! It lifted the boat with its churning water, spinning it faster and faster until at last the ship tipped and sank. The waves leaped high and crashed down, slapping the surface. Concentric rings rolled out in a huge circle. And then the water stilled leaving no trace of the ship or its crew.

Lagnor had loosened his grip on Merrith. She tilted her head and looked up at him. "I'm sorry you had to lose your ship." She said.

He looked into her blue eyes and stepped away. "Go," he said, trembling. "Child of Prophesy, please... spare me!"

Merrith thanked him. Then she walked away.

Gef leaped forward and pulled her to him, watching Lagnor as he stumbled backwards and dropped his knife, then leaned against the edge of the railing.

Krell ran forward and retrieved the weapon.

"Lagnor, in the lifeboat now," demanded Gef. Fury filled his heart at the thought of that man holding a knife to little Merrith. "There's rations and water in there, head back toward Lysis. You'll be picked up by someone, no doubt.

Lagnor nodded. "Just keep her away from me." He pointed at Merrith with a trembling hand as he moved to the lifeboat. Then he fell to the deck.

"Get up, Lagnor. It's done, yer ship has sunk and so are you."

Lagnor didn't move. As he moved closer, he saw the man's lifeless eyes were open.

"He's dead." Krell said in a wondering voice.

"Aye," Gef took a deep breath, "looks like his heart gave out."

He looked down at the girl, and touched the blonde curls that framed her face. "Go back to the cabin and stay with Magdalah, little one." He watched until she moved out of sight.

"Let's get him out of here."

Krell took Lagnor's legs and Gef his arms as they lifted and pitched him over the rail into the waiting sea. Gef grunted in satisfaction.

"Now let's figure out how to move this boat."

They went to the wheelhouse and pulled out the maps.

"There," said Gef. "There's Pentra to the northeast. And that's where we're heading according to the compass. Now look some miles down toward the south, almost directly east from here. There's a large peninsula jutting out, miles below Pentra. That's where we'll head. It's much closer and I'll feel better getting off this boat, how about you, Krell?"

"Aye, Capt'n." He grinned at Gef. "I'll feel lots better when me feet are on dry land."

Gef bellowed laughter and wiped sweat from his brow. "Me too, Krell, me too. And you can call me Captain once I've guided this boat there safely, for that still remains to be seen!"

Late the next afternoon, after a long and watchful night, Krell and Gef sighted a small sandy beach guarded by a large outcropping of rocks. They guided the boat as close as they dared and dropped anchor, then prepared to lower the lifeboat.

Merrith slipped her small hand into Gef's. "Is this where the butterflies come?" Her eyes were large and blue and trusting.

"Nay," Gef said gruffly, "that's for tomorrow, little Miss. Not now."

She smiled and he felt as if the sun had burst out from behind dark clouds. Warmth filled him, yet a gnawing dread washed over him.

The lifeboat held rations and water containers, blankets and utensils as well. Once they reached the beach, they secured the lifeboat, set up camp for the night and built a roaring fire. After they had eaten, Merrith curled up on a blanket between Gef and Magdalah and fed Tiki some breadcrumbs. She soon fell fast asleep.

Magdalah turned to Gef, her face aglow in the firelight. "You know what they're going to do, don't you?"

"Aye," he grunted. "And I'd as soon have this done with."

"Will they be gentle?"

"I doubt they'll care about niceties. They have their rituals to perform." He studied the sand beneath him.

"Ach! How can they think such a tiny lass could harm anyone?"

"Something in the stars told of it, one of the gods I suppose." He looked away and scratched behind his ear with a grimace.

"It's an evil god then," declared Magdalah, as she lifted one of Merrith's golden curls.

"What would ye have us do, Mags?" Gef brought his gaze to Magdalah's face with furious intensity. "Be outcasts the rest of our lives? I took this job for you, for Krell, for US!"

Krell's head bobbed a few times and he spat into the fire. "Me, I've alus wanted to see them Southern Mountains." He glanced in the direction of Gef, then put his attention back to the fire.

Gef arose, his hands clenched at his sides. "Do you two know what yer saying? We'll have to give up everything! The priests will have us hunted down like dogs for not delivering her as promised. We'll always be watchin' our backs. And besides, we were paid, and well, I might add, to do this job." He faltered. "It'd be wrong, wouldn't it?"

"Eh, they'll have our homes and all our possessions to regain their coin," said Magdalah.

Gef rubbed his head and his voice dropped to a low whisper, "And, did you ever think... what if they're right?"

Magdalah gave him a slow smile. "Do you think they are?" Her fingers continued to play over the child's soft hair.

He frowned. "I didn't want to take this dirty job to begin with, Magdalah. But what could I do? You can't refuse them, you know that. And I wanted to make our lives better, with all that coin we could get out of Pentra, have a better life. Do you understand?"

"I do understand, Gef. I know you... remember? You're a good true man. And maybe we have a new life offered to us right now."

Gef folded his arms across his chest, his gaze averted from Magdalah and Krell. "I gotta get some sleep. G'night."

He felt tears threatening. He thought he'd forgotten how to cry long, long ago.

* * *

The morning sun arose to find Gef sitting on the rocks that sheltered the little beach, staring at the rolling sea. Merrith ran out to sit beside him. They remained quiet as they gazed out over the sparkling water. After a few minutes, she looked up into his face and said, "Will we go to the butterflies today?"

Gef didn't want to look at the child, all bright and golden in the morning sun. Her presence made him feel warm and cold all at the same time.

Merrith reached up one hand and Gef saw a butterfly land upon her forefinger. Shadows fell over them and Gef looked up, expecting to see storm clouds. Instead, to his astonishment, he saw that hundreds of the colorful creatures hovered there. It looked as if a rainbow had come apart and showered over them. The air filled with blues, greens, oranges, purples and yellows. The tiny creatures swarmed and settled over them like an iridescent blanket. Gef felt the magic of the moment fill a spot in his heart that had been dark and closed for a long, long time.

Merrith laughed joyfully. "Here are your butterflies, Gef. They came to you."

He slipped his arm around the girl, sheltering her. "Aye, the butterflies! You _are_ the Child of Prophecy, aren't you? I feared to believe it, but I knew it in my heart the moment I saw ye."

Merrith didn't answer but looked into his eyes with a tilt of her head. The knowledge of her power and her need for his protection filled him. She had loved the Lady Barrow and Farra but knew if she stayed with them they would be endangered. She needed to be away from the towns while her power grew into fruition. She didn't want anyone hurt when the priests tried to find her. She sorrowed over the sinking of Lagnor's ship and even the death of the Captain himself, though he meant her harm.

Gef's heart filled with new life, like a butterfly that just burst out of its cocoon. He rose and turned toward their camp. Pulling her up into his arms, he shouted to Krell and Magdalah, "Let's get packed up, we're heading South today."

The End

Also available from Susan Hawthorne:

#  GUIDING STAR

Teresa Garcia

Raelmaz pulled herself together from amongst the stardust she had spread out into during her rest cycle, concentrating into one plane of the universe and one point of reference in the High Plain of Heaven. Her essences formed a rough egg shape as she did, just as when she had first been laid, a very slightly elongated pearl in those aeons so long ago. The tickle of the dust passing through her, and her through it as she fell further into one of the material planes from ethers where she had been, brought a delicate shiver through her entire being. The desire to dance in the swirling arms of the universe rekindled in her core and spread through her like molten lava from an effusive eruption down the sides of a volcano. Dimly she remembered the last time that she had felt the touch of another of her kind pressing through her field and mingling with her in a glorious swirl of light. The cold depths of space had lost their charms aeons ago, the dance of the stars always following the same cycles. Her kind were too far spread now, and too few to meet often.

" _Condense to a point. Hold. Explode. Spread. Dance. Attract. Join. Condense to a new point..."_

At the edge of her influence she felt the ripples of passing motion through the fabric of the universe. It moved too fast for a comet, and the energy projected from it held far too much of a living pattern. The back of her mind tickled with memories seeking to be heard, but were too old and wan to burn through the haze. Like needles she had witnessed countless races use, before succumbing to the fate that met everything at the end, something punched through and sent ripples through space-time. The fabric that punctured, as well as the mystery of the "needle" that pierced it, caught her attention and awakened her. It seemed as if the fabric had puckered even before the stitching. Raelmaz coalesced even more as thought returned more and more quickly to her.

" _Such is the pass from plain into plane. Follow, this one deigns."_

Once more she felt her body, which she had previously abandoned, and stretched out across the heavens in a luxurious wave of motion, forming it to her current true shape instead of the waking shape. Iridescent scale hissed softly against under-scale as she swam the solar and other currents between the star systems. Here she had no measure of how much she had grown or how long she had slept, although looking down at her translucence she found that she was no longer the soft grey of her adolescence nor the pearl-light of a hatchling. Now she shone with the blues and purples of an adult female, a borealis effect imbuing her with ever shifting streamers as her mane and wings spread.

Just as the craft of souls had, she pierced the fabric of time and space, diving for the level it had kicked into. Time stretched and condensed, and for a flicker space around her truly did seem as fabric forever being woven on the loom by the invisible hands of her distant ancestors.

Then she was through, trailing the energy of the old system and dimension behind her and strewing its dust in her wake, fertilizing who knew how many new realities and perhaps seeding new life on planets not yet born. In less than half a breath she crossed three star systems...not that her kind breathed per se. The closer she came to the craft the more strange information flooded her. So many voices and thought-voices screamed from the little metal vessel with its twinkling lights and myriad decks filled with tiny moving space ants...or sardines.

" _What was a sardine anyway?"_ she thought as soon as the observation formed, then wrapped herself around the craft, unflinching even as its antennas and other strange protrusions passed through her non-corporeal body. Being on another level of vibration she had no need to worry about the molecular damage they could have otherwise caused.

In answer to herself she fished out the image from the writhing mass of minds. Some unappealing tiny silver-brown swimming creatures – fish – that were as sleek as herself in some ways, emerged.. They were packed tightly in strange rectangular contraptions, cans, opened by a key...these images survived in the collective unconscious of the race despite no one having seen cans for untold generations. The next image was murkier and more fleeting, tiny silver darts of light through a sea more dense than that which she swam.

The images made her hungry. When she was smaller she did eat similar creatures when she visited some planets.

Raelmaz reeled at the unexpected wash of guilt that emanated now from the vessel, as if she had brushed things that still rode in their genes that had yet to be repaid. Visions of billowing smoke, the scent of ancient pollution, dried planets withering beneath the spreading touch of blades that laid low the hairs, the trees, of countless planets before, their own included, spread through her being. Raelmaz wretched, feeling as though it were her own whiskers and luxurious mane being shorn so callously.

" _Such blasphemy!"_ She toned low and then high, vibrating on countless levels. _"To think that a planet belongs to one race alone. That would be as my kind claiming all of space and the dimensions."_

She delved into their minds again, intent on seeing what these arrogant creatures believed they looked like. Two arms, two legs, and one head formed in her mind. Many of them tall and slender, presenting a range of skin colors from pale cream to the charred iron of impacted meteors. They had hair, like herself, ranging from star-white to void-black, and seemed to insist on covering their bodies with great drapes of cloth. None would easily allow an uncovered image, unless they were busily performing the dance of procreation together. What they allowed her to see represented 'beauty' as they conceived it.

Raelmaz recognized this race. Once she had swam their seas and had alighted in their temples in a favorite part of their world. It had not been their first.

" _So they killed that haven I gave them..."_ She rumbled to herself. Did she dare delve deeper into this matter? Had she done wrong pitying them and answering their calls for the help of a 'wise and beautiful stardragon' so many millenia ago? In re-teaching them how to carefully use the riches around them? _"The place they came from before that I remember was being drawn into an expanding sun...according to their memories then."_

* * *

"Sir, something seems to be attaching to the hull." The boy at the console was only two years into his service training, and his voice held the clipped nervousness of it. Hair did not venture to his jaw just yet, though it curved around it in a short brown waterfall.

"Well Ensign, this looks like a good day to send out the droids to harvest or remove it. What is the location?" The Captain sat in his chair at the bridge, setting his m'larh mug down carefully in the holding cell. The lid closed on the steaming thick aromatic mauve liquid without prompting. He shifted, his backside beginning to fill the seat more than he would have liked. His feet no longer reached the floor. He had lost height, though he'd never been as tall as the Ancestors were when designing the ships. The voluminous purple and gold robes tangled around his legs.

"That is the problem, Sir. The readings indicate that the object is wrapping our vessel, but none of the cameras show anything other than shifting lights. There's nothing to harvest or remove that I know how to deal with." The lad in green looked up at the man beside him for confirmation.

The man training his replacement nodded his graying egg-shaped head. "The boy is right, Sir. This isn't anything that I have ever seen myself." He brought up a visual onscreen, knowing his Captain's next order from long experience.

Blue and purple lights shot with silver and gold swathed them, shifting and whirling gently, though from time to time the movements lashed. His eye began to pick out what looked like coils and scales. Absently he ran his fingers over the material of his robes, stitched and woven to mimic such beauty as well as fabric ever could.

"What is it, Sir?" The Ensign whispered.

"We may have picked up an energy thread on our last jump." He replied. "But I don't think so. We'll give it another tetsch if there are no damage readings. If it is a thread then it should dissipate soon. How are the solar panels holding?"

A woman at the power consol piped up, her voice so high as to verge on the edge of hearing. Her normally greenish skin had paled to lime-cream. "Power readings are high, Sir. It's like we're in the middle of a cluster. Excess power is being diverted to charge the storage crystals, which will speed along the order for hydroponics' summer cycle."

Everyone on the bridge stilled when they felt soft brushes pass through and around them, as if someone trailed real fur over them. It wasn't dead like what was so carefully preserved in the museum deck, but vibrant and soft, much different than the synthetics that were used to trim beds and robes with. A cool mind joined them in their bodies, sifting through memories... memories they didn't even know they had. Images of what they thought their race looked liked were dredged up.

Several of them tried to cover themselves. No one escaped, though some did enjoy the probing more than others. The captain found his heart rate slowing as the invader latched more firmly onto his mind. Tingles ran through his body as a light presence filled him and explored his body, as if it examined every molecule. While it held him he hazily thought that he could see the spaces between atoms somehow, and a deep sadness filled him without apparent cause.

The presence pulled back, revolted at something it found in his mind. Then it pressed in again, much less gently than before. Around him his crew members cried out in panic. Some dropped to the floor or flailed in jerky motions as if fighting something from within their own body. He felt fear for everyone under his protection. Was this one of the body snatchers from Sector Gamma-Gamma-Omega 313? He didn't have the whole colony, but who knew what would happen to their race with the loss of even one of the transport refuge ships?

Its grip gentled. The image of a face composed of the lights outside and combining reptilian and equine features coalesced in his mind. Through it he could see the star field. A great mane waved in a breeze that he knew could not exist. Whirling faceted eyes of starlight regarded him guardedly. How this thing outside could survive, when it should surely have exploded due to lack of pressure, he had no idea. Then again, all that the screen showed was light.

Was this then some energy being?

Something pushed him back further within his mental space and he felt it take over, settling over him like a cloak and peering through his eyes, moving his body. It melded into him more perfectly with every twitch and breath, and he found himself studying each crewmate in turn. None of them appeared the way that he had seen them before. Whatever this being was, she – it was definitely female – had known what their race once looked like. The shadows of the past overlaid them all through his shared eyes, revealing that they now had eyes too large in bulbous heads. Wasted bodies far shorter than what 'should have been' from their ancestral stock lurked in voluminous robes that hid from their view what the effects of generations of exclusive space travel had wreaked. Even skin tones had been affected along with color perceptions. How many generations back had 'skin tone' become shades of blue, green, grey, or purple, and not the browns and whites they expected and had been seeing? What genetic mutation had enabled that?

There was a snort and shake in his mind. Had the invader heard his thoughts?

* * *

She felt they fought her far more than they should have. It was just as well. Most of them made her feel dirty after cohabiting their bodies. Who knew these weak little beings could try to hide such dark secrets from each other in such a crowded place. Infidelities, secret trysts, lies, addictions, rivalries, jealousies... hates...desires.

" _Such petty creatures...they've evolved only in body and not in mind. Pity."_ Raelmaz thought.

Only the one whose robe held a different color from the rest and who sat in the high seat seemed an acceptable enough host. He was barely both clear enough and had a high enough vibratory signature that she did not have to open herself to overwrite him, although he could still work harder to raise his rate. It was simple to push his energy back and claim him physically so she could see them through his view.

Such a strange view, with colors all confused. His reaction at being able to see the way she saw amused her, as did the rest of his thoughts.

" _You might consider me a being of energy. I slide between realities and often exist in more than one plane at once. I do glow and emit a lot of power. I don't have a solid form by your terms. My race has been called many things by your own. I vibrate much faster than you do as well."_ She replied, letting him hear specific words that she plucked from his language centers. _"Perhaps for now that will suffice."_

The captain looked around the bridge for the origin of her voice, which rolled and swelled like thunder through him, before he settled his eyes on the view screen. Her irritation at the rather private area of herself displayed bothered her. When had that gotten so round? She'd have to work some of that back into muscle if she hoped to mate with a male when in her egging cycle.

"Where would you rather we look then?" The Captain, Zentaur came the name, asked her aloud. The question garnered looks from the crew members, none of whom had heard her speech.

" _It may make you look less insane to speak mentally with me. That is what your people's ancestors did the last I saw of them."_ She replied, sending him an image of where her eyes rested easiest.

"Switch cameras to area LL1." It took a moment for him to recognize the view in order to give the command. When he did he saw the head draw back, adjusting itself to where her face could be seen more easily.

" _Even females of my kind prefer to be looked in the eyes and not the rump or breast. No I'll not say which it was."_ Her voice was dry. She had a sense of humor, after all, and it was vaguely funny that the first glimpse the inhabitants had of her did fall into their range of usual attention areas for themselves.

" _Apologies then, Lady."_ He thought at her with a mental bow in her 'direction.'

Good, they still possessed some of the politeness she had tried so hard to instill in their ancestors.

" _Why are you holding our ship?"_

" _To investigate your people, Captain Zentaur. Your jumping between dimensions disturbed my sleep."_ Raelmaz replied. _"Why are you here, instead of on a planet where you'd been last?"_

" _Our planet is no longer habitable, Lady... Do you have a name? I feel odd that you know mine without being told, but I have nothing other than Lady for you."_ He lowered his eyes from the screen briefly before looking back up at her.

The crew looked between their captain and the screen. Their confusion tasted sour in her mouth. So as to not exclude them, she deigned to use her voice, though she was unsure as to whether she could be heard anymore. "I am Raelmaz, a daughter of Arashi-ne-va and Celnes-ja-ranta. Why is your planet not habitable?" Despite her surprise at how loud she was, roared was more accurate a description, she did not clamp her great jaws shut. At least she knew they would hear both through the ship and over whatever speakers they may have had outside.

"Raelmaz..." He attempted to mimic her accent, though the name fit strangely in his mind and mouth. "Fifteen generations have passed since the ship left, and the logs say that the sun was causing the water to evaporate due to its growth. This ship was one of the first to leave in search of a safe haven for those on board. There was no way to reverse the sun's growth."

"For me, there would have been if I had been remembered. Have you forgotten how to call on your Gods in the reliance on your technologies, again?" She snarled. "Do your people have such short memories as to forget it was stardragons that guided you to the home that you abandoned, and that we told you to call upon us if the stars needed tending? Am I to believe that you forgot how to ask for help?"

"Yes, Lady Raelmaz. We did. The legends that followed us from other planets painted dragons of all kinds as imaginary beasts, mere fantasies of explorers and those that had been ship bound too long."

"Fantasy am I?" She squeezed her coils, passing through the hull until she knew several of them would be in plain view of not only the crew, but others in the living quarters of the ship. "Touch me then, any of you. See how real I am since your kind must see and feel what lies before them." She trembled a bit in her frustration, her teeth glinting as her lips drew back to display canine teeth.

Most simply stared as if those coils were that of a lowly venomous snake. One, a blue tinted male, reached tentatively for her but then drew his hand back as if burned before even making contact. She scoffed at his incapacity and flared her head plumage at them, daring any of them to find their courage. The last she'd seen this race they had been braver and worthy to touch her. She could feel herself vibrating faster and faster. If she didn't calm down she would not be able to stay synced with them period. Then they wouldn't be able to see her at all.

Zentaur stepped closer, walking calmly over to where the nearest coil poked through and writhed. Reaching out to touch her he found her to be warm, like one of the heating blankets set on high. The longer that passed with his hand near the warmer she became and the more transparent she was. He tried to lay a hand physically on her, but it pressed into her. Something pressed his hand back out.

"I said touch me, not enter me, Captain." She snorted, then calmed as he ran his hand along her scales. The sting of awakening soothed somewhat at the contact.

"I apologize Lady Raelmaz. It is hard to judge without feeling the way I normally do. What could you have done for us though, even someone so great as you?"

" _Diplomat... Humph. Buttering me up so I don't eat you all, perhaps."_ She thought to herself with the touch of a wry smile tickling the corners of her lips. "I could have reset your sun and had a place to lay eggs. I don't know about returning the water, but surely you would have found ways to obtain it from other sources."

"Then when we finally find a new home, hopefully the generations that come will remember your abilities..."

"That is if I allow you to go on." Zentaur removed his hand from her side when Raelmaz spoke, and she brought her face closer "Besides that sun expanding so, what had you done to the planet? Had your people treated it well?"

"As gently as is possible, Lady Raelmaz. We used a combination of crystal, wind, and solar powers. When crystals were harvested seeds were left behind or planted. The forests were well cared for until the droughts wiped them away. We have footage in the library if you wish to see for yourself."

She pressed further in, and her snout nearly touched the slight rounded protrusion where his nose should have been. "Show me. Take me there." She slid off the ship and drew her body after her, shrinking down to a size that more easily fit the ship and floated before him.

Zentaur swallowed. What sort of being changed sizes at will and, when condensed to such a size, was still translucent? Why, he wondered that her light didn't blind them. Plumage around her head rattled loudly, the way a torrential rain sounded in the holo-deck's simulations. The old legends blurred the line between stardragons and gods. How true were they, and how much simply awe?

"This way..." The Bridge could do without him long enough to satisfy her, hopefully. To send anyone lesser in standing likely would have been interpreted as an affront. He led the way through a transport pod that teleported them to the library deck, which worked for Raelmaz as easily as for him. The feeling of being possessed while she walked at his side made him miskey at first.

" _Indeed I would have thought so..."_ Her voice came in his mind, _"Your First will be able to handle things while I decide your fate."_

Though she had sounded stern and enraged on the bridge, here she sounded older, tired, and sad to him. The door to the library and archives hissed open when he laid a hand on the center. A twinkling array of various crystals and colors met her, along with shelves of carefully preserved and sealed books and scrolls from their first world along with disks from the second world. It was the crystals which drew her though, and she flew to coil around the largest. It was a five sided point that tapered from a five foot base, and had grown in such a strange way that glyphs of several languages could be picked out by the keen eye. Today the letters from an extinct language displayed near the base: A, S, M, S, and G. The code disappeared momentarily at her touch. The sixteen foot clear quartz thrummed and pulsed welcomingly as she adjusted herself and let the information flow through her. Pictures formed and died briefly as they communed.

She looked almost peaceful with her eyes closed and head nodding in time to the pulse of the crystal. Raelmaz's colors softened at times as she crooned to it. Zentaur couldn't be sure what she was finding as they accessed the information in a much less direct way. Whatever she found, he could only hope it would be enough to preserve the lives of those under his protection who had done no wrong to any planet during their lives.

" _It's almost a pity that they didn't bring the main crystal from the planetary core, but that would have been asking too much of the planet and would have been sacrilege..."_ Raelmaz mused to herself as the crystal sang of how careful the people had been with its mother. She was relieved to find that the visions of polluted seas were not to be found from this planet. Perhaps then it had been a combination of karma and the star's growth intersecting in just the right way, along with their forgetfulness.

Raelmaz uncoiled from that crystal and brushed against another that had chimed in with its own set of records pertinent to her search. At times she almost disappeared into them, and the only way he could see her was as an orb flitting through and about...sometimes in the center of the spires that branched every which way.

After what seemed to be a klar-worth of tetches the twinkles and tones from the crystals and dragon went silent.

" _I see no reason to destroy you. You did as well as could be expected. I do not want you to go the way you are going though..."_ The voice poured through him as she once more came to plain sight. _"You are heading in the right direction for what will serve, but you're in the wrong layer again."_ She coiled up the largest crystal again and rubbed around it as if to scratch an itch.

"Wrong layer, Lady?" Zentaur narrowed his eyes to listen better.

Raelmaz snorted and projected a simple view of space for him, and then built on it slowly to allow him to see other spaces overlaid and occupying the same area. She even allowed him to see to see the planet that was forming on a different layer in the very spot the ship occupied.

" _Wrong layer."_ She nodded, watching as his eyes widened, then teleported herself back to the Bridge to wait. "Have everyone return to the bridge and I will show you all where to go and how. I remember how jumpy your kind gets if I speak to too many at once who are not together."

* * *

The living decks were in chaos due to the strange purple and blue lights that had been spotted writhing through the hull as if they had not been six feet of specially treated trilininium and force shielding. Taul sighed as he yet again assured the Quarters Officer that they did indeed know what the lights were and that for now everyone was best served to remain calm, or as calm as anyone could get after having a stardragon's coils slither through them while in the shower... She hadn't said that was what had happened, but based on the sketchy description of what had brought the problem to her attention shortly before her husband had screamed about being ravaged by a huge snake, he could imagine.

He was not the only one trying to maintain order. Propulsions had been having a fit about the ship no longer moving. Power crystals were mysteriously singing and glowing in previously unknown patterns. Hydroponics had been overtaken by mysteriously lush growth in the short span between their last jump and four tetches ago. Whether that was going to be good or bad no one was certain.

The stardragon materialized in the Captain's chair, then sniffed at the closed m'larh mug. It smelled of roses and cinnamon, caffeine, something dark and musky, sweet-something, and chica bean. _"That depends on if you like plants."_ She answered Taul's thought with a twitch of her tail while flipping open the lid, just before sticking her snout in. _"You want to have good healthy things that you know you can eat while learning new plants, I assume."_

"Well, yes..." Taul nodded, his fist clenching at how this being had invaded his mind and taken over their ship as if it were her personal territory and their existence was her whim.

" _Good."_ She looked at him sternly. _"'Magic' is real. Your continued existence is indeed my whim. Don't make me change my mind after I told your Captain I would show you the way to a new home."_ Raelmaz paused a moment, tilting her now crystalline head slightly as she regarded him. _"Of course I could crystallize you and just take the rest there. You could be a reminder in a town square that my kind is real and a warning as to what can happen if my generosity is mistreated."_

The captain materialized in the transport pod and stepped down to the floor, nodding to all of them. "Lady Raelmaz, how do we get to this planet that you say would be suitable?"

An electric frisson spread over the crew. A myriad of emotions assaulted Raelmaz as they spread and she could feel the waves of it spreading through the ship even though word had not yet passed to the other various passengers. That there still could be secrets with connections like that puzzled her.

She drew him to the navigations consol, mentally overlaying her hands on his and gently bumping aside the confused Navigations Officer. Zentaur balked slightly at the control, but not enough to annoy her. He was a being less used to sharing, after all. Under her guidance his fingers moved across the keyboard and programmed the sequence she needed. Closing her eyes she simultaneously brought up the rudimentary model she had drawn for him and shared it with the others.

"This is where we are," A glowing dot appeared on the 'map' on one layer. "And this is where we need to be." Another dot appeared. She changed the view slowly and superimposed the course they had been under. A blue dot appeared on a planet an appropriate distance from a sun in that vector. "This is where you will go."

"Well and good." Taul crossed his arms, his blue robes shifting with him. "But how are we getting there? Our drives can't manage a jump like that. We span distance and they need to build a charge."

"You've already managed one such jump by hitting a weak point in the fabric of space-time at just the right time and velocity. You won't need drives this time though. I will be taking you and it will be very easy as I'm already bonded with the crystal archive. Unless you fight me of course. I can't say what might happen to you if you struggle mid phase." Raelmaz preened her wings meekly, looking mildly at Taul and smiling.

Zentaur looked between the two, feeling the conflicting emotions running through the stardragon regarding him, though unsure why he was feeling and knowing her thoughts more clearly with every mili-tael.

" _Perhaps you're evolving."_ Raelmaz answered while shooting him an amused glance. "Someone should warn your passengers that I will be embracing them again, to avoid what happened last time." She looked over a claw pensively.

Zentaur gave an order to his Communications Officer, and soon his voice was carrying through the ship. "Please prepare for another jump. We are being guided to a haven, finally. Stow everything quickly and stand by. Our guide says that she will be 'embracing' us. This is the entity we felt before. Do not fight her."

" _It would actually be better if you embraced back, or at least opened to me. The more fear you have the harder it will be for me to bring everyone."_ Her words to the entire ship followed on the heels of the Captain's, sonorous and smooth.

She allowed them a short time to prepare before spreading out once more and filling the ship...and each of the passengers, wrapping around them as if they were tiny grey mice in the hands of long gone children in some other plane of existence. Some opened to her more than others, Taul the least. There she found irritation that the voyage would be reaching an end. Ultimately that didn't matter. There were other functions where he could fill an important role once landed.

Now she took breath for all of them, synchronizing their hearts and lungs. So many minds were there to harmonize that she had to fall back on arcane purification chants in a dead language. If they focused on the words, which they did, then it would be easier to thread them all through. Raelmaz began to hum and tone, pulling their vibrations up forcibly, allowing more to figure out how to latch back onto her. There was hope yet then that they could relearn forgotten gifts and avoid what had killed their very first world.

She had to dance, and soon.

Finally she had them all in alignment and called on the crystals. Side by side she activated them, and they danced with her to build the energy needed to push through. It had been long since she had felt so full. She could hear the stars around them sing, and she called out to them in joy. Perhaps a prospective mate would hear and be awakened by her cry to take care of other needs.

The wall burst. The needle pressed through. The thread followed her and the fabric rippled with her. The universe condensed to a point as they sped forward. Then the point exploded yet again, and she forgot about the tiny beings she held within herself as she swam the current toward the star that called back to her, shivering in excitement. The tiny mice within screamed in pleasure and agony with her at the burst.

A planet's gravity caught at her like the talons of a male, and she curved around it as a memory tore to her consciousness. There were little ones she had to ensure nested before she could search out a mate. The urge to create lessened slightly, but not fully. Carefully she brought the ship into orbit and disengaged.

A planet of green and blue shone in the light of a white star, orbited by 9 other planets that were its siblings, and having triple moons. White clouds swirled over the face. Raelmaz smiled, she could already hear the crystals in the planet communicating with those onboard the colony ship and exchanging information. The exchange would ensure that any terraforming that needed to be done would go smoothly. Even better, there was no creature already occupying the niche that these little ones would need.

Raelmaz laughed and condensed herself again on the bridge, this time in a form standing upright on two legs, great wings folded on her back, and clasping a spear in her hand. She was transluscent as ever, and unrobed, as a stardragon had no need of robes. Scales were enough for her and always would be. "Behold Voyagers. Name and care for your planet well. If you do not take care of it, remember that I may not be so kind next time."

Zentaur had fallen in the course of the jump, overwhelmed by the myriad minds that he had been merged with temporarily and the speed, then her withdrawl from him.

"Sir, our sensors are picking up that the atmosphere has an Oxygen mix that is breathable. Temperature readings are good as well." One of the women from the consoles reported with flashing teeth and bright eyes.

Zentaur smiled. His people would have a home planet. Then his heart fell, and he closed his eyes. What could he do to repay this being that had been kind despite her feelings toward them? Stranger yet, he felt a loss. Surely she would leave. Why did he feel such loss at the thought? He opened them to find Raelmaz regarding him with a guarded expression.

"Perhaps, Zentaur, you may be a little too open... I shall stay for a time then." She sighed. "I will have a short responsibility to ensure that you are safely established here."

His heart loosened from the knot it had shrunken to and he drew a breath. "Thank you. Lady Raelmaz...would you like to accompany myself and the first exploration team? Since you brought us here it seems fitting."

"Then descended the Heavenly Parents and stirred the waters together with the Celestial Spear..." She quoted quietly from a legend they would have not even heard, smiling wryly. "I will go with you. That's always the way it seems to start with your race."

The End

Also available from Teresa Garcia:

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