 
### The Last Immortal

By

Anne Spackman

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2012 by Anne Spackman

All Rights Reserved.

Cover Art by Boris Rasin

Prologue

Blood. Warm and salty. Leeching through the gaps between his teeth. The blood filling his mouth sent shivers of panic through him. Death lingered above him, clinging like a shadow ready to embrace him. The impending cold of her dark presence terrified him to his core. But he had no time for panic—he was suffocating. His eyes flicked around the shattered cockpit and found his crushed air-hose.

"I've got to get out of this—now!" he thought desperately as he struggled to unlatch his helmet. With a wild movement, he cast the dark blue, gold trimmed helmet aside, and gulped in air, giving no further thought to the helmet that clattered away, bouncing over the edge of the cliff into the white-crested sea.

He became aware that his plane was on fire, jammed on its side against some rocks. He began to smell smoke as the flames flickered towards the cockpit. With every ounce of strength that he could muster, Eiron pulled himself out of the wreck and crawled as far as he could before dropping onto his belly, gasping for every breath. As he lay there panting, he felt a wave of heat from the flames of the dying plane, and his nostrils flared with the acrid sting of smoke. As his mind cleared from a haze of confusion, he felt sweat run down along his neck disappear into his wilted collar, and at last he began to drag himself away towards some large rocks.

Exhausted and in pain, Eiron turned onto his back and rested his head on a boulder and saw for the first time the widening crimson stain on his white flightsuit just above his groin. He groaned and laid back, his eyes rolling wildly. Slowly, he realized that the crazy lines in the sky were the tell-tale trails of approaching planes. He knew that he was the last of his patrol to be shot down and that these could only be Orian fighters coming to investigate the smoking crash site.

"Damn, I've got to get further away or they'll find me," he thought as he felt adrenaline begin to rush through his veins.

"What's that?" He could just barely see a sheltering crevice ahead in the cliff face, cloaked in shadow from the overhanging rock.

Digging at the ground with his elbows and dragging his body along, he scraped his way slowly over the sand and rocks towards the crevice. He felt his legs begin to go numb as he dragged himself along, and his strength slowly began to ebb away. A cold sweat broke over him as he collapsed. Before his eyes closed for the last time, he stared ahead at the sheltering crevice, the unmoving, unchanged, disinterested oasis before him, just a body's length away.

He did not catch the movement in the dark crevice of a darker shadow lurking far back in the inner darkness of the crevice, watching him. Moments after he fell still, when there was no longer any possibility of him stirring to life again, the living shadow emerged cautiously. It glided with uncanny agility over the coarse, rock-strewn ground. The apparition caught hold of him firmly and then quickly carried him to the crevice behind the giant boulders, pausing only once, in nervous fear, to look back across the waters.

There was no one to see what had happened, no one to see the living shadow that haunted these lonely cliffs, no one to ever know that the pilot hadn't died out here with his fallen craft.

There was no one there, no one except the five enemy space fighters flying high above the turbulent waves, their sharp-edged wings tinged silver by the setting sun. At last satisfied of the destruction of their last prey, the fighters shot into the violet sky, trailing contrails of dark smoke as they disappeared into the rose-tinted clouds.

And the thundering ripple of their engines echoed triumphantly over the sea.

The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is when good men do nothing.

—Burke
Chapter One

8.17, TST (Tiasennian Standard Time), 2nd season

Tiasennian Command Central

"What news?" Senka Vaikyur, the Chief Commanding Officer of Tiasenne, demanded gruffly, tense as a wire.

"A moment, sir," returned Ekasi Wryan Kesney without turning around. His officer's insignia marked him as an Ekasi, a junior officer in the Tiasennian Air Corps.

He checked the monitor. The high frequency and high-speed transfer communications system linking the fighter squadron and the home base wasn't showing a single blip. "Nothing's coming through now but static. I've got the last tracer beaming in the coordinates for analysis," he added, bringing up schematics of the last battle in order to single out the tactics, aerial positioning, and performance of Erlenkov's fighter.

Kesney had been tracking the Squall's signal throughout the last seconds of the battle over the Classified Zone in point aico-seven. His frown deepened as he sat at the watch, his body taut and alert, leaning over the stretch of brilliant silver hardware that was the main radar and communications console of Command Central. His expression somehow did little to mar the innocent youthfulness of his round-cheeked face. He was nervous, and not showing it. There was so much information to analyze, and no visuals to help him.

Kesney thought of himself as a good guy, which meant he was reliable and reserved with the ladies. His features were by no means remarkable—nothing about his appearance made him stand out in a crowd. His fellow officers described him in words of praise: "self-composed, methodical, efficient, sometimes cocky," but occasionally also, "easily misguided". Nevertheless he was an upstanding young man, of little imagination but great integrity, the kind of person who gathered friends to himself easily. Most things came easily to him.

Today he felt less sure of himself. He felt acutely self-conscious of himself in his new post, and certain that everyone noticed him, raw, conspicuously underexperienced. Could they tell how he braved it out? He was just going through the motions, sitting taut as a wire. Like a super-efficient actor reaching breaking point, he began to wish someone else would just take over. At the same time, he sat determined to tough it out with everything he had.

Contrary to his suspicions, every passing individual in the giant military center could not immediately tell that had just come onto the post as a new Academy graduate. Some might already know that he was. Fresh from the Academy of aeronautical physics and engineering in the capital city of Inen.

Ekasi Kesney, like many other graduates, had affectionately dubbed it the Academy, as if there were none other. This came as an insult to the officers from other renowned training centers such as the Ernestian Academy, whose officers took great exception to the general favoritism awarded the Inen Academy, Kesney sooned learned. A lot of scuttlebutt circulated every year about how Inen graduates took far too many accolades on reputation alone. The veteran officer to Kesney's left had made a scathing comment about each man proving his mettle within five minutes of Kesney's arrival, breaking up a verbal fight in which Kesney was involved. He then ascertained all he cared to know about Kesney in a quick disapproving glance and a few terse questions.

Kesney began to envision the Academy in his mind's eye. The comparatively easy days he had spent in training had just ended. He had been in the Freya Squadron, named for a fearsome gold animal with talons that shredded prey out in the wilderness. He considered it something of a matter of pride for him to have earned his way into that squadron.

However, he had taken the officer's commission examination and passed into the higher echelons of the command structure, achieving his command central posting with just two points above the rest of the field. He was not the best of his unit anymore, and felt the mettle of his superiors around him. However, there was one sacrifice: his new posting did not require him to air combat. Kesney knew he would miss the air patrol, but he stood a far better chance at being promoted if he could handle the rigors of the challenging command posting. He tried to shake himself so he wouldn't yearn for the simple life of the Academy once more. He was here with a job to do, and he wanted to be a fighter, a leader, worthy of his own command one day.

Yesterday, excited and careful, Kesney had packed up his scant few belongings, preparing to transfer to his new post. He remembered thinking in excitement of the beginning of his illustrious career in the most prestigious command center on the planet, with a youth's impatience.

He felt more of a man today, with a sense of hollow, disillusioned reserve, watching the empty radar screen with eyes stonily aware of the magnitude of the situation. He focused his attention again. It wasn't easy. He pressed a button on the side of the console for a slight injection of attention-focusing solutions and winced as the needle filled with orange-yellow fluid pricked his arm.

The drug slowly permeated his system. Pisswater, he thought, it isn't doing any damn good. He thought once more of his driving desire, not only to do an adequate job, but to do an extraordinary one. He had ambitions to make a good impression on the old man who dominated the vast command center from the Senka's chair at the back of the room. Vaikyur was the military right arm of the Tiasennian Air Corps. And Kesney had a reputation to carve anew.

Kesney was used to being the best fighter and officer amongst his fellows, and knowing how to do things right. He knew how to make a good impression on his superiors, by showing competence in the line of fire, and making quick and logical actions, good decisions, and judgment calls. He had the kind of mind that made him a natural tactician, and the kind of application that did his aptitude even more credit. He was going to make it, and lived by his creed.

If he wasn't the most fierce or gifted combatant, he made up for it with skill, discipline, practice, and love of the life. The promise of air time had once got him up in the morning, like an electric charge. He survived it, sheer exhilaration and hell. There were not enough painkillers in Inen to ease his aching limbs after a tough combat scenario. He used to spend his evenings iced up and on mind-endurance chemicals, available equally to all of the Inen Academy cadets. Every night at ten he would fall into his sleep panel, his body and mind pushed to its limits, and sleep like a rock. The sleep panel coolant saved him, massaging his weary limbs while the mind-drip anesthetic put him into a brief coma-sleep, "ah, my kind of shut-eye," the cadets would quip jovially to crack each other up. A sense of humor got them through a lot of vigorous training days.

While others surpassed Kesney in commanding presence in the officer's school, he quietly showed tact and clear, lucid thinking. In social situations, when opportunity presented itself, Kesney could be gregarious, even congenial. He had an innate good-nature and interest in enjoying times with friends, and that got him in trouble. He liked to be liked.

Kesney had a hard time executing harsh orders, but a good mind, which made him an excellent tactician but a reluctant leader. He maintained a willingness to learn what it took, but it took a great effort to suppress his natural personality. For short stints he excelled at command, and could force himself not to think of the men but the mission first. He found he still needed a lot more detail time at communications analysis, to balance his best character, to give him time to get used to a more aggressive or at least, hard line, viewpoint. He hoped he might earn the right to a command without changing his own fundamental philosophy: to protect and serve his people, with minimal loss of life and with a good, strong defense.

Planning stealthy attack strikes came as his forte, when he could detach himself from reality and hone his thoughts. He knew how to manage people, and how to use minimal force to get results. He considered this something of a mission, to curtail the raw abuse of power he had seen among squabbling mirani, the captains of the aeronavy at the Academy. He wanted to make sure that the people he had sworn to defend never had to fear for their survival, or fear the consequences of an unnecessarily combative leadership.

For his diligent efforts during training, Kesney had been awarded an Outstanding Conduct Medal for excellence among the Tiasennian officer graduates by Fer-innyera Ezáitur, the leader of Tiasenne, only three days ago at the Inen Academy cadet graduation ceremonies.

No one here is thinking about that anymore, Kesney reminded himself. It's back to scratching out a new position in the pecking order from the bottom rung of the ladder. Back to showing what he was made of, and that he was a team player as well. He couldn't afford to rest on his laurels. There were far too many good candidates for promotion among his fellow officers, some decorated officers newly transferred from the Ernestian Air Base, and its team of flying Skyhawks, named for the feral attack beasts of the northern mountains. People remembered the Skyhawks as a tough band of honed fighters and also as highly organized stealth operatives, swift, sure, and silent.

Kesney couldn't afford to take any more medication to contain his anxiety. All officers on the command post had to keep their defenses sharp, but he had reached a saturation point where the performance-boosting drugs weren't doing him any more good. He did his best to pace himself. He felt so green, and vastly under-qualified for this responsibility. At the same time, he set his jaw hard, fully determined to prove his merit.

Until the Orian Falcon space fighters appeared north of Inen and took out the entire squadron of his good friend Eiron Vaikyure-Erlenkov, the commander's grandson. Erlenkov, one of Tiasenne's best pilots, was one of the hotshot heroes with an unimpeachable reputation for bravery and panache. He could fly rings around everyone, and knew it. No one ever denied his superiority of ability and performance in the line of fire, and the guy wasn't an ass about it.

Kesney could hardly believe what had happened. After months of peace and quiet, the Orian Falcon space fighters had appeared in Inen and taken out the entire squadron, while driving them into a radioactive area of one of the Classified Zones over the Northwestern Sea. Eiron was the last to be shot down.

The entire room remained deadly silent when the Squall disappeared from the radar screen.

The command center was still trying to ascertain whether or not anyone had survived. The odds had to be slim. They sent out routine reconnaissance plans over the area between Inen and the sea, just in case any of the pilots had ejected from their fighters. Everyone waited tensely for news. So far, none of the pilots had been recovered. The odds that Vaikyur-Erlenkov had made it to safety now dwindled as time ticked by. If he were still alive—he would have already activated his emergency distress signal.

No signal.

The radar showed five enemy Orian space fighters like bees swarming red rings round the main blue point of light, frozen where Erlenkov's plane had gone down. Then the alien fighters shot away, heading outside the range of the nearest approaching Tiasennian patrol unit, going at a clip faster than they had ever been tracked. The bastards had made a break for it, and were going to get away. It was absolutely unbelievable.

Which spelled bad news for the entire Tiasennian defense, who had yet to learn that the Orians had come up with a new, superior kind of combined stealth and combat fighter, perhaps coated with a radar absorbent material that would help to camouflage it by masking its radar emissions. There was no way to know, apart from the flight data being relayed to the command center that gave them the first detail of the new prototype, and no first-hand knowledge would now be available to the Tiasennian Command Center in order to make a proper assessment of the Orians' new aerospace development.

Kesney's clear blue eyes stayed fixed on the radar screen as the recon rescue patrols began swarming over the area. They had yet to report any news, and had not witnessed anything of vital importance. The only hope for that information remained in finding the downed pilots of the recent air battle.

Kesney's expression stayed forcefully blank—the senior officers around him started to joke about his manner. The more experienced officers knew how to keep themselves sane through the long wait on duty. Every day tested a man's patience.

Kesney said nothing. He kept acting through it all, as bravely as he could. He considered Vaikyur-Erlenkov his best friend, and something like an older brother. The reason why Kesney had decided to try for a position at the command center. To follow in the footsteps of the hero who had been his mentor at the Academy. Kesney had no way to vent his grief at the moment that would be appropriate. It was unprofessional for a military officer to show emotion on duty. Only the atmosphere made it clear how highly Erlenkov was regarded and how much he would be missed. The older officers showed a great respect for him, and made just a few asides to lighten the atmosphere, part of knowing just how far to go to keep morale high. Their commanding officer Vaikyur didn't respond to their jovial sense of humor, but he didn't take offense to any of it. After a while, they fell into a detached silence, and all was calm.

Heroes aren't supposed to die this way. Kesney thought, entirely demoralized. Granted, the shots of attention-boosters helped to even his mood. He was afraid to even think about how he might manage later without them. He was also able to grasp the full implications of what trouble brewed. It seemed likely that the Orians had been lying low while they developed a new arsenal of weapons and technology to give them the advantage in the continuing war. And that was bad news. No doubt everyone wondered what might happen in the next few days.

"Keep the recon on rescue detail until you find something," came the carefully flat, stony order from Senka Ristalv Vaikyur behind Kesney some distance. No one had said a word to him that was not absolutely necessary. "Tell them to take several passes over the area. Make it a thorough sweep."

"Yes, sir." Kesney said, nodding compliantly.

Meanwhile, Vaikyur watched his subordinate for a moment, almost indifferently. Vaikyure held the position of the Operational Commander of the Tiasennian Military Command Center—called the Senkaya Sukura. This meant that he was in charge of the entire Tiasennian Army, Aeronavy, and Air Corps. Under any other circumstance, Vaikyur might have found amusement in the stilted, unpolished behavior of his new radar and communications specialist, as the senior officers on duty had.

Vaikyur judged the look on the Junior Ekasi's face with a kind of cold criticism. Kesney's eager, noble young mind swam with wistful visions of a hero's memorial. Vaikyur, on the other hand, had no time for it all. No matter what, his grandson was dead.

Vaikyur remained rigid in his chair, now immune to the noise going on around him. He found himself unable to take in reality. The ongoing commotion all around him of technicians and military personnel all doing their jobs, moving from one work station to another if they needed to, did not disturb him in the slightest. Some of the officers had ideas about what the Orian attack indicated, about what the attack pattern gave away. They made efforts to investigate and tried to evaluate relevant data for the entire battle to see what important information the details might provide, in hopes the information might shed light on the next possible recourse and appropriate line of action. Headquarters had been put on a second degree alert.

Meanwhile, Vaikyur's attention silently drifted far away. His mind took him back to the cold shores of the Kestrian Sea, back to when little Malina sat at play on the beach, her legs plastered with reflective silver-gold sand. And then in her place, young Eiron, gazing up at him bright-eyed, blinking in the sun, triumphantly dangling a purple sea shell...

Vaikyur compressed his eyelids shut, clenching his teeth.

I'll never see him alive again. The thought refused to go away.

He looked up a moment later and glanced about the room; why should he be here? Where had all the days fled to since those bygone years?

Vaikyur did not like to think of himself as an old man, but it was true that three Fer-innyeras, the Tiasennian leaders, had taken office in his lifetime. Fine white hair had replaced his original golden and slightly coarse shock of hair. The bright white of it accented his sharp, wide-set blue eyes, creating a look of icy severity to match his temperament. But his eyes gave the suggestion of a cold air of distance from others that he did not always feel. This illusion helped to maintain his image and to convey a firm impression of his authority. The slight wrinkled creases in his face did little to soften the gaze of his eyes; if anything they forced the observer's eye into that sharp gaze. Vaikyur was intimidating. Because of this, people tended to think of him as taller than he actually was.

Although of medium height and build, with long legs and a brisk lean stride, Vaikyur had loomed larger than life to the corps of officers in his command. After all his years of service, he remained tough and energetic and fully in control. To the young officers, and to the new Ekasi, it almost seemed as if Vaikyur's powerful presence filled the command center.

Ekasi Kesney did not know what to make of the preternatural silence surrounding Vaikyur. He tried to be respectful of Vaikyur's state of mind, but remained uncertain what to do or say to him. He did as he was told and kept his mouth shut, figuring it might be best to just do his duty and let Vaikyur handle his own reaction and emotions.

"Status report." Vaikyur said at last, heavy-eyed but still forceful.

Kesney turned aside and shook his head. "Nothing yet, sir," he informed Vaikyur immediately.

Vaikyur bristled with a rare but contained passion, fought to master his swirling emotions, then riveted his gaze to the radar screen across the room, his eyes darting, calculating. Without warning, he cursed abruptly. He wasn't able to handle his outrage. All talk in the room ended. The air took on a tension like an electric charge. Vaikyur's fists clenched around the arms of his chair, his air of serenity snapped. The padded, smooth, silver chair creaked tautly, adding its protest.

"If those bastards have killed my grandson, I swear they are going to regret it!" Vaikyur seethed in a low voice of pure outrage. He was self-consciously aware of his own outrage. For the first time ever, he couldn't control it. There was a dangerous chill in his quiet, rich baritone that suggested he would do what he threatened, and would not spare any measure to make that happen.

Several people in the room swallowed hard at this outburst, trying not to stare at Vaikyur. They held their breath some of them, others waited uncomfortably in mute tension, without making any obvious movements. Vaikyur was not given to outbursts of emotion, and absolutely never lost his self-control. However, they could not afford to gape at this phenomenon. No one in the room had ever seen or wanted to know what Vaikyur's temper might really be like. Silence reigned. Shock was in order.

Suddenly, a schematic alteration on his radar screen demanded Ekasi Kesney's attention with insistent, onerous whistles. Kesney turned to examine the radar screen carefully, and Vaikyure calmed somewhat. People began again to draw breath and make small shuffling sounds and noises. Kesney chewed a hole in his lower lip concentrating. Again he was reconciled to hope.

Now they had a signal of some sort to analyze.

A moment passed.

"The signal's from the King Cobra patrol unit, sir," Kesney said. "Don't know what it is yet." As he watched the screen, his common sense told him what was going on. The screen showed five blips within range of the ionosphere, suddenly turning into static.

"Sir, the Orians have vanished." Kesney declared. "Must have switched off their transponders, or else I don't know what." Surprise leaked through in Kesney's tone of voice. "Think it's possible they've got anti-radar cloaking?"

"Sir, they don't have radar silence." Ekasi Forren, one of the other, more experienced officers, opined. His dark, cobalt officer's uniform with the double-coiled snake insignia marked him as one of the secret guard of the Fer-innyera. A man of Promethean skill, Forren remained ever-present in the Command Center to ferret information over to the top brass at the Political Headquarters.

"Hmmm," Vaikyur remained quiet, lost in ponderous thought.

"They just passed over point aico-seven in the Northwestern Sea." Kesney updated.

"The Ghost's Cliff..." Vaikyur responded slowly, his eyes unblinking; there was a curious light in his eyes.

Vaikyur was working over something in his mind. His face shifted through assorted expressions of bemusement, calculation, and finally, a flicker of amusement. Vaikyur suddenly gave a knowing laugh.

"Well, I'll be damned." He said quietly.

Without warning, Vaikyur let go of the chair with a quick push and leaped to his feet, striding over to the radar screen with the quick, sharp clicks of booted heels. Vaikyur stopped and stared into the radar screen, shook his head, and laughed again.

"You think he's gotten himself lost in the Ghost Cliffs," Forren said quietly. He was a tall man, with classic lines and an iron-hard face, yet with an air of elegance and polish.

"I do indeed." Vaikyur returned with a steady glare. They shared a private moment. Vaikyur gave Forren a slight warning glance, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Kesney squirmed in his chair with mute interest. The conversation was over his head, and he didn't like that.

"Excuse me, sir," Kesney interrupted, confused and intrigued. "What the heck is a 'Ghost's Cliff'?"

Kesney found his attention drifting to the gold buttons of Vaikyur's uniform as Vaikyur stood over him, staring at the radar screen.

"It's a Classified Zone," Vaikyur said, his mouth tight, his eyes giving away nothing but a rare glimmer of something Kesney couldn't interpret.

Oh, shit! Kesney thought for a moment, blustered, freezing up. Talking over top secret information made his heart race with excitement. A Classified Zone! Ordinarily, talking about this sort of thing off-duty could buy an officer a one-way trip to the Brig—or worse! Kesney's palms pricked with sweat; he rubbed them once to dry them.

Kesney had learned about the Classified Zones at the Academy. How they were the provinces of terrorists and enemy spies and that to even discuss them could raise questions about a man's motives—even about his loyalties. There were many Orian spies on Tiasenne, living among the population, even in the military. Would Vaikyur think that he might be a traitor spy?

Kesney protested inwardly at the imagined injustice, and fought to retain command of himself as he turned to the Senka still standing over him.

I hope he doesn't. Kesney suddenly gave Forren the once-over. Forren smirked knowingly. Kesney reacted with a surprised loss of composure before Forren's evident steel-sure self-command. He got the immediate impression that whatever Forren said, he was in sure safety. Forren was one of the more experienced younger mirani, what they called the level of officers just above ekasi and below senka, the highest rank.

"You know the area is off limits. And we can't send any fighters there to punish the Orians without the Fer-innyera's direct consent." Forren said, watching Kesney with his sharp gaze. "Vaikyur is the only man authorized to override that breach in proper conduct in an emergency situation," Forren added. "So you do think they've developed anti-radar, don't you, sir? And we've got to find out exactly what the threat is we're facing as soon as we can," Forren said quietly, his head bowed, his hand contemplatively tucked below his chin.

"I do." Vaikyur nodded, having remained silent through this interchange. He seemed all at once to be weakening physically, though his mental vigor remained fresh and feisty.

He's just lost the last of the family he had. Kesney remembered, reflecting a moment. He felt young and inexperienced, and yet he felt also a strange sensation, wanting to be there for his commander to lean on in this time of conflict. He wanted to do his best; his ears pricked with exuberance; Forren watched, a slight, sidelong smile on his face.

After years of relative peace, the storm had hit at last. Forren knew it as well as Vaikyur. The Orians were poised to attack with full advantage—radar silence; _invisiblity_ gave them the upper hand.

Kesney continued to wait, expecting anything—expecting Vaikyur to direct an immediate response against the Orians, regardless of the classified nature of the forbidden areas. But Vaikyur just remained standing over him in ponderous silence. Kesney became visibly nervous as he tried without success to understand the significance of Vaikyur's posture, of his silence.

Blast it, thought Kesney. Why aren't the mood stabilizers kicking in? He suspected the automatic psychological gauges had been switched off to give the officers a heightened sense of reality. This usually happened in the command center during minor attack situations. It got the officers to think with their best survival skills sharp.

I hope he has something planned. If he can't handle this situation, we're all dead. Forren thought privately. We haven't got anyone who can replace him.

At the same time, Vaikyur remained curiously lost in thought.

Dammit, why do I care so much about the lies and protocol, even after all of these years? Vaikyur thought in brutal self-criticism. It would be so much easier just to accept things the way they are, not to continue with this pretense of acceptance, and silent resistance! Vaikyur felt the force of his resolve draining away.

Without Eiron, what had been the purpose of his life? Why should he outlive his only daughter and then his only grandson? He had secretly striven for so long to help the peoples of Tiasenne and Orian reach a lasting peace, but how could he care about so many nameless and unwitting people anymore when his own grandson was dead? How could he continue his secret struggle for a peace that Eiron would never now see?

And Kesney, he thought as he ended his reverie, this impertinent young boy, who's been a palpable bundle of nerves all morning, why should I care about people like him?

Looking now at Kesney's earnest face, he answered his own question. Because he cares. Because he wants to get it right and to do right. Considering Kesney profoundly now, he thought, this boy can be something, if I can just reach past his brainwashing and prejudice, I can win him over. And it will be worth the effort. If I am right, Kesney may be capable of great things someday. Will I deny him that chance?

Where would I be myself if Alessia, that elusive witch, had not taken such a chance on me so many long years ago? Had she not given me such a tremendous gift, the gift that made me a god among other men.

Vaikyur gave a sidelong look at Forren. That man isn't getting a scrap of information out of me. Damn that Forren devil and his psychological voodoo. I have my mind well shielded against his psychological mind-attacks.

A nano-implant had been inserted into the minds of every man and woman on Tiasenne, a nano-implant that allowed them to be tracked all over the world. Failing that particular method of keeping people well under control, Tiasenne also possessed the technology of reading each person's natural biochemical electromagnetic frequency, which could be traced like a fingerprint, and could be used to track and identify anyone across the planet at any precise moment. Only a few people had learned how to vary the frequency waves they emitted in order to thwart the system, including some of the enemy's spies who had been found wearing tags that changed the frequencies they gave off.

Tiasenne also had the capacity to transfer information directly to officers utilizing a complex electromagnetic wave system. The electromagnetic wave system traveled through the computer information systems with what were known as "thought images" and "thought recordings", literally, a person's thoughts and memories recorded and transmitted to another. Unlike regular video footage, a man's thoughts and memories could only primitively be recorded as what was known as "shadow images". The system of thought transfer was highly useful in relaying experience-memories of one soldier to another halfway across the planet.

Vaikyure was one of the few men on the planet to have received a complicated nano-implant that allowed him to "see" more of these "shadow images" and which allowed him access to the entire record of thought recordings. Vaikyure also had a "mind shield" implant that prevented his interrogation, or any valuable information being obtained out of his mind through torture or other brainwashing. The physical removal of Vaikyure's mind shield, if someone ever captured him, would erase all of his memories, thus making any process to extract information from his brain useless. Few people had a mind shield. Without them, emotions could be used as powerful tools and weapons to influence their thinking. Emotions could even be artificially generated upon those who felt none to create all kinds of reactions and to easily control them. Forren was a highly skilled interrogator in psychological warfare. Vaikyur thanked his own mentor Alton for the nano-implant that kept him forever safe against the mind-attacks.

Vaikyur, his old vigor restored to him after the brief reverie, made his decision.

"What else did they teach you about the Classified Zones in the Academy, young man?" Vaikyur demanded gruffly, in an effort to tactfully cover his own familiar territory.

Kesney stared at his commanding officer, uncertain how to respond, his eyes flickering briefly over to Forren. He held his tongue and said, "Sir?" He was still thinking on what the Orians' radar silence might mean in altering their defense tactics. Vaikyur had caught him completely off guard. "They taught us to be careful how and what we asked about them," Kesney replied, cautiously.

"That's good. Anything else? You have my permission to speak. Forren here already has this information."

Kesney mentally relaxed. "Well, sir, we were told what everyone on Tiasenne already knows, that they are areas where terrorist dissenters have exploded low-yield nuclear bombs and released biological weapons in an attempt to topple the government by creating widespread dissatisfaction and panic."

"Yes, yes. Now can you tell me something I don't know?" asked Vaikyur sagely, patiently.

"I can try, sir." Kesney said tentatively, trying to think.

"No, you can't," Vaikyur interrupted him. "But you can give me your view and some fresh look at this situation."

"Very well, sir, I'll do my best," Kesney replied gravely. "I heard that some areas in the Northwestern Sea and across Umberia were sort of cordoned into areas, rendered off-limits as it were—because of the radiation hazard to military forces, as well as to civilians. And of course owing to the possible presence of biological toxins that were irradiated by our Orian friends." Kesney paused. "But some believe the biological threat is only a hoax, for what reasons God only knows. Orian doesn't want to contaminate us, only invade us, I've heard, and they can't risk toxifying a planet they mean to conquer for their own. Fer-innyera Alton had a special survey conducted to test the terrorists' bombs sites, to keep people out and to reduce any danger to our civilians. There was little evidence to suggest permanent damage to the ecosystem from radiation contamination, so I presume it won't be long before we have access to Umberia through the old over-sea routes."

Vaikyur watched Kesney carefully; the young man kept still, but his eyes betrayed his curiosity. What was all of this leading to? He was only just beginning to wonder if Vaikyur were testing him in some way. And was Forren in on it?

"Good information, and accurate, Ekasi Kesney. You may not have heard of the Ghost's Cliff, but it's an area within point aico-seven that was declared a Classified Zone by Fer-innyera Alton for many good reasons," Vaikyur said quietly. "However, I can tell you that there was never any threat of biological weapon contamination in aico-seven." He paused only a moment. "And no nuclear bombs ever exploded there."

It flashed through Kesney's mind with the speed of a laser beam that Vaikyur was now sharing privileged information with him. Was Vaikyur planning to entrap him? The thought passed. He wasn't that important to anyone. In any event, from everything he knew about Vaikyur, duplicity was not in his nature. And unlike many of the other officers, Vaikyur had the freedom to speak his mind.

"Do you know how many pilots have vanished without a trace over that stretch of cliffs?" Vaikyur continued gravely.

"No, sir." Kesney was curious.

Vaikyur chuckled wryly. "I myself have taken a craft out over that area." His face twitched subtly with the memory. So many years ago, in his youth, he had been to the Ghost's Cliff once, and that excursion had altered completely the course of his life.

"The cliff goes on for hundreds of miles—every blasted stack of sand, every rock and piece of scrub, thousands of them, skirt the sea." Vaikyur said.

"Sir," Kesney interrupted, "I was only given a minimum security clearance. Am I really authorized to be given such information?"

"You are now," Vaikyur returned sharply. "I decide what my staff need to know to do their jobs. Do you have a problem with that?" He added, with a bare hint of mercurial laughter, mostly at Kesney's reaction.

"No, sir." Kesney responded quickly, with a quick shake of his head.

"This is important," said Vaikyur in a low voice, now even more convinced that someday Kesney could be swayed to see the truth, without learning anything that might endanger him.

"I am going to tell you a story, Kesney, and I want you to listen to it carefully."

"Yes, sir." Kesney's eyes flickered over to Forren.

"Forren has this information." Vaikyur returned calmly. "The story begins in the days of Fer-innyera Alton." Vaikyur said, eyeing Kesney with a steady stare to keep him from interrupting again. "There was a great deal of fear in those days, fear of the more powerful Orians and of their terrorist attacks.

"Fer-innyera Alton commissioned a 'special service'. Young volunteers were recruited from the military and trained as special operatives. Our service reported directly to the Fer-innyera and bypassed all of the normal military hierarchy. We were his personal agents, spies, messengers—hell, we did whatever he wanted done! He trusted us far more than the military itself, which he suspected of being riddled with dissenters.

"My father had been the Fer-innyera's closest friend for years," said Vaikyur, "and I had just recently graduated like you as a Junior Ekasi, so I was a natural to become a member of his 'Special Service Team'."

"You were a special agent for Fer-innyera Alton?" Kesney was not really surprised. He was fascinated by this news.

"Yes," Vaikyur nodded, not noticing that Kesney had forgotten to add "sir" to his question. "Alton seemed to trust me above anyone else— perhaps because he sensed that he had been my hero as I was growing up—perhaps because he had looked up to my father in the same way. You can always put loyalty to good use."

"I see, Sir," Kesney listened attentively.

"Then listen," Vaikyur said, unclasped his hands, then folded them across his chest. "When Alton created the 'Classified Zones', I was one of the few to know why some such as the 'Ghost's Cliff' were included."

Vaikyur paused for a moment, reflecting, felt a wave of irritated anger clouding his eyes and forced himself to look away, so that Kesney didn't misinterpret his anger. "It doesn't really matter now, though, since Ezáitur has decided what really happened and what did not."

Kesney turned around quickly to make sure that no one else had heard Vaikyur's unguarded comments. Forren just stood like a statue, quiet, his head bowed so that no man might read his face.

"Respectfully, sir," said Kesney quietly to avoid being overheard, "what you just said could be dangerously misconstrued."

"Could it now, Kesney?" Vaikyur's tone was deliberately unconcerned. "And why is that?"

"Sir," Kesney said somberly, "it is well known that Fer-innyera Ezáitur has spent a great deal of effort to clean up the mess he inherited from Fer-innyera Alton and that it was Fer-innyera Alton who covered up his failure as our leader by falsifying government records."

"Is that so, Kesney?" asked Vaikyur, pleasantly diverted. "And did you never stop to wonder why the 'Classified Zones' are still restricted after all of these years? You must know that radiation and biological toxin levels would be negligible after all this time."

Kesney paled, but said nothing. He felt a sudden pang of adrenaline.

"Use your head, Kesney. Think, damn it!" Vaikyur commanded, his eyes blinking vigorously. "Isn't it obvious that the reason those Zones are still forbidden is that Ezáitur wants it so? The public might be willing to believe the government propaganda, but if you graduated from the Academy, you've been educated well enough in nuclear and biological science. You should know better."

Kesney frowned, bristling in discomfort. He couldn't believe it! Here he was, a fresh young graduate, listening to the commander-in-chief of the army and Air Corps accusing the government of lying and covering it up.

His eyes betrayed horror that he was beginning to feel shake the foundations of his faith, not for a moment, but irreparably—for a lifetime. This news was life altering. When he had decided on a military career, it was because he wanted to dedicate his life to the glory and honor of Tiasenne. Had his faith been betrayed? Could the Senka be right, and was the government feeding blatantly false propaganda to the people? It was too awful to imagine!

"Well?" asked Vaikyur, staunchly.

Kesney shook his head in confusion. What was the question?

"Kesney," Vaikyur continued, "for years now all the Orians have done is drop probes, localized bio-toxins intended more to terrorize us than harm us, and the very occasional conventional bomb. Our government finds it convenient to pretend that most of the bombings and biological attacks are the work of small groups of sympathetic Tiasennian terrorists and that the terror attacks are diminishing because we are weeding out the culprits. But it is all lies, Kesney, all lies. We are on our guard against an invisible enemy, the future. The Orians have infiltrated us already, but not as you might think. There are some who are immune to the danger, areas that are safer than others. The Classified Zones are a red herring. The real threat is in our cities, and in the outerlying areas that have been infiltrated through these terrorist attacks."

"Sir, I..." Kesney blurted. His face, his ears, felt flushed. He fumbled for words, but none came.

"Kesney, don't you suppose that if the Orians are dropping probes, it is because they are looking for something, possibly something of great value, and don't you suppose that your beloved Fer-innyera Ezáitur knows that they're looking for something? The rest of their tactics are all a farce, part of a cover-up to divert our attention from their true targets and designs on conquering our world. Otherwise they would have attacked us in fuller force by now. They have the technology to harm us—on a larger scale than they have chosen to thus far."

"Sir—" said Kesney.

"What?"

"If anyone overhears us we could be accused of treason. We could be sent to the asylums," Kesney continued at a whisper.

"Don't worry, Kesney. If you can keep a secret, I will protect you. Forren isn't going to touch a hair on your head, are you, friend?" Vaikyur said, regarding Forren with a secret, indulgent amusement.

"Permission to speak." Forren said in a low tone.

"Granted," Vaikyur returned.

"You think Ezáitur doesn't dare interfere with you because he needs you."

"I know him as well as you do. Perhaps more than you know." Vaikyur said quietly.

"He won't hear any more of this from anyone else present in this room," Forren interrupted.

"What is certain," Vaikyur said, "is that he does not know what the Orians are looking for. And, he doesn't know why they keep up their attacks on us. The last thing he needs is to risk losing the support of the Army, Air Corps, and Aeronavy. If he had seriously considered getting rid of me, he would have done so by now. I am certain, I shall die at my post. But, Kesney, I need you to understand the situation as my new communications officer. I need to be able to share information with you, so that you can do your job based on all of the available information, not on hearsay or propaganda. You are now involved in a bigger web of lies than you know. And you will have to act on the behalf of our people, and for the ongoing safety of our planet. Listen to me, and do not repeat this information to anyone, and do not trust Forren here off-duty. Do not speak your mind to any man, least of all me, without some deliberation first."

"Yes, sir. I won't sir." Kesney sat still, a crease forming between his brows.

"Don't worry. Forren won't touch a hair on your head if you keep your mouth shut. Ezáitur doesn't know for certain what the Orians are looking for, Kesney, but he does have an idea."

Forren bristled, making a gesture of interest.

"How well versed would you say he is in the folklore of Inen, where he grew up, eh Forren?"

"Quite," Forren replied, curious. "You think this has something to do with the legend of 'The Ghost of Inen'?"

"I do." Vaikyur nodded.

"You suspect that that creature might be the object of their search?" Forren was instantly interested, and came to life, his even eyes quick with cold animation.

"Yes, I do." Vaikyur said, his eyes flashing. "And if so, he would want above all things to deny them finding her."

"The Ghost of Inen!" exclaimed Kesney, delighted to have digressed to a more comfortable topic, and one he knew something about. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Sir! I've heard stories about this," he added, nodding, his eyes glimmering with a light of calculation.

"You have?"

"Yes, Sir." Kesney said.

"Then by all means, tell us what you know," Vaikyur said.

"It is a female spirit. Her name is Alessia." Forren said, interrupting. "It is rumored that she was in truth an alien who came from an advanced civilization and gave the Orians technology to use against us."

"Anything else, Kesney?" Vaikyur asked.

"No," Kesney shook his head.

"It is also rumored that the woman betrayed both Orian and Tiasenne by instigating war between us," Forren continued. "She was a strange creature, with great power, so they say, and she spread lies to make the Orians our foes. They would still be our peaceful neighbors, if it were not for her interference. And yet the Orians have refused to be placated since."

Vaikyur bristled visibly, but he remained silent.

"But, Sir, all of this happened a long time ago." Kesney shrugged. "Alessia is dead by now, certainly. She can't have anything to do with this conflict, or the Ghost Cliff, or the disappearance of Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov this afternoon."

Vaikyur kept his silence.

"If she's still alive," Kesney went on, "why don't we just let the Orians find her and save ourselves from war? Under torture, her lies would be exposed, and the Orians might sue for peace. Is it not too late for any hope of peace? We can't force the Orians to stop fighting, unless we defeat them for once and for all."

Vaikyur kept a rigid posture. Now he sighed, shook his head, and paused. "The woman you have accused of betrayal did not give them the technology they have used against us," he said tiredly, while mentally withdrawing from the conversation. "That's precisely why we're all still alive."

Kesney stopped, his mind stretching to incorporate this information—he never doubted that Vaikyur was speaking the truth, but he had to find out how to add this information without disarranging his prejudices.

Vaikyur stood up and straightened his back, then pointed towards the communications console. "Try to make contact one more time," he commanded tersely.

Kesney hesitated a moment. "Yes, sir."

He turned again to his screen.

* * *

If the red-eyed goddess of love and war had ever been inclined to claim a solar system for her own, she could not have found among her choices a territory so wholly dedicated to her than the war-like Rigell system. The home solar system of the twin Celestian worlds. Worlds at civil war for nearly a hundred years now, and they showed no sign of reaching a peace.

These seemingly insignificant, provincial Celestian worlds, Tiasenne and Orian, why should I even care about them? The composed, almost stoic voice of a free man wondered. He had no affiliation with either of the planets, nor their people. Why should I even be here in this primitive solar system, half a galaxy away from our Imperial home? Why shouldn't I already be on the remote planet Kiel3, after sacrificing so much to get there?

He could see the end coming. The Celestian peoples were on a crash course towards mutual annihilation, and he didn't want to be there when it happened. Nothing could be done to stop it, in his opinion. Have the Celestian peoples ever been under control? He thought back, critically. He was a civilized man of taste and perception, intelligent, a hunter content to watch others fight their battles at an appropriate distance. A general himself, he preferred tactful leadership, and wouldn't deign to initiate a battle against an unworthy adversary if it was not necessary. He didn't hide the fact that he held the people of the Rigell system in very low regard. He had no special love for either the Tiasennians or the Orians.

Wild and less civilized than his own people had been, both races could be easily distracted and manipulated, and they had been for as long as he could remember, though at least they had once followed good leadership.

Alessia and I watch them. We are the ones to keep their peace, if we can. But we are not alone. We give them what guidance we can, but it is not her place to save them. It would not have been, but for what she did to interfere in their lives. And her devotion to her mentor Hinev.

The man who made her immortal. For love of him she would come here and attempt to save his colony from the brink of disaster. They do not know that they are our people, and of the many enemies our empire made. They do not know that only a few thousand light-years away lies a vast empire of our greatest enemies, and that the aliens of the lai-nen empire would obliterate our kind out of the universe. If these lai-nen creatures knew that there are some of our race living in the Rigell system, there would be no stopping them until we were nothing but dust, and no memories left to ever mark that we once lived.

Alessia's courage is notable, but for what purpose, when we have an errand of more vital importance to fulfill? We must find the singularity of infinite power. The supernova that destroyed our planet did not destroy the eternal emperor Marankeil, the dark god, and there is no telling to what galactic system he has gone to recreate his tyrannical control over life and destiny.

Selesta, the greatest starship in the universe is at our disposal. The only thing left for us to do is to traverse the galaxy and begin a hunt which may never succeed.

The irony is that Alessia does not yet know my identity. Day after day I live in isolation in this cold, metallic prison, as she takes flight to the upper ground of the Tiasennian surface. She dwells in solitude, in a cave, at the watch. We do not speak of our purpose, or of our presence, to anyone alive on Tiasenne.

Here I dwell in a cold, metallic prison. It may be my hell.

I never let her know that I am here. She believes I am a voice of modern science, the non-human mind that guides the greatest starship ever to be. I cannot blame myself for what must remain only my understanding. I keep her safe, and she does not even know who I am. With minimal interference, she must watch.

She is not entirely under my control yet. Long ago—I remember a time when she was stronger, wilder, braver. She is afraid now of the creature she released on the galaxy, the leader of the Orian race to whom she gave the gift of immortality. He is a dangerous foe, a titan among men, a god and wild animal, Sargon of Orian.

There is no peace at the watch. She thinks that there is power in her hands to change destiny. To tame and stop the Orian Sargon whose life she made immortal.

As for me, long ago, I was a better man. I have her to thank for bringing that soul back to life.

But, I am still evil.

And I want her soul for my own.

I am fascinated by Hinev's creation. In her resides the best shards of soul that ever existed in the universe. She is more than 50,000 years old. If only I could fulfill the supernatural task I have set myself to achieve.

To bring back the dead. Resurrection of the dead that we once thought impossible.

I will return to the past. When at last I gain the power of the Enorian singularity, after so long.

She has freedom. She believes she is in control. She thinks she is the one who can save this world, and ignores me. But she is my creature. And she does not even know.

I give her time to play god to this world. It is only a small fraction of infinity, and I cannot give away my advantage. The disadvantage is in my sacrifice to accompany her. I have not lived in fifty thousand years.

I am not flesh. I am darkness. I reside in the shell of this dark vessel, Selesta, the greatest starship to ever found an empire across time, her fallen paradise, and my eternal tomb.

I will say nothing to her for now. I can wait a little longer.

To be ignorant of what occurred before you were born is to remain always a child. For what is the worth of human life, unless it is woven into the life of our ancestors by the records of history?

—Cicero
Chapter Two

Some horrific, gut-clenching nightmare was fading as Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov opened his eyes, and consciousness returned. In seconds, the blur of his surroundings began to focus into sharpness. It took a second for reality to sink in.

I'm still alive, he thought in profound surprise. Where am I? There was still only a blur of color around him and a terrible ringing noise in his head, but at least his vision was starting to clear.

A few minutes passed. He knew he was lying down, and the bed covering was made of a soft blue material, finer than any lamb's wool. Gradually, he saw that he was in a small room, fairly well lit but not by any obvious source of illumination. He looked up. The entire ceiling above him was blinding bright, like the reflection of daylight on glass.

Strange, he thought, looking away. His mind processed what he saw functionally. He couldn't feel much. At least not in the sense of emotions, and the main one was relief. A little curiosity was mixed in there, too. He was content not to move.

The heated bed underneath him seemed to emit a gentle soporific sound not unlike lapping waves. Impossible, he thought. It seemed to be trying to lull him back into sleep—and it was succeeding.

I'll be damned, he thought and suppressed a yawn. His mind had no explanation for what was happening.

He blinked several times and forced his eyes to stay open.

His range of sight was limited to an arc just in front of him. The far wall was made of a smooth alloy. It was as reflective as glass or some kind of clear metal but was the grey-blue color of a deep sea. In the dark of it there was a lustrous shine, as though rays of light had been permanently captured within the metal itself.

Someone else was in the room, he suddenly realized. His senses were so finely attuned, that he could feel the shadow lingering beyond his range of vision.

The shadow was watching him.

He couldn't remember how he had gotten here, and couldn't guess who it was who had saved his life. His last thoughts were of his crashed landing and a searing pain before blackness came and drove him into dark dreams.

Get up, his mind urged him to action, but his aching body denied him movement. He tried to turn around. The effort brought a sharp pain to his neck.

His eyes were growing heavy.

Where am I? In paradise, or in purgatory?

Struggling to overcome his exhaustion was no good. He looked down as though planning to test his legs. He discovered how incredibly weak they felt. But they were not permanently damaged, he hoped. A warm blue covering lay across the bed, pulled up over his chest and under his arms like a living cocoon feeding him back his strength. It almost seemed to vibrate to the touch.

Impossible.

There was no warning when the shadow suddenly stepped from outside his vision and moved up on him from behind. He jerked instinctively up onto his elbows. Knives of pain shot through his abdomen.

He pulled aside the covering with what little strength he had. He discovered he was naked from the waist up. The tattered shreds of his uniform—gone. He was wearing a pair of blue, form-fitting leggings. And on his torso were the traces of two deep puncture wounds. Two jagged, mottled scabs, one long and the other deep but small.

They had healed so well, he knew he had been there for at least several tendays.

"What's going on?" were the first words out of his mouth. His throat was dry as desert air.

A robed figure dressed in a dark, vivid blue appeared beside him, setting his heart racing. The bed covering reacted like a constricting cocoon—moving on its own to keep him still. He looked down in shock, reacting to one bizarre stimulus after another.

The robe partially hid the face of the person wearing it; the clasp at her throat was beautiful. Meanwhile, Eiron felt a hypnotic warmth creeping into his body from where he lay.

The shadowed person who had saved his life lifted its arm, and gently laid a cold but human hand on his forehead.

The hand was light and small—the gentle hand of a woman.

He had no words. He just lay there, not knowing what to expect.

The hand touching his forehead stroked the side of his face in a soothing gesture. He began to fall asleep.

Every aching muscle in his body cried for release. In one last act of resistance, his mind, attuned to identify potential danger, tried to stir him awake.

"Rest. Save your questions for when you've recovered." Came the melodic voice of a woman. Her voice was low and soft and full of care. "Sleep. It will cure you."

He was losing the words.

The deep darkness reclaimed him.

* * * * *

"To the inhabitants of the planet Kiel3." The voice that emerged suddenly sundered the ageless silence within the ice-cold subterranean vault. The speaker spoke into a complete darkness that momentarily detached him from the world around him and from any particular point in time. The language he used was not his own. It was a language he knew from the records only, ancient and powerful, from the sphinx-strewn sands of Kiel3.

"I send this dispatch to you from the Selesta, the glory of our Empire, the flagship created to ensnare a galaxy." He continued quietly. "I am the last record-keeper of Selesta. I was not present when the Selesta visited your small world, nor was I responsible for the assistance your people once received from us as a sign of our Federation's good faith towards you. A legacy of power and glory. The beginnings of your primitive planet and its first epics of empires and kings. We created you. Yet, after these aeons of time, there is something now which I must now ask your people to do for us, in return for my most solemn pledge—"

The voice, formerly bold, suddenly broke off. He went on after a moment, this time in a self-conscious tone edged with self-mocking humor. His words, the words of a king or general himself, now lost and alone in defeat, with no more legions or men to command.

"I shall not lie to you." He amended himself carefully. "If you are to be involved in the destruction of the Seynorynaelian Empire, if the legends of our gods the Enorians can be believed, then I must be honest with you or risk everything I have spent a lifetime trying to achieve.

"Yet I ask each of you first who hear this message in the aeons to come, have you ever known what it is to be afraid to speak of what you have done? Have the limits of your deepest faith ever been tested fully?

"Have you ever found it difficult to proclaim your own sins before the iron judgment of so many?

"I admit that I am afraid; afraid that much of what I have to say will seem no more than meaningless wind to you, that I will not be able to reach you. And I am afraid because my own redemption rests in your hands."

Why? Why did so much of our fate revolve around this planet Kiel3? The speaker's thought slipped out, almost in grudging wonder. Kiel3—named after the pole star, the mariner's star, was it not a planet created by the ancient Enorians? Created by their seeds of life, by the life cultures they had created.

Life cultures had been scattered across the universe. Seeds, as it were, cast by an unknown hand and left to grow wild—so were they all, all of the life-giving planets, even the great planet Seynorynael itself had grown from such a seed.

Seynorynael's Empire had then left its own mark on the universe. Now, with Seynorynael's era of glory erased by time, all that remained of her vanished civilization were the seeds of a fallen empire lying scattered among those others—long aeons dormant.

And on Kiel3, the last hope for the survival of them all.

Kiel3, a planet certain that it had grown all on its own.

But not for much longer, if I have my way.

The voice continued after a moment, dark, low, and reverberating, the melodic voice of a bard, the voice of a people whose language knew no harsh, guttural sound. It was the voice that had once swayed the will of nations throughout the known galaxies—that perhaps desired to do so again.

"I fear I am making little sense to you. This is a story of the epic tale of gods among men, beginning in the stars. It has a simple beginning, so I should begin there. And the beginning that matters to us as living beings, if not to the lifeless universe, is the beginning of human life.

"But what are we both, you and I, your people and mine? Where did our lives begin? It seems such a simple question, this one all beings in the universe have asked, yet who can answer it?

"Is life merely a spontaneous eruption? An accident of chance born on one lonely world at a time? Is it nothing more than an accident that will never be repeated in the same way again on any other planet? Or, once begun, does life grow like a contagion? A disease infecting the universe with foolish men, who turn to contemplation of questions whose answers can never be known?

Was it possible that these scattered species, who had come in contact with each other, might find a common biological ancestry, buried in time long ago?

"Would you believe me if I told you that all of this was possible?

"Would you believe me if I told you that all of this has already happened?

"Would you then ask—'who am I to tell you this?'

"My name means nothing, for I abandoned it long ago. I present myself to you now as simply a record-keeper. But I am Ornenkai. They called me 'the golden one', I was once the ruler of many men.

"My civilization, the civilization of the planet Seynorynael, carved out the largest known intergalactic empire in the universe. Our planet was three hundred and twenty million light years from your Milky Way Galaxy, within a large group of galaxies known to us as the Great Cluster, to you called Pleiades. There, in the Great Cluster Galaxy, thousands of intelligent species came to life, creatures of every size and shape imaginable, and one by one we Seynorynaelians subjugated them all.

"In the beginning, this was not our intention. Ours was a peaceful planet, located near the interior of a large whirlpool galaxy within the Great Cluster, the Pleiades. Long ago we believed that nothing which occurred in life, however important or insignificant, came about by chance, and that nothing which happened in life was without purpose and meaning. We believed in fate, as certainly as destiny. Even our most distinguished citizens kept absolute faith that it was our heroic duty to civilize the galaxy! We had all the known universe at our disposal.

"When our people made their first journeys into the heavens, our space explorers found the galactic cluster teeming with life. And we proved that life had spread from one world to another. We proved the legends of our ancestors, the Ferai-Lunei: the Comet Riders, passed down from before the dark ages of our world. Creatures who had ridden on the silver tails of comets to our planet, not only once, but twice in the murky prehistory of our world.

"The Comet Riders were no mere myth. They were good angel-gods, infinite in power and achievement. But we never knew who they were, or where they had come from; men some said were from a world called Enor.

"It was not until Fynals Hinev returned from the explorer mission that we knew with absolute certainty. Our civilization had truly begun in another time and place, on the legendary planet of Enor. When I was born, I did not know that my fate had also begun long ago on Enor, or that my future would extend so far, so very far beyond the natural bounds of time.

"I did not dream that any man could achieve immortality."

"Nor that, thanks to the Emperor, Marankeil, I should become a god."

* * * * *

"Bad news from the reconnaissance craft. There's no sign of Vaikyur-Erlenkov's ship. The waves have been too rough to send in deep sea probes to search for wreckage, even if we can get permission to drop some. The plane may have gone down over land, and long-range infrared scanners report no advanced life form readings. I'm sorry, sir. Headquarters is suggesting we call off the search."

The intercom in Senka Vaikyur's private quarters switched off.

Vaikyur paused for only a moment to acknowledge it. He had spent the last few hours waiting for confirmation of authorization to enter the Classified Zone. So, Headquarters voted no. Vaikyur-Erlenkov was just one man.

Vaikyur had already prepared himself for the worst. As the message ended, he turned again to the computer on his desk where he had been sifting through years of classified information—information he hoped might still be accessible, mostly forgotten with the passage of time even to those who had top security clearance.

An experienced observer would have advised him that he was wasting his time. The records he was looking for were darn near impossible to find, and irrelevant to the present situation. But Vaikyur was one of the last of the old line of Alton's officers. He was part of an elder generation that had long been in power when Fer-innyera Mardius Ezáitur and his ministry seized control of the Tiasennian government.

When that happened, the old line had done what the previous old line had done before them—they hid every real record of what had transpired in their ministry, implanting access files which only they knew how to access. Proof for posterity that they had to hope would one day see the light of day. Proof that what they had done was done in the best interests of the Tiasennian people. Proof, if necessary, that they had been loyal to the nation. Proof that they hoped would save their lives.

When Ezáitur seized power, he did what every former leader had done. He had his ministry literally re-write the past. Every file and piece of information that conflicted with his plans and political beliefs was evaluated, scrutinized, discredited if needs be, destroyed, or used to prove his cause, if his propaganda people could give it a new angle.

Dissenters, for at first there had been some, were taken prisoner and locked away. Most of these were the top officers of the old line. Ezáitur arranged for trumped-up charges against the ones he deemed most dangerous. "Confessions" were slowly forced from them by torturous means.

Vaikyur well remembered the show trials in which his former colleagues were accused of espionage, even years later. Little trace of the officers he had known remained in the broken, spiritless, and wretched shells of men that could not sit erect on the defense block. Those who were not so easily broken were tortured until they had been broken, and then most of them were executed. Some dissenters were found hanged in their containment cells or shot in their private quarters before ever coming to trial. In both cases, to all appearances the accused had committed suicide. That they actually had committed suicide was less certain.

The number of high-profile cases diminished over time. The new government succeeded in molding the young to its way of thinking. And, the few such as himself who possessed privileged information chose more and more to keep it to themselves.

Protests had to be internalized. It did little good to proclaim one's private views. There had been some shouts of discontent from the public who had not anticipated Ezáitur's coup. But in time, these had become denunciations against those who had vanished. They had no pity for the innocent accused. There was only room enough for fear. And a newly intensified sense of duty for which each Tiasennian, military or civilian, determined to prove his loyalty to the new government.

During the most difficult periods of military cleansing, friendship lost all value. Even now, years after Ezáitur had consolidated his leadership, any careless remark or criticism of his policies was enough for the "offender" to be called in for questioning. As Vaikyur well knew, many of the "dissenters" were simply scapegoats, blamed as secret saboteurs for the High Command's failed projects, or to divert attention from their secret operations.

Over time, the civilians assumed that these troublemakers were truly being rightfully punished. The public was in the dark. Information was a dangerous game, and entirely in the control of the government. What the government did remained one of life's thrilling mysteries, and you were glad not to know. They had their hands full enough as it was with Orian spies and sympathetic terrorists everywhere; even the smallest child knew that. And if you didn't care too much about the truth, Vaikyur had to admit that the comforts of civilian life had their attractions.

Those who began to suspect that the military purges were unjustified had no way of proving it. And no way of saving themselves from the same fate if they dared to vocalize their doubts. The public had no choice but to swallow lies. Adhering to this diet for more than a century had left it unable to distinguish fact from fiction on the few occasions when real news—the truth—was actually reported. Thus, undaunted, the propaganda machine of the Ezáitur ministry so like its many predecessors was left to brainwash the young into servitude, defending a false honor and ensuring that the fight against the faceless Orian enemy would never die.

Vaikyur suddenly came to attention. All he had to break the codes was his memory, and memory cleansing operations had damaged enough of that to make his search all the more difficult. But, against all the odds, he had finally broken one of the codes so complex that no computer sequence could break it on its own. A miracle, no less.

Vaikyur sighed as though he were a condemned man that had just been pardoned. He was in the ancient archival system.

Fer-innyera Alton's archives. Vaikyur had been one of his aides.

After so many years, he remembered doctoring the information. Alton had taken credit for random but lucky victories over the Orians, and even over natural disasters that befell them. He was a master of propaganda, and had the Tiasennian people eating out of his hand for much of the time he held office. Whether or not they actually respected him was less certain. The public had no lasting opinions.

Vaikyur had performed his duty, but he was a purist. He hated lying for a living. As a youth, he had been foolish enough to copy some of the unedited pictures and videoscans on his own, and had run them into the computer archives. An expert at utilizing the computer systems, he had implanted access codes on top of his own personal retina scan. At the time he had not yet realized how dangerous his action might have been, or how brutal the punishment would have been had he ever been caught. Nor had he ever suspected how valuable the information might one day become.

Important to the very survival of their race.

Truth. It was such an arbitrary word in the world. The authenticity of his documents he could personally verify, but they would never hold up as evidence. False information was the norm, every day. Nothing that reached the public was real. But Vaikyur wasn't planning to distribute the information or dispute "fact". He had a nobler intention: to preserve the fate of humankind.

Who and how could it be done? He didn't know yet. Only that the presence of a new Orian threat in point aico-seven was the first sign of an impending disaster. A disaster that had to be averted. And the only way to do that was to figure out what was really going on. That required more than just a refresher course in Orian operations. It required information and figures, and a mind keen enough to discern from the two sets of data what could possibly have been happening on Orian in the intervening years.

Fer-innyera Alton's policies and legacy were nothing but a faint memory. Vaikyur didn't know how he was going to ensure the ongoing security of the information once he accessed it. More than fifty long years had passed since he had accessed the archives of Alton's system.

He had hidden the truth and kept it hidden. Since that time, he had continued his dangerous objective, and cataloged every major Orian assault and data regarding their activities. At first, his access to undoctored information had been but little. In time, he had climbed the military hierarchy to head of the Tiasennian Army, and his power was now beyond question.

There were no security leaks in his private quarters, and if there were, he had means of quelling rumors against his own actions.

If Ezáitur had any real inkling of Vaikyur's misconduct, he was smart enough to let the man get away with it. When Ezáitur took over from Alton's regime, the new Fer-innyera had quickly realized that he could not rely upon the "history" he had been given.

The potential danger of the situation was clear. The Orians were an unknown threat, and capable of sabotaging his absolute authority at a moment's notice. Their attacks grew more aggressive for unknown reasons from time to time. Vaikyure suspected they were drawing a red herring over Tiasenne, in hopes of disguising their true intentions and main target—this remained as yet unknown. Ezáitur was desperate to weed out the facts before a time came when he could no longer hide the lies or hide behind them. It might not have been necessary for him to know what was really happening, but it was his nature to want to know. A clever man, egotistical and often tyrannical, he could not bear to be kept in the dark.

Ezáitur played a game with Vaikyur. It had begun long ago with Ezáitur's investigation of Alton's secret messengers. Among the old line officers, they alone seemed to survive the purges—to a man. Ezáitur felt he needed them at arm's length, but near enough. Yet they were watched night and day. Vaikyur was smart and knew how to play the game. For years, he feigned absolute loyalty to Ezáitur and tried to keep the new leader apprised of everything he might possibly need to know, sensing the Fer-innyera's need to wield an absolute, omniscient authority.

Ezáitur knew about Vaikyur's close relationship to Fer-innyera Alton as a subordinate aide. Vaikyur feigned absolute obedience to the new leader, and in part succeeded in convincing Ezáitur of his unquestioned loyalty because Ezáitur needed to feel as though the transition of power had been a smooth, peaceful one. Ezáitur's propaganda machine was engaged in making it appear as much. In time, Ezáitur came to regard Vaikyur as a loyal subordinate and saw his own rise to power as justified, as though he had been Alton's appointed heir of a sort, if in a strange way through the approval of Vaikyur and the knowledge that Vaikyur afforded him of Alton's ministry.

Their relationship was a strange one. Vaikyur was older than Ezáitur, and had for so long played subordinate that when Ezáitur elevated him to his position as Senkaya-Sukura, the Operational Commander of the Tiasennian Army, he was surprised to discover that Vaikyur was ambitious after all.

Yet, Vaikyur kept an outward show of unquestioned loyalty. Year after year, as his own name became synonymous with victories and greatness, he shared the glory humbly with his leader, yet his brilliance shone clear the longer he held his position. In time, Vaikyur had the absolute loyalty of the army itself, of every man under his personal command. Vaikyur protected them, honored them, gave them more than words of glory to cherish and uphold, even through the worst of times, even when they discovered what conspiracy of lies their world was founded on. Vaikyur knew how to measure and manage his people. He could be brutal if necessary, but seldom had to be. And that was part of the hallmark of his legacy.

Ezáitur was privately regretting his leniency in the early years, and half reveled in the prospect at beating Vaikyur at the game they played. He even came to enjoy harassing him. But the truth was that Ezáitur had begun to realize in the last ten years how invaluable the man was. If Vaikyur survived, it was because they were both getting old, and Ezáitur had no intentions of being involved in a test of loyalty. The Army loved Vaikyur. Ezáitur had the people eating out of his hand, as long as Vaikyur kept the Army backing up his lies.

Ezáitur still played the interrogation game, calling Vaikyur in for questioning every so often. Vaikyur never gave away any real information, even when they had tried medication on him—and that never happened again, Vaikyur made certain of it. Vaikyur had once heard March whining about Vaikyur's endurance under pressure. March was fed up with trying to investigate him and was eager to send his "boys" to deal with him. No one ever saw "March's boys", but they were the ones who took "dissidents" and transformed them into the groveling repentants or mindless shells who damned themselves at trial. March was an evil man who enjoyed cruelty and had grown rather giddy with the power of his position.

When nothing at all came out of the last interview with Vaikyur, Ezáitur had felt it necessary to have research made into the old techniques of interrogation evasion. Alton's spies were masters at it. Ezáitur still hadn't been able to figure out what methods had been used to train them to keep silence throughout heavy questioning. Alton had destroyed the files detailing complicated military research in this area the minute he sensed that his authority was compromised. Ezáitur himself preferred the unquestionable silence of "suicide" as a means of containing information rather than to trust of any mind tricks or mind-controlling nano-chip implants.

Vaikyur knew he had a nano-implant in his brain, but he also knew how to use it, and how to keep anyone else from using it against him. He knew that they had learned how to make men visibly "disappear" short-term, something the Fer-innyera suspected, but had no proof of. He also suspected that with the latest show of strength from the Orians, it was only a matter of time before he was going to be questioned, politely, about his observations and speculations on the matter. The thought that the Orians had not been idle, that they had been developing secret weapons in these years of relative dormancy, was alarming.

So alarming that Vaikyur's personal security would never again be an issue. To dispose of his Operational Commanding Officer with the threat of a war imminent would be the last sane action of any leader. Vaikyur relied upon the fact that Ezáitur was essentially a coward and bully, and had a great fear of dying. Moreover, that he had an idea that one day the future would look upon his reign as a golden age in Tiasennian history, and a consuming desire to be the one perceived as the protector of Tiasenne, however his actions might actually put the planet in peril. He was not entirely dealing in the same reality as the people were, brilliant as he was, or striving for the same vision of an ideal future. But Vaikyur believed that he knew how to handle him.

The Fer-innyera held the Orians' tactics and their race in general in contempt. For years it had seemed that the unknown potential of the Orian danger wouldn't threaten Tiasenne in his lifetime. In the meanwhile, Ezáitur had grown complacent. Now that Erlenkov's fighter had been shot down, it seemed certain that something was about to happen. The Fer-innyera was certain to be thinking about how these events might affect them.

Vaikyur sifted through files, silent as a predator intent upon its prey. He had a devil of a time locating anything about point aico-seven. And then, success! An image sprang to life on the screen. It was faint, and the figure had been distorted. The face was barely visible. The data that corresponded flowed across the right panel of the screen.

Vaikyur allowed his memory to replay images of the past. No longer fearing that the memories would be recorded by the computer sensor; perhaps he could isolate and destroy the fragmented images later.

He felt mixed emotions. Fear, wonder, hope, and uncertainty such as he had not felt since the days of his youth—not for his own personal safety, but for the beautiful ideals of his youth, and the mysteries of a communal past. He winced with the memory. How, as a youth, he had climbed The Ghosts' Cliff. And the discoveries he had made had more than opened his eyes, they had lifted his gaze to the cosmos.

The events of Ezáitur's take-over and all of the intervening years had forced him to suppress such thoughts, such delirious wonder. These sudden memories of his youth as he sat in his chair, the Senkaya-Sukura of the entire Tiasennian forces, brought him to a halt, and his eyes filled with tears.

The moment of emotion passed. But the images stirred his deep memory. And he sat long in the silence.

First study to conceal what you are. Seek wisdom a little while by yourself. Thus grows the fruit; the seed must be buried in the earth for a little space. There it must be hid, and slowly grow.

—Marcus Aurelius, The Meditations of Marcus Aurelius
Chapter Three

"Where am I?" Eiron Vaikyur Erlenkov groaned hoarsely as he awoke. Memory and awareness and all-pervading pain returned a moment later. He vaguely remembered that forgetting where you are was a cardinal sin for a soldier. He didn't actually give a damn about it, but at least his brain was still working. The important thing to focus on at the moment was survival.

He blinked a few times, glancing around the same room as in his first brief awakening. Now on the wall across from him, there was a strange elliptical light panel that caught his attention because it was flashing off and on.

Eiron was in the kind of mood that, having so recently had a reprieve from death, he was willing to accept any surprise and every minute as it came. The fact that he had been healed and was still being cared for, rather than finding himself in an Orian torture cell, gave him reason to hope that a friendly or neutral force had rescued him, and that he had some hope of reaching home once he felt better.

His mind reasoned him out of fear, and into a kind of patient curiosity. He was even able to believe in miracles.

Without warning, the wall beside the light panel literally dissolved into thin air. Watching, Eiron jerked upright. His breath caught in his throat. An open doorway appeared in the wall before him, yawning darkness beyond it.

The wall had dissolved into thin air! Fascinated more than alarmed, he quickly gathered his wits. Had he been looking all that time at something like a hologram—but far more advanced than a simple light-projection—a false image of a solid wall? And was any of the room surrounding him real, or was it all some kind of advanced scientifically generated illusion?

He had no time to wonder further.

The person who had saved his life strode through the arched doorway. Her identity was masked in a dark blue cloak. All that appeared under the hood was the line of her jaw, and a lower lip. She did not seem to be blinded, even though her eyes remained covered.

She stood just inside the door. Perhaps she was surprised to see that he was awake. Behind her, the doorway melted into the wall again. Eiron's eyes widened further as the flashing light panel disappeared entirely. The room became once again a complete cell of smooth alloy walls, with no visible entrance or exit.

This time, Eiron's mind couldn't handle the shock, illusion or not. He thrashed once in the bed, moving instinctively back and away from the robed woman.

It wasn't a dream. Suddenly he wanted out. If that illusion was nothing more than a camouflaging image, the door was still really behind it. He could find his way home on his own!

With that in mind, Eiron pushed back the covering and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He forced his coltish-stiff legs under him and stood. That was a mistake. He had no strength in his body. And a blinding pain in his head crippled his mind. He had to lean his arm and shoulder against the wall for a moment until the pain subsided. He was weak and nauseous.

Meanwhile, the woman didn't move. She just seemed to watch him carefully. Then, she stepped back, as though giving him permission to move around freely. He didn't know what to do, and what this meant. He decided to try his earlier thought, and head for the door. Leaning against the wall, he slowly made his way around to the far wall.

When he thought he reached the door, he gave the wall a push with his left hand.

It was unquestionably solid.

He almost fell away onto the floor.

There was no way out.

The robed woman caught him with one arm. Her skin was soft and gentle, her strength like a thin steel beam supporting him.

"Take it easy. Don't worry, you're perfectly safe here." The strange woman said in a voice with a pleasing resonance he immediately distrusted, or wanted to. He felt vulnerable and he hated it.

"Safe?" He was not convinced.

She nodded.

"Where did you find me?"

"On the ledge. Outside."

"I remember!" Eiron thought out loud, with his memory returning. Everything that had happened was rapidly returning to him. "The Orian space fighters shot me down," he admitted it, feeling just a little of lingering humiliation now that he was out of danger.

"You were badly injured," she told him. "I brought you here to heal you. You had two very serious wounds."

"Then thank the doctor, whoever he was," Eiron said, suppressing a visceral memory of watching his insides spew blood like a fountain.

"Save the thanks for later. Just get better. That's not going to ever entirely heal. You can't do the things you've been doing up to now, or next time you'll wind up dead."

"Well, I'm not complaining, believe me. Can you help me over to the bed?" He asked. She immediately allowed him to lean on her body. In a few strides, he made it to the bed and sat down. It took a moment for him to swing his legs back. He found his energy entirely drained.

"The Orians—" he suddenly thought to wonder.

"They left." She said. "Then another plane like yours came skirting by the cliffs—"

"Another?"

"Yes—but it left quickly."

He was silent, but his brow drew together as he pondered this.

"They've given up," he sighed. "So it seems like I'm stuck here until I can make it home on my own," he said it in part to test her. She didn't respond. Well, he thought, at least she didn't disagree right away, and that gave him hope that he would make it home. He began to mentally relax.

"I guess I should thank you for saving my life," he said. "There's no way I can repay you for it."

"Can you tell me who you are?" she asked, quietly, and with great dignity. "If you remember."

"Yes, of course," he laughed. "Eiron, Senior Ekasi Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov."

She flinched suddenly. He suspected she knew of the Tiasennian commander Vaikyur. But then she said something he did not expect.

"That's an Orian name—Erlenkov."

"How do you know?" he demanded, suddenly angry and defensive. "It's Tiasennian."

"Not originally." She returned quietly. Eiron said nothing. He felt his face grow hot.

And now he was conscious of the fact that she was staring at him. Whatever he did or said, he couldn't hide his face.

He was tall enough, with a lean, wiry frame and the look of a runner, the look of an independent man. His nose bent just slightly to one side. He was attractive, despite the jagged scar that marred his left eyebrow. His teeth were slightly crooked—he chose not to have had them fixed. His wide-set blue eyes still held the long, thoughtful look of youth, despite his life's experience. His short hair was straight, and sand-blond. A coarse beard was now growing along his jaw. He was moderately handsome.

His skin was only a shade or so lighter than the gray veins which spidered under the surface. Dark enough that people always noticed—Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov was no typical Tiasennian. No one but his grandfather and a few of the top officers knew that his father had come from Orian.

Eiron Vaikure-Erlenkov was a private man. He wasn't the type who wore his emotions on his sleeve. His motives were often a subject of speculation. He was articulate when he spoke, and had a wry sort of humor. He knew how to make conversation when the situation called for it. But underneath his self-assured façade, he never let down the defensive barriers. He had been known to say that "giving a damn is the hardest thing to make yourself do", but at the same time, there were some things for which he was willing to make a decisive stand. Above all other things in life he valued dignity, honor, and integrity.

He had the reputation of being a dare-devil in the sky. This behavior gave the people around him plenty to gossip about, but it was in some ways a red-herring tactic he employed to divert those around him from finding out what he was.

"You're not going to think I'm an Orian spy, are you?" he asked. "You saw that the Orians' Falcon fighters shot me down. And my uniform—the flying wildcat insignia—I am an officer in the Tiasennian Army Air Corps."

"I know that. I wasn't questioning your loyalties. But now I have to wonder why you thought I might suspect them."

"No reason." He laughed, feigning a hint of wilting frustration and involuntary amusement.

"I'll ask you about it later, then." She said. "Don't worry about it now. I'm not going to turn you in to anyone. I'm just curious, that's all."

"Oh," he said. Maybe she was. But that didn't explain his present strange environment, or the advanced technology that kept him confined there. He was just beginning to re-question the nature of her environment. Who was she? He wondered. Was she trustworthy?

She hid her face. Hid it. But he had a glimpse of her jaw—

Immediately she moved to pull her hood down lower. Her hand was light, the movement graceful. He could no longer see any of her face.

So. He thought to himself. She was indeed an Orian. Hiding out here, on planet Tiasenne. It made perfect sense.

"You're smart," he thought. "Believe me, when I get home, I'm going to thank my lucky stars I'm alive, and forget all about you, if that's the way you want it."

Instead of answering, she just laughed. Her laughter was musical, more like real music than laughter.

"I'm not holding you prisoner here," she said. "I came to see if you wanted a little exercise."

"I don't feel well enough."

"You've been sleeping. You tried to move too fast. How do you feel now?" she asked. Her arm made a slight little gesture.

Eiron had been talking so much, he stopped to reconsider his strength. He moved his head a little—no pain, there.

"Just a minute," he said, with a hand up. He swung his legs around—they were manageable. He put them on the floor. Weak, but he had enough energy to move about. He felt extremely refreshed, as though he had just had a wonderful nap. He stood up entirely. "I think I can manage." He said.

"Good," she replied. "My living space is probably better than you'll be used to at the barracks." She said. Then she turned towards the area of the wall through which the mysterious doorway had appeared.

The light panel flashed on; then, the doorway opened up.

Eiron was too weary from his recovery to even care how impossible this all was.

"Follow me, then." She said, heading towards the aperture.

"You don't have to tell me twice," he said, moving cautiously. His legs were strangely warm. He must have just finally woken up.

"How long have I been in here, anyway?" He asked.

"About two tendays."

"Has to be longer than that," he laughed. A step away from her now, he saw that she was a little shorter than him. Under the robe she was shapely but slender, probably a young woman. She walked with a fluid agility.

"Who are you?" he asked. They had reached the doorway. It was cold in the draught, and he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising involuntarily. The air seemed to spark with electricity.

"Alessia," she replied in a detached way, as though it didn't even matter.

They quickly walked through into a large dark cavern, and the recovery room behind him vanished from view—literally.

Eiron turned around, watching open-mouthed as the opening leading to it filled gradually with a swirl of dust that formed into a solid, smooth wall of sandstone and granite.

* * * * *

"Senka Vaikyur, I am sorry that your grandson is dead." Secretary Natoly Marúsh said, with an air of indifference that contradicted his words. There was a clinical quality to his high-pitched voice, when he summoned it. Most of the time it had the raw, whining quality of a child's. But he was no child, only a man overworked and underpaid, and even more so underappreciated.

"I understand how painful this subject is for you, especially after the tragedy of your daughter's death," Marúsh said. "We all feel your loss—and Senior Ekasi Erlenkov was one of our best pilots as you know." He continued with a farce of sympathy. "His loss was not well received by the public."

Vaikyur blinked, waiting.

"But," Marúsh said, all traces of sympathy abandoning his voice, "you must put your grief behind you for a moment and help us to piece together what happened to him at point aico-seven. Perhaps you know something about the area, something about our enemy, some piece of information that has yet to come to light. Please try to think, now. Our sentries and intelligence teams are having a difficult enough time as it is dealing with this new situation."

Secretary Marúsh had taken a seat across from Senka Vaikyur in the large, plush, black office chair behind his lacquered desk. He was a broad-shouldered man. He had little beetle eyes and a short, upturned nose. His close-cropped hair had turned dark grey. Today, an intent expression had taken hold of his sweaty, round face. Though Marúsh was the Fer-innyera's Head Secretary, Vaikyur knew that the man was in fact simply Ezáitur's lacky of the moment and had very little real power at all.

Marúsh was the sort of man who kept a ready arsenal of choice words and expressions designed to make himself come across as competent, efficient, intelligent, calm, and self-confident. But when questioned on subjects outside his limited knowledge, Secretary Marúsh became vague, distracted, and his image of self-composure crumpled mightily under the onslaught of his internal insecurities. Today, however, Vaikyur noticed a change in Marúsh's usual behavior.

Vaikyur had always been considered a man who was good at reading expressions, and at present Secretary Marúsh appeared worried. Very worried. No doubt about losing his position in the event that he failed to squeeze any new information out of his guest, Vaikyur thought silently. This fear was understandable, since Marúsh was already the sixth Head Secretary to take office under Ezáitur's leadership.

For the past two weeks, Vaikyur had been expecting this little meeting. At least they had given him some time to mourn his grandson.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Vaikyur shrugged and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. It was no secret he didn't like Marúsh very much. The defiant air in his gesture conveyed this. "I've already disclosed what I know about point aico-seven. It's on file. I can't help you any more than that."

"I am referring, Senka, to some secret information you have that concerns point aico-seven. With additional, ah—" Marúsh fumbled for the right word, "background, we might be able to learn why Ekasi Erlenkov was shot down."

"I see."

"His death may be of vital importance to discover why the Orians and their terrorist allies have re-appeared in the Classified Zones. They're planning something. We think this latest attack is only the beginning." Marúsh's fresh look of concern seemed plastered on. The only cracks in his facade were his eyes. Marúsh's eyes were small, hard, and calculating, and they darted with frank impatience over the Senkaya-Sukura. He could easily assist his manner with drug injections, but more often than not chose not to.

"It's perfectly clear what the enemy is after. As you say, they want to take over our world and murder all of us," Vaikyur said in a deadpan voice, with a bright spark of concealed contempt in his eyes. "They are a completely violent people not at all like our own. They have no reason to want to destroy us other than greed and evil." His tone of voice let anyone know that this was not his private opinion.

"Yes, my dear Vaikyur. I know your real feelings on the subject," Marúsh waved a hand dismissively.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Vaikyur said in the usual manner of denial of something they both knew to be true.

Marúsh laughed. "Repeat yourself for the recorder now, Vaikyur. I'm not trying to get a confession out of you, and you know that no one wants any harm to come to you. The Fer-innyera is your friend. He trusts that as his Operational Commander, you will continue to do what must be done regardless of your private feelings, as you have done for many years. The Orians are our enemy. Heaven knows how a man like you can respect them. But the Fer-innyera has never found this to compromise your leadership before. He even feels that your respect for the Orians is our best line of defense against them. It is important to know one's adversary. It makes it easier to defeat him."

"Yes." Vaikyur said.

"But, I think it wise you remember that they are terrorists, nothing more, and nothing less. They must be dealt with accordingly. That is their ultimate fate."

"Of course," Vaikyur agreed.

"What we want to know is, how they might have managed to surpass our flying wildcat fighters in range and agility. They've developed a new Falcon fighter. We're having the Central Aeronautic Lab working out its capabilities as we speak, but we need help from you to figure out what makes their minds tick, and what they might be planning if they ever were to have the advantage. Your experience in their strategy, in their tactics—even in their psychology—is unparalleled, especially given the fact that your own daughter was attached to one of them."

"One question." Vaikyur said. "Are we officially afraid of the enemy now?" Vaikyur narrowed his eyes, carefully planning his moves. He realized belatedly that his brusque words were not very elegant. "Last I heard the Fer-innyera was confident that there is no real threat."

"Of course not." Marúsh wavered, trying to remember what the official angle was. It was dangerous to forget what the official angle was.

"Then do go on, Vaikyur." Marúsh instructed; Vaikyur suppressed an inclination to sigh. He found himself suddenly incapable of playing any games.

"All right," he said, looking Marúsh squarely in the eye. "Background on point aico-seven, was it? All I know is that it's useless scrubland, desert, and cliffs. Hardly worth all this fuss."

"The Fer-innyera is worried—"

"About what? Some unidentified threat coming out of that wasteland? You know nothing but desert plants can live out there for long. Ezáitur has other things to worry about."

"He wants the truth, Vaikyur. No matter how bad it is. For once, he wants the truth." Marúsh said, and then seemed to cringe. He realized he should not have said "for once". But, puffed up on his own sense of importance—he had the Fer-innyera's backing—Marúsh shrugged it off. He knew Ezáitur would understand the indiscretion. It was necessary to make Vaikyur talk.

Vaikyur sighed, sensing that Marúsh had blundered for a reason. Obviously, Ezáitur had made it clear to him that he wanted Vaikyur's real opinion.

"What do you want me to tell you, Marúsh, that we are one step away from disaster if Orian ever attacks us in full force? I'm no mind-reader. I don't know any more than you, or more than my own common sense tells me."

For a moment after Vaikyur finished, silence hung in the air.

Marúsh refused to be daunted.

"Allow me to be candid, my friend." Secretary Marúsh pushed himself away from the desk and propped his feet on the edge, crossing his legs.

"I think we both know how I feel about you."

"Amusing, Vaikyur, truly. Care for a smoke?"

Vaikyur didn't answer.

"Perhaps not." Marúsh paused, clearing his throat. "The Orians have been looking for something for many years. Some sort of technological device—we're not sure what. But it's common knowledge that during Fer-innyera Alton's leadership, you were a secret messenger, with access to the Top Secret files on the Classified Zones."

"Yes."

"At that time a few of these exclusion areas were restricted from military and public access because of the danger of low-grade nuclear bombs, biological attacks, and armed spy planes."

I certainly hope we've established this all by now, Vaikyur thought impatiently. He longed for a stabilizing injection, to numb him through this.

"Yes," Vaikyur said quietly.

"I'm sure you realize how difficult it has been keeping the areas off limits. We set some up as false military bases and weapons test areas. The civilians don't really even know."

"Yes," Vaikyur agreed, covering old territory once more.

"Well, it helps that the Classified Zones are all remote locations."

"Isn't that strange," Vaikyur said, deadpan once more.

The Secretary stopped for a moment. In a rare moment, his thinking skills and imagination engaged. And, Vaikyur saw, for a moment that Marúsh actually agreed with him.

"That may be something important," he said out loud, unable to let go of the idea. Vaikyur shifted in his chair.

"Anyway," Marúsh continued, remembering that his time was well-budgeted. "Some of our younger officers keep asking why we bother keeping the Zones with low radiation levels under exclusion status. There was some talk of opening them up to routine patrols, if not to the public."

"But of course now we can't do that." Marúsh coughed and lit another smokeweed. "Thanks to Ezáitur's wisdom and foresight, we've kept everything under control until now." Marúsh said, blowing a ring into the air and closing the cap of his lighter with a loud clip.

"Yes."

"Can you imagine what trouble we'd be having now if the public knew how intrusive the Orians really are in our lives? It's been so long since they attacked a populated area, that some people consider them a kind of joke."

"The Orians play games with us, Marúsh." Vaikyur said. "The civilian attacks are just a cover-up. A distraction. A red herring. They do it to divert our forces from their true targets. Bombs out in an open field, polluting a lake halfway across the planet—random acts of violence and destruction, directed against us, but not at us. Who can understand their minds, and what they hope to accomplish? At the least, they haven't provoked open war, or attacked large cities in several years.

"Only this time, they circled northern Inen. We didn't even see them coming, and they could have easily taken out half of the city before we could shoot them down. But they left the city in peace. They obliterated my grandson's patrol unit and drove him outside the city, into the Northwestern Sea. Why?" Vaikyur wondered. "Believe me, Marúsh, if I knew the answers myself, I would rest easy at night."

Marúsh hesitated a moment.

"Aico-seven was never attacked." Marúsh said, shaking his head in thought. "I checked our files on it. The Orians once used the sea cliff as a landing area for a massive failed attack on Inen." Marúsh went on. "I've also been informed that there were a number of disappearances in that same area years later. Alton's secret intelligence found out that the area had potentially toxic levels of radiation and restricted the area. Some say it was because so many planes disappeared there without a trace."

Vaikyur listened but did not comment.

"The Orians never returned. We had planes watching the area for years, but there hasn't been any activity in the area for over fifty years." Marúsh continued. "Now, there isn't a single person alive who would believe that that rocky cliff is a suitable place to build a military base. It would be an ideal location for weapons testing, either nuclear or biological—if the area weren't so close to the capital, only fifty nariars away. It's just lucky that no appreciable sign of radiation contamination has ever reached Inen from there." Marúsh tapped his smokeweed.

"Yes, it is." Vaikyur agreed, silently struggling to maintain his composure.

"What I don't understand is this. The Orians dropped a deep-ground probe outside Inen. We found it shortly after Vaikyur-Erlenkov went down. It was sending out a seismic wave, obviously searching for something underground. Frankly, we'd never seen anything like it. Far more advanced than the last probe we found."

"The one in the classified military relics warehouse." Vaikyur nodded. "I was informed of all of this a few days ago."

"Do you know what they're hoping to find?"

"The location of our top-security shelters. Most likely." Vaikyur said.

"Ezáitur was concerned that might be it." Marúsh said. "But he feels there may be more to it."

Vaikyur kept silent, his arms crossed over his chest, just staring as if in amazement at Marúsh.

"We can understand the threat that their new advance in technology poses to our security, and we are working hard to deal with that situation. We also suspected that they were trying to determine whether or not we had any evacuation shelters ready. We suspect that they may be planning a major offensive strike against us. But we have faith in your abilities, Vaikyur, and in our lines of defense. We need to be certain, however, that there is no hidden threat in this latest assault. And the connection to point aico-seven is puzzling. Why did the Orians drive your grandson's fighter out over the Northwestern Sea?"

"He's a good pilot. He survived longer than his unit." Vaikyur said. "I suppose they were headed in that direction. The Orians, of course, don't know that the area is a Classified Zone."

"Yes," Marúsh said. Suddenly, he leaned forward furtively as though about to impart some great secret, "I must confide in you."

"Confide? Confide what?"

"Ezáitur is aware of Alton's security secrets, of the nano-implant technology that has been lost to our government science. He is aware that you have some knowledge of this, and of secret information that details the origins of the war against Orian. He has no doubt that you are a loyal Tiasennian. But he may attempt to break you, Vaikyur, one of these days, just to jog your memory." Marúsh leaned back.

"I can't tell him what I don't know." Vaikyur replied.

"Or remember?" Marúsh laughed. "My son cried at the news of Vaikyur-Erlenkov's death."

Vaikyur's eyes flashed.

"But I'm sure that the boy will get over it." Marúsh continued. "We haven't got anyone to replace you. Cooperate, if you can. Nothing will happen to you if you cooperate."

"Personally, I want nothing more than to punish the bastards for all that has happened." Vaikyur said, and for the first time, with real emotion.

Marúsh stared at him. "That's what we all want, Vaikyur."

It is not the strength but the duration of exalted sensations which makes exalted men.

–Nietzsche
Chapter Four

Gritty dark grey basalt stone, sandstone, and swirling layers of light grey and pink granite formed each of the four walls of a room cut from solid rock. As for the means of entry or escape he had hoped to find, Eiron saw none. The rock composition reminded him of the ledge where he had crashed. That was good news, anyway. That meant he had not been taken far.

But why was Alessia here? No one was permitted to live in the Classified Zones.

Eiron's well-trained eye took in every small detail. This new space had a lower ceiling but was easily five times the size of the room he had just left. In the center of this room a great log fire crackled and spat glowing sparks of wood, sending undulating shadows into the dark corners and onto the multi-colored, purple, grey, pink, yellow, and blue striated walls.

The strangest part was how this room contrasted with the recovery room. The floor here was nothing but grey dirt. A few primitive hardwood chairs formed a circle around a log fire, made in the center of the room, with stones around it. Nearby lay a pile of ordinary-looking dark blue blankets that appeared to serve as a bed for some creature, perhaps an animal she kept. A small, old, bright wood table by the fire held lovely ceramic jugs full of water, bandages, and multifarious glass vials large and small, possibly full of medicines. They were decorated with copper and gold with circular patterns etched in metal. He would have guessed they were hand-made, if it hadn't been for the craftsmanship of the metallic seals.

Where does she get her provisions from? he wondered. How does she keep from starving way out here? And why does she choose to live in such a primitive condition?

A dark pot dangled from a spit erected over the flames.

"You've got something cooking." He said. He began to notice the spicy aroma reaching his stomach.

"It's for you," Alessia said with a bright laugh. She took a seat in one of the chairs. He decided to sit beside her. "After you eat, I'll show you around, and then you can do with yourself as you please."

"All right," he agreed. "I'm hungry enough to eat anything. What is it?"

"Soup." She said. "I didn't know what you might like, so I made something simple. Bird meat, blue groundfruit, and spices."

"That would be great. You live here, way out in a Classified Zone," he observed. He didn't look at her. Her face was still covered. He ended up just watching the blaze. His body felt stiff from the sleep, but it was good to be up and awake.

"Well, and how did you get here?" she returned, evading the issue.

He smiled. "I flew, remember?"

She laughed, relieved to be in good spirits, even though what they were discussing was dangerous, not the sort of thing to be laughing at under ordinary circumstances. Eiron could be imprisoned by his superior officers simply for having been in a Classified Zone. He wasn't at all worried about that now, though.

"What brought you here?" she asked. "It's been a long time since I've seen anyone from the outside world."

No doubt, he thought. No one ever came near the Classified Zones on purpose.

"I'm a pilot with a degree and license in Spaceship Engineering." Eiron replied, making a sudden gesture to lift up one of the ornately etched stoneware pieces on the table. For no apparent reason, Alessia reacted to his sudden movement. She got up and went to lift up the soup. He turned to watch. She reached for the handle, her fingers gripping it too tightly, accenting her knuckles as the soft, supple skin stretched over her knuckle bone.

Her hand betrayed two things about her—one, that she was tense, that she wasn't so much at ease as her manner suggested, and two, that she was definitely not a pure Tiasennian—for she had dark skin. She removed the soup and brought it over to the table. And that was not just trivial information.

"Isn't that hot?" he asked, watching as she put it down.

She stopped a moment, then shook her head. "Not really."

She served him a bowl.

"Aren't you going to have any?" he asked.

"I will if it will make you feel better," she said, and got out another bowl.

Eiron took a mouthful. He felt a warm, soothing sensation down to his toes. "This is good." He said. He realized it must have been drugged from the way it made him feel, but not by anything dangerous. Possibly a healing agent. He was grateful. The sensation eased his pain, without messing up his mind. He decided not to ask what it was.

"Thank you," she said. "It will help you heal faster, so I'm glad you like it."

"I don't suppose I might have my uniform back," he said.

"I'm afraid you can't," she said. "I'll have to give you something else to wear. Are you cold?"

"No. It really was that bad, wasn't it?"

"You almost bled to death." She said quietly. "And that was only the beginning. But, you're eating. I can tell you later."

"Do you know anything about the air corps?"

"You're a Senior Ekasi." She replied, surprising him. "I guessed as much from the winged horse insignia."

"Yes," he said, not knowing whether or not to laugh. "I was patrolling north of Inen before the Orians attacked me, to answer your question."

"You're not from Orian, but you could pass for an Orian."

"You would know."

"What do you mean?"

"You're an Orian yourself. Why else would you hide your face?"

"I assure you I am not."

"I won't turn you in," Eiron said with a slight note of integrity. "You saved my life. But it makes sense why you live out here. All the prejudice against anyone like us, anyone with darker skin—I've lived through it myself. I do understand."

She laughed. "I am not an Orian."

"You're lying."

"I am Alessia Aleria, the child of Nerena Naliya Aleria. And she was the daughter of General Zadúmchov—the revered leader of The Martial Scientific Force. My father was the last known Enorian colonizer. He was known as Zariqua Enassa, 'multi-colored eyes' on my home world, on Seynorynael—"

Eiron was staring blankly at her. He didn't know how to react, or if he should laugh. But she was in deadly earnest, and he really couldn't laugh at her. The more she said, the more a creeping cold shiver permeated through him. Everything about the strange things he had seen began to make a kind of strange sense. He couldn't deal with it. He shrugged it off.

"Somewhere on Orian? I don't want to know," he said. He didn't want to think she was crazy. But who could believe such a ridiculous story?

"I've been to Orian." Alessia said. "There is only a little similarity between what I consider living and what Orian life is like."

"You've been to Orian?" He decided not to ask the more obvious question—how had she had gotten here again?

"Your father was Orian, wasn't he?"

"Yes. I mean, no! Look Alessia, I don't mean to be rude, but where is this all leading? You still haven't told me who you are."

"Yes, I did."

"All right, then," he agreed dismissively, "maybe you did, but I've never heard of this Say-nor-i-something or other place you claim to come from. And I don't believe you. I read all those stories at the Academy about what beings we found on other worlds, planets we visited more than a century ago—"

"What stories?" She sounded interested.

"I don't know, all kinds of stories. I admit I wasn't always paying a whole lot of attention to the details. But I do know that you're either Tiasennian, Orian, or half-breed like me. End of story. There is nothing else. Only children believe in other-world creatures like gods, ghosts, and devils." He laughed again.

"Ghosts." She echoed, in a hollow voice. "Yes, gods, ghosts, and devils are only legendary creatures. Not beings of flesh and blood."

He stopped suddenly, his eyes flaring wide with involuntarily anxiety as he recalled a small part of one such popular tale from his youth.

...and the immortals became as creatures of flesh and blood. Many years later, there was once such a creature who haunted the city of Inen. It was said her power could paralyze the heart of the bravest of men. She was a creature of death, truly a shadow. Many years passed before the Fer-innyera tricked the creature, Alessia, into the sky again...

"What is it?" Alessia asked, as Eiron dropped the spoon into his soup.

"It's nothing," he said.

"Tell me."

"There was a woman," he began.

"Yes?"

"She had the same name as you."

"I know."

"But she died almost a hundred years ago," Eiron said. "She was Fer-innyera Orashean's friend, until she betrayed him. She betrayed all of Tiasenne. She joined forces with the Orians against Tiasenne, as the story goes."

"I share the name. So you think I might be an Orian spy," she said suddenly.

"Are you?" he asked.

"No. But you are a loyal Tiasennian, I see."

"Yes. Just don't take me for an ignorant idealist."

"Would that be so awful?" she asked. "I might even like you better for it. You can say what you like here," Alessia said, sensing that he had been conditioned to secrecy. "I am guilty just by living in this area of disobedience to the Tiasennian state. I will not repeat anything you say to anyone, just remember that."

"Well, I probably shouldn't tell you, but I can't abide the Fer-innyera. We all have to keep up appearances, though, don't we?" Eiron said. "Not only for ourselves, but there's always the people to think about, and to protect. What's true is that only a few senior officers and guys like me know that Ezáitur's a murdering butcher."

"Is the truth important to you?"

"Yes." He said. "It's rare and invaluable if you can get it." He said, hoping he didn't sound naïve, but not really caring if he did. He had ideals, but that didn't make him wholly an idealist. "But I find that it often comes at too high a price.

"And defending truth is a hard task," he admitted, proving to her by his words that he could be honest. If he hadn't felt he could speak freely, he would have kept his mouth shut. Having ideals didn't make him a fool.

"It never is for anyone," she agreed. "But what happened that made it so hard for you, as you say?"

"My grandfather's position and his infernal honesty. During training at the Academy I had to be careful never to let my instructors know that my grandfather shared information with me about the secret inner workings of the government, past and present. If anyone had ever found out that I was anything other than an obedient pilot, you can imagine how short my military career would have been. Even those who are politically disenchanted have to know when to keep their mouths shut, you understand."

"I do know."

"Well, Alessia, you've let me slip off the subject."

"Which one?"

"That tricky little question about your loyalties."

"What do you think about them?"

"What do I think?" he echoed, pausing, staring at her. "You aren't simply a civilian, that much is clear. You may be sympathetic towards Orian, but no, I don't think you're an Orian sabatoeur or secret spy."

"Why not?" She asked in a tone that invited him to elaborate.

He shook his head. "First of all, you wouldn't be talking to me like this. And second, no Orian would have pulled me away from Orians. But if you are a sympathizer... at least sympathy isn't a crime. Well, not unless the government's listening," he amended.

She laughed.

"Are you a descendant of one of the Orian scientists—the ones who were invited to join Tiasennian society?" he asked.

"No," she said. "I suppose my loyalties might seem questionable to you. But you see, I have difficulty trusting people, so I don't like talking about this," Alessia said, breaking his reverie unexpectedly.

"We don't have to, then."

"Good. When I asked how you came to be here, I was actually hoping for more news."

"News? About what?"

"Well, why did those Orian ships attack you?"

"I'm a Tiasennian pilot."

"Yes," she laughed. "What I meant was that I'd like to hear what you were doing out here just before you got shot down."

"I was flying a patrol mission about twenty nariars from here, two nariars north of the capital."

"Northern Inen?"

"Yes. That area's not routine for my patrol." He explained. "For the past two days some of the citizens living in the northern outskirts of the city had been complaining that they'd heard a strange rumbling sound at night overhead. They knew something was up, since supply ships don't follow the northern route this time of year."

"Your Orian friends up to no good?"

He nodded. "We were just about to head for home when we picked up an Orian space fighter on radar heading west. I decided that we would follow it, maybe find out if the Orians had a new target and report our findings back to Headquarters."

"The Orians had other ideas, though."

"It seems so. We were just coming to the edge of the Classified Zone when five more of them appeared out of nowhere. The rest of my patrol was shot down immediately, but I managed to take out one of the Orians before the others forced me out over the Classified Zone where they could finish me off. They had the advantage. Usually our fighters fly rings around theirs, but from what I saw—well these looked like a new prototype." He chewed his lip, contemplating the events.

"What's wrong?"

"A lot could be wrong. Those fighters I encountered were faster than anything I've seen before, and I'm not just saying that to salvage my ego that they shot me out of the sky. If I'm right, they have developed radar silence—their aerospace technology may have finally caught up with ours, and in one swoop surpassed it. They are now more dangerous than ever before."

"You remind me of an old friend of mine." Alessia interrupted suddenly. She was strangely quiet.

"I hope that's a compliment."

"It is."

"I should be reporting back." He continued, unaffected. "I've got things to do. The High Command will need my report about the terrorists' attack and what they were doing. I could use the flare in my uniform to signal the rescue planes and ask them to send a message—"

"You're not going anywhere." Alessia insisted firmly. "You may have things to do, but first you've got to get better."

"I can't just forget about what I saw—"

"But you're going to have to for now. You wouldn't reach any of your ships, even if you could make it up to the surface on your own, which you wouldn't. And it's not safe up there yet."

"What?"

"The Orians have been returning to this area since you crashed here. Five, perhaps six of their space fighters are circling the area even now."

Eiron's eyes darted reflexively to the ceiling above. How did she know that the Orians had returned? He hadn't heard any engine noise.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I don't play games."

"I didn't hear anything."

"It doesn't matter. I was monitoring them before I came to check on you. They have indeed surpassed your world's in stealth technology, as you suspected."

"Oh," he said. He didn't think to ask how she knew and if she were an authority on the subject. He didn't doubt she was, somehow. There was a silence.

"In that case," he added finally, "I suppose I could kick around here a few more days. I'll bet the Service has even given me the standard memorial service already. I wonder how grandfather is taking it. I'm all the family he has left."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"He's a good man—you've probably already heard about him as a leader. But as a grandfather he's more than anyone will ever know. A good teacher, a man you can respect." Eiron saw that she was interested and went on. "Tough, but honest. He's the most respected commander that we've ever had, even if he doesn't hide the fact that he doesn't agree with some of the policies of the government.

"But, Fer-innyera Ezáitur doesn't seem to mind. Everyone in the High Command knows they were good friends, in the past. And Ezáitur openly recognizes his usefulness. Senka Vaikyur has been the most successful military tactician that Tiasenne has had in the last hundred years. He has had the uncanny ability to earn the unswerving loyalty of almost every officer that has served under him."

"I'm not surprised."

"But you don't know grandfather," Eiron said. "The High Command is always suspecting him of having some kind of secret knowledge about the Orians. He just refutes their innuendo and questions." Eiron found himself laughing. "There are some people who dislike him tremendously, but he's too valuable to criticize openly. I think Ezáitur is secretly afraid that if Vaikyur disappeared there would be a rebellion within the military."

"That would be terrible."

"Yes."

"You're done with that soup now?"

"Yes."

"Then might I suggest a walk around, Eiron?"

"You might."

"There are quite a few rooms here. You can make yourself at home. I have a small indoor garden—not much of one, with the dry heat here—and a library, if you're interested."

"Very much interested."

For the first time, he noticed that there were several doorways in the walls. Including the opening that led to his room. He had almost forgotten that little miracle. Before his mind had time to contemplate what it might mean, she reached out to take his hand.

"Enough heavy talk for one day."

"Agreed."

All my possessions for a moment of time.

—Queen Elizabeth I of England
Chapter Five

Desire, absence of desire—is it the greatest treasure in the universe to have all you desire?

Strange thoughts filtered through the mind of the man who sat at the heart of an empire. All around him the cacophonous noises of alarms and radio transmissions combined into a steady roar, harsh and unrelenting. The center of the sprawling military complex was lit by incandescent lights that gave the room a dark red glow which reflected the mood of the man in control of it all. He was a man lost in his own discontent.

Or should I rid myself of desire?!

If I could stop wanting...

Would that grant me some happiness? And if so—then what? How then would I live? What would I do with my days?

Is there a peace that would satisfy me, and could I forget what I want?

Would I really be happy to kill all my desires? Or is this unending discontent to be my private doom?

Without my desires, I fear I would not know myself. I would not enjoy peace. I must need!

And so it seems that discontent is a pestilence, the lonely disease of the thinking man. Perhaps I cherish an affliction that sets me above other men. Perhaps I cannot ever be happy. Or at least be satisfied with a simple state of happiness.

Would that be such a loss, not to find some artificial state of mindless happiness? I can will any change within my own mind, and within the minds of all around me.

I have absolute power. I can create my own happiness. I can create my own world. I can create my own mood, and glut myself with any sensation the human race has ever known, with sensations no human has ever known, but one—

Alessia.

I could choose to forget her, to be content with my absolute dominion over my world. If I desired to do so. I could choose to kill my desires... I could make myself any man I want to be. Brave, kind, good—but I cannot choose for long. There is no comfort in it for me!

I know what it is that I have lost, what it is that I need. And mindless happiness can never satiate real desire.

The gift she gave me—was it a gift or a curse?

For all that I could choose to be, I have less permanent control over my own mind and power than I did when I was no one. Just a scientist, a man bound by human frailty to a limited power over his own destiny.

I think I was happy, back then. It was so long ago.

That man was someone else. I never knew myself fully back then.

Discontent—passion—misery—betrayal—fear—they wake the human soul.

These things force us to know the full range of capacities within ourselves. They force us to know what it is that we are, what it is that we relish.

I have absolute power, and control over my own thoughts. But I cannot destroy those that existed at the very moment of my metamorphosis. When I see her, I remember him. The very best parts of him I cannot have back entirely, a recollection that brings joy and pain—and desire. Since that time, there have been other alien thoughts, other alien moods I have known, that I would not wish to abandon. They have imbedded into my soul. I have lived so many lives in a short span—through the raping power of my mind, through telepathy. That is how I became a stranger to my original self. That is how I can choose to be a different man every day. I can choose what I want to be, but inevitably I tempt myself to change.

Was there ever a time when my love was greater than my hate? Even after the moment that changed my life...

So many emotions, and lack of emotions. There is infinite possibility, and no one on this world to share this understanding with me—I am alone in my power. Alone. And there is no one here to bring me back from oblivion—it has happened once. I have had to fight the invading power of memory from a strong mind not my own. Had oblivion claimed me—the thought that I was another man and not myself—there would have been no one here with the power to reclaim my mind as it was. My resurrection, my future, my hope—all rest within her.

She was the last immortal. We alone can save each other from fighting our powers alone.

Alessia, I cannot stop wanting. I cannot stop. I cannot go back.

The devils of power within me will not rest so easily. They are eternally hungry—for human pain.

As the minutes slowly passed, he remained seated in his command chair. Then without warning, an ominous rumble sounded from beneath the Center and shook the building, and he was jolted to the floor.

Immediately, several of his officers hurried over to aid him to his feet, older duty officers and gangly youths fresh out of training. Pushing them away, he leaped up and resettled himself on the chair, brushing his uniform. His gaze was feral, but not angry. His movements, slow, like a predator, but with a mesmerizing agility and masculine grace.

The officers stared at him, partly out of fear—it was the only time they felt fear—and partly out of an eternal awe. At times, they could not bear to look away from him. At other times, they were afraid to look at him too long. He could be cruel on a whim, and yet they were willing to bear whatever fate he decided for them. His power—power of body, of soul, of mind—radiated unmistakably. Even had they not known who he was, they could feel it surrounding him.

His word was law—life and death. His power was absolute. They did not feel safe around him. But they adored him. While distracted, he had been known to hurt innocent bystanders. And yet no one in that room would have given up the opportunity to be near him, if they could. For in his presence, their bodies were imbued with some of his raw power. Their minds, their bodies, were suffused with an unnatural power. They felt fear only briefly, fear of him. But no pain, no remorse, no lack of self-composure, no lack of pleasure.

His presence was pure energy, elation, glory.

Near him, they could function long hours, with pleasure, with confidence, with power, just basking in his power. They were beautiful, they were brave. They felt such pleasure, just to serve him. Away from his presence, they were mortal. They were weak, afraid, unhappy, discontented, ordinary. There was nothing—and they were nothing—

Without their Great Leader.

How ironic it was that he could give them what he could never give himself. Contentment.

"Great Leader," an officer called loudly over the tumult from across the room, "our ships continue to search the area."

The man in the chair nodded, and once again the room was as before. They could watch long hours, contented, never bored, even by the endless watching he required of them. They had no pressing urgency to attack. Their leader enjoyed the long hunt.

Then there were long times when he could not endure—they did not know what it was that gave him such distraction, for in his company, they felt none.

Only a few times had he ever given any of them a taste of his urgency, of his suffering—that was long ago. None had survived the outpouring of his grief. Their minds could not take the strain.

The officers present had seen him strong for several years. They had not known the long absences of years past—when he fought... something he could not explain. He no longer invaded their minds, if he could stop himself. He had no further desire to dally in the petty curiosities of mundane life. He used their minds only when need arose and never descended to the depths of their reality.

He did not choose to speak. Already they knew what he expected of them. They were searching for the key to his salvation. But he was patient. They did not believe he was afraid. He had waited more than a hundred years—and some of those years he had been dormant. But in the last few years, his mind had grown active once more. And he was no longer content with the waiting.

By all appearances, he was a man of twenty-seven years. He had a body like a beautiful statue—he was lean and well-muscled. He was handsome—with an almost angelic masculine face. His clear blue eyes were brilliant. In them the light of raw power and obsession burned. Rage and a secret anguish.

Without warning, he laughed. In time, he stopped, because he disliked the sound. He disliked his existence, when he began to dislike himself.

"Alessia thinks she can deny me?" he asked quietly. The attempt was futile, his tone of voice warned. It also held a tone of outrage. And, if anyone present were not engulfed in the mindless euphoria he gave them, they could have detected one last note of human pain.

The need in him.

It was also anticipation. And an evil need for retribution.

She is not beyond facing the consequences of her actions. There is no escaping me, and there will never be, as surely as she made me what I am.

"I will hunt you down." He said, in a quiet, ice-edged voice. "You will pay for your crime. I will make you pay for it."

And I will take what should rightfully be mine.

* * * * *

The tendays passed swiftly, as tendays on Tiasenne always did. The day lasted but a brief eleven hours, and Eiron slept between eight and ten hours at a time. This wasn't particularly unusual for him, except perhaps that he now decided his own sleep schedule. Despite the short days with their five hours of sunlight, Tiasennians traditionally slept for periods of seven hours or more, often missing daylight hours completely. They were the only creatures on the planet oblivious to its natural temporal cycle.

Sometimes he woke up late into the cold night and then stayed awake throughout the remainder of that evening and over the course of the next short day and night. However, it didn't matter when he chose to rest; every time he returned to the main chamber Alessia was already working on her daily chores. He figured she must sleep only a few hours at a time. He had never actually seen her sleeping.

Most often she sat by the fire, cooking or preparing his medicines, grinding her ingredients to a fine powder. He felt idle watching her and decided to distract her with amusing stories of his Academy days. He wasn't sure she wanted to hear them, but it helped him to pass his time.

Then abruptly Alessia would leave again through a barred doorway in the wall for wherever it was that she went. Perhaps she went to her room to sleep. He had begun to time her absences; she was never gone longer than a few hours.

When left alone, Eiron strolled through the other rooms, all of them an odd mixture of the primitive and of highly advanced technology. Alessia's garden was something else altogether, an alien greenhouse almost as large as the main chamber; its walls had been hollowed out of the same granite and sandstone, yet the roof glowed with a bright blue light so intense that he had to avert his eyes until they grew accustomed to it. Peculiar blue plants with cup-shaped indigo flowers swayed in the eerie glow, as if moved by an artificial breeze. When he touched a petal, the flower always stopped. As he removed his hand, it swished back into time with the others.

Another room stored various foods and liquids in cylindrical clear vials and square grey-blue metal containers; in another, he found a mossy green bank by a large pool one afternoon. The clear blue water sparkled in the dim light, cut into silver arcs where a shaft of sunlight seeped through a crack in the roof overhead. Water trickled down the shelf of stones on the other side of the cavern from some invisible above ground source, collecting in basins then cascading down.

Now this, he decided, was what the poets called paradise.

He plunged into the cool water and swam a little, taking care not to move too abruptly, then stretched out on the mossy bank until he was dry. Swimming was a luxury for the citizens of Inen, but he had learned how to swim as a boy while on vacation with his grandfather.

He returned the next day and the next. Soon, he had gotten into the habit of going there every day or night when Alessia left him. The exercise gradually began to renew his strength as his torn muscle healed. The strokes hardly bothered his wounds anymore.

The natural waterfall made a peaceful sound; he was definitely going to miss this when he returned to Inen. He seemed to lose track of the time here and fell asleep on the bank more often than not. However, a few times a distant rumbling sound intruded from the world outside.

This time, the noise woke him at sunset. The small shaft of real daylight faded into a purple glow; with it, the artificial light above also dimmed, and the water became a cloudy grey mirror. Even though the timing was right, it was obvious to Eiron that the light didn't come from the sun, Rigell, through any kind of hidden skylight above. It was too intense, more so even than the rays of the bluish-white star that bathed the twin planets Tiasenne and Orian in its glow.

His stomach growled slightly as he made his way into the other room where Alessia was preparing their evening meal. He shivered, still not completely dry from swimming, and sat down beside her to warm his hands. Darkness descended rapidly around them; soft shadows lingered on the walls and floor just beyond the range of the firelight.

"Anything wrong?" She asked as he began absently to peel and arrange some of the dessert fruits he recognized from Alessia's garden. They were small blue and pink fruits, and one with a dark purple color.

"Not at all." He said, brushing his damp hair out of his eyes.

"You did that?" She asked, indicating the pot of indigo flowers on the table that he had brought in earlier to liven up the room.

"Yes, I did." He shrugged. "You don't like it?"

"Oh no, I do." She insisted. "But shouldn't you be more careful? That pot is heavy. You might have ripped a stitch—"

"It wasn't any trouble." He shook his head firmly. "I'm almost good as new. See?" He laughed and slapped his stomach once to demonstrate, suppressing a pained grimace.

"Yes, so I see."

"Thought you might want some color in here."

"Thank you, the flowers are lovely." He wondered again how she could tell. After all this time, she still wore the dark blue robe, with the hood pulled low, though he could see her jaw and lips. She had beautiful lips, he thought.

"I've never seen anything like them," he said. "Are they from Orian?" It was obvious he liked playing with them. The flowers swayed only lightly back and forth, now that the light had gone. But if he moved them closer to the light sometimes, they really started moving fast. It was a game he played to pass the time.

"They're not from Orian, but I can't say where I got them."

Eiron stood up and began to hover closer to the soup pot. He had grown accustomed to Alessia's cooking—all of it was delicious, and spiced with medicines that made him feel his injury less. The food seemed to heal him more rapidly—or at least to make him feel as though it was doing him some good.

Eiron had hardly had such a pleasant time in all his life as he had known here in her world, even though there wasn't much to it, and hardly anywhere to go. The food here tasted better than anything he was used to, and he only needed a little; his thoughts were positive—he felt as though it wouldn't be long before he was entirely healed—and better. The exercise in the lake was doing him good. He was enjoying himself more and more every day, and hadn't given much thought in several days to going home.

"It won't cook any faster," she said after a moment.

"It smells good." He drew back with a sheepish laugh. "Hey, isn't it time that you show your face? You must be pretty tired of covering yourself up like that." He said. One thing he couldn't figure out was how she could enjoy her life without being able to see properly—she could eat well enough without the hood getting in the way. He supposed that covering herself up was entirely because of him rather than a religious habit.

She didn't say anything.

"I would feel better if I didn't," she said. "For now."

They hadn't spoken in some time about anything important, about how she was able to make it seem as though the wall was there and then not there—surely it was some kind of advanced illusion, better than any holograms being generated in the Tiasennian government research labs. Explaining the whole business to Headquarters was going to be tricky, if he submitted a detailed report. The High Command might think his head injuries had affected his mental faculties.

While the illusions of disappearing doors and lightswitches had at first intrigued him, he no longer thought much about it. Since the day that he had first left his recovery room, none of the doors and openings had changed—apart from the door to the chamber he assumed was Alessia's. He could understand her keeping that one sealed. He admitted that for a while now he had some curiosity to see what she looked like, and might have been tempted to look in on her, as rude as that might be.

He was sort of glad he couldn't, since it kept him from having to struggle with his conscience and with the temptation of wanting to have a look at her—but just thinking about it could do no harm.

"Well I'm glad you're interested, because it's done," Alessia said suddenly. She took a bowl, filled it, and gave it to him. "Be careful, it's hot," she warned.

He took it with perhaps too much eagerness. But he didn't stand on ceremony any more.

She got a bowl and sat down. There was a clear glass pitcher on the table. They had reached the point where he could just serve himself, so he lifted it up and poured a chilled glass of cahlda, a lightly spiced, watered-down wine.

He loved the spice in the wine. Under ordinary circumstances, such as back in his life in Inen, he would have abstained, just to keep the wine from dulling his thinking. It was the sort of life there that he had to keep his wits, in case he had to fly, and he didn't like the injections that would be administered to clear his head for flying if he wasn't completely flight-worthy, if he had drunk any inebriates. Pilots were not really supposed to drink certain beverages except for time on leave.

This qualified as leave, so he had more than indulged in the inebriates. There was an additional something extra that made the wine particularly good—he wasn't sure what and he didn't ask. He sipped from the edge of the soup bowl.

"I recognize this," he said. The soup had pale bird meat in it and some vegetables, cat's tooth, with a sharp spice to it. "It's like something my mother made when I was a kid." The purple root vegetable was familiar to him.

"It's urbin stew. An Orian soup, for a change."

His expression clouded a little, as though he was disturbed in good and bad ways by this change.

"Don't you like it?" she asked.

"It used to be my favorite," he said. "Until I couldn't get it any more." His voice turned slightly melancholy.

"So, you'd love some more," she said, getting up.

"I can get it," he offered.

"I don't mind," she said. "I'm not really hungry, and it's a change being able to do something for someone else."

He smiled. She took his empty bowl and headed to the soup pot.

Without warning, an ear-splitting noise passed overhead, shaking the room like an earthquake. The stew pot jostled over the fire, and liquid spilled over the sides, hissing as it fell onto the flames.

Hot liquid splashed up, onto the back of her hand. She didn't even flinch.

"Are you hurt?" Eiron asked, with concern. He got up quickly to help her, and reached out for her hand. He quickly examined it for burns. He found none.

"You're not burned," he said, squeezing her long fingers. "Don't be afraid," he said after a moment, feeling through her hands that she was shaking—in fear.

"Is that the Orians again?" he asked. "You're afraid they might be back?" Now he was really surprised. She'd always been so composed, so competent in her work that he had never expected this kind of reaction. It stirred protective feelings in him, but he had just begun to notice the steel tension in her slender arm.

He struggled with even more surprise. What he sensed was an unusual physical strength in her body, as he grasped her hand.

Her skin was soft, infinitely soft, but her hand and body were as taut as a wire.

"Come and sit down. They won't be able to find us down here—or they would have found you by now, right?" he said.

She turned to him. "I'm not afraid of being found. I'm afraid of what I might do."

This response caught him completely off guard.

"About what?"

She looked down as though considering how to answer, then stopped.

"Your father was an Orian. You never did say much about it."

He winced, released her hand, and sat down in front of the fire. She sat down a moment later, just at the edge of the stone ring. He turned to stare into the fire, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands on his cheeks supporting his head. After a moment, he reached down and lifted up a twig that had survived the fire and cast it absently into the blaze.

"My father's parents got out of Orian before I was born. Is there some particular reason you're asking this?"

"I just wondered."

"I suppose it doesn't hurt to tell you about it. There were thousands of political refugees trying to get passage to Tiasenne about sixty years ago. The Tiasennian government considered my father's parents valuable enough to be given some of their precious entrance passes. My father was born and raised in Inen."

"He must have had a hard time growing up."

"He was barred from most professions. Including the military."

"So how did your parents meet?"

"My father's parents were astrophysical engineers. They passed on their knowledge to him—some of it surpassing what Tiasennian Research Science had at the time. So that's how a second-class Orian citizen became valuable, though Tiasennian internal security never stopped watching him. At that time, Alton had everyone convinced that there were spies everywhere."

"I know."

"Actually the Tiasennian Research Division wasn't very particular about what Dad was because they needed him. They wanted him for their project to develop new space fighter engines and had him transferred to work in their research labs at the Academy—you know our latest comet fighter, the flying Pegasus, evolved from the one he worked on."

"And my mother was in training there," Eiron could still visualize the great scientific and military complex stretched over the five low hills northeast of Inen. "She was a Nikean Group Scorpion test pilot. Vaikyur couldn't get her to stick to anything safe. Mom went up to Dad one day and told him to get a new job. She didn't like his Skyhawk prototype. She said, 'You definitely need to work on this clunker'." Eiron had started to laugh as he told the story. "She said people were always afraid to tell him what they really thought. Which was probably true, considering that he was a tremendously terrifying Orian."

"Then what happened?"

"Dad took it pretty well, I hear." Eiron smiled. "He just stood there while she went on and really lashed into him. Then he had the team working hard to re-design the whole thing. I think somehow that the Tiasennian slave-drivers in R & D had something to do with it, though. But it was a nice story."

"When my mother finished her training, she and Dad decided to become attached. They spent a lot of time together."

"Your grandfather had no objections."

"At first. But Grandfather is a good man. And he was busy with the Fer-innyera at the time, so I think he didn't hear about it until Mom had pretty much made up her mind. And she was in love. A lot of other people thought she was out of her mind. It meant she would be watched for the rest of her life."

"You sound as though you miss her."

"I hardly remember either one of them." Eiron admitted, suppressing emotion. "They died when I was only five years old."

"They died?" Alessia repeated. She decided not to ask.

"Grandfather took me in and raised me," Eiron explaind, his voice beginning to betray raw bitterness, a bitterness he had never exposed to anyone.

"You had a new home to go to—was it like having a family?" She seemed more intensely interested.

"Grandfather was busy with the Fer-innyera." Eiron sighed. "I spent a lot of time in the indoctrination facilities on my own. He was a Miran at first, then he made Senka, and then he was the Senkaya-Sukura. I saw him when I could. Meanwhile, the people at the facility tried to punish me for being half-Orian, and so on. I don't think about it much. I got out of there, and by the time Grandfather was a Senka, they stopped punishing me. Grandfather had me tutored by his friends, mostly, until I entered regular training. I never quite fit in. I just put on a good act.

"But even at the Academy, it was the same as at the early training facility. People seemed to expect me to overcompensate for my racial flaw by rejecting and criticizing anything Orian at every opportunity. If it hadn't been for my grandfather's new status as public hero and Commanding Officer of the Air Corps, I think the other students would have despised me once they found out whom my father was, for that completely unchangeable part of who I am.

"But that isn't the real reason why I hate the Orians." He said, with a new surge of bitterness.

She jerked back, as if slapped. "You're so bitter."

"I wasn't until I found out what really happened to my parents. For a long time, I thought that they had just died in an accident. The truth was that the Orians considered my father a traitor—somehow or other they found out about him. So I guess there really were spies in the government, or the Orians wouldn't have known about him.

"A team of Orian infiltrators captured my parents with the entire Cygnus Astrophysical research and development team. Their bodies weren't found until a few days later—floating in the Orashean Reservoir. The High Command covered it up."

"I'm so sorry."

"Not as sorry as I was."

"Tiasennian hands aren't clean, either, you know."

"My grandfather tells me not to despise or blame the Orians. It's not as though the common people have much to do with what their leaders decide. But I find it difficult to sympathize with people who can tolerate such cruelty, who know what's going on and let themselves be controlled by a ruthless, murdering dictator."

She winced.

"He isn't a dictator." She said.

"Who?"

"The Orian Great Leader. And if you truly understood your father's people, you would pity them."

"I'm sure I'd get over the feeling."

"Would you?" she asked hesitantly.

"Try me."

"All right. Everyone on Orian is going to die. Every living thing there will perish in a planet-wide fire. The Orian civilization will cease to exist. It will be as though it never even existed at all."

"How do you know that?" He felt the color drain from his face in a massive shiver. "That isn't true—is it?"

"It is true. And what is worse—the Tiasennian government has known this for a long time. That is why the war started. The Orians begged for a new home on Tiasenne, and the Tiasennian government refused to help them."

"No," Eiron said, in shock. This was unbelievable. A strange pang of regret struck at him for the planet he had never known—his father's planet. If it were true—why didn't anybody know? He struggled for a moment. He couldn't believe it. He could hardly breathe. He wanted to stand up, to do something. He looked around the room. He didn't know what to do, or to say.

After a moment, his shock and hostility retreated.

"You shouldn't blame the Orian leader for your parent's death. If anyone is to blame, it's me. I didn't know what I was doing. I still don't."

"It is not your fault." These were the first words that came out of his mouth. He looked at her in wonder. As though he were looking at a young woman who perhaps needed his protection. An innocent who wasn't involved in anything. Who lived a private life safe away from such matters.

"If your grandfather had never met me, he wouldn't have found out about Orian. He wouldn't have taught his daughter to trust Orians. You wouldn't be here, but you wouldn't have had to lose your parents, either."

"What is this?" he said, now becoming alarmed. "What you're saying is nonsense. Grandfather has always been the way he is, ever since the early days of Alton's leadership—"

"I tried to end the war, but I made it worse."

"You're making up a strange story. Are you delusional? Who are you? An Orian spy, after all? The war began under Fer-innyera Orashean—and the Orians started it. And that was over a hundred years ago."

"If you only knew." She laughed. He was beginning to think she was crazy.

Then, for a moment, the silence stretched.

Suddenly, he felt a tension on his mind like a dark, heavy cloud. He felt her power. Like the power of the God of the Dead was lurking behind her.

He felt his mind give way, and a new sensation of fear, of understanding—of her. That she was telling him the truth. A weight on his mind seemed to compel him to believe her. Against every ounce of logic, and against his own prejudice and doubt.

She pulled her hood back from her face, letting her cloak sink to the sandstone floor with a light whisking sound.

"Judge me for yourself."

Her long hair streamed down her shoulders. It was a luminous white color. Her skin emitted light, light white as the sheerest ice. But her skin was dark grey. She looked like an Orian. Her young face was beautiful. He was smitten instantly.

She was dressed in a thin black second skin uniform. There were blue sea-strokes on it—the light moved amid the deep black, running together and creating a wave-like illusion of motion. Her lean body was like a statue.

Her ice cold eyes were unfathomable, like a dark ocean.

I told you my name—and yes, I am the one they called a ghost, she said, and there was a faint movement in her eyes, like a rippling pool in a rainstorm. Extraordinary how they changed like that, he thought, in awe.

He felt the hair rising on his skin, and his heart lurched in involuntary fear.

Those are eyes that have seen more than any human being ever has—or would want to, he thought. They were haunted eyes.

Seynorynael—the name came back to him suddenly. Where was this place?

"You are Alessia," he concluded, with a hint of delighted wonder. "I understand why you wore that cloak." He said, the fear abating. "For so many reasons."

Looking at her, he felt a strange electricity trickling through him that left his mind and senses irretrievably altered. He felt strangely alive. "The same one who was supposed to be dead."

She nodded slightly.

"We had a conversation on truth," Alessia said. "I asked if it was important to you. I am going to ask again, only once. Is it important to you now?"

"Yes," he said. He had always wanted answers, but he had never even known the right questions to ask. "Why are you asking?" He thought, with distrust. He wanted to trust her.

She sat down again. Now her eyes seemed suddenly to have lost most of their alien quality and her hair became a platinum color, as if she had drawn a human veil over her features. The effect made her appear—Orian.

"Because if you do not stop me, I am going to tell you why we are here, you and I, in this Classified Zone. But you will have to pay a price for this information."

"Forget that." He said, with an acerbic edge to his voice. "I don't pay for information. Besides, if your information can't help me to get what I really want, it isn't worth paying for." He added, turning away, suppressing conflicting desires to turn back and stare at her body. Yet he was easily able to suppress his animal desires in his more serious and skeptical state of mind. The difficult part was that he already felt as though he knew her—and he wanted to trust her.

"What is it that you do want, then? I'm curious." She asked.

"Can't tell you." He shrugged.

"Why not?"

"You'd think it only a foolish dream."

"Foolish? No, I wouldn't. Our truest dreams are priceless."

He turned to stare at her face now. She was absolutely sincere.

"I wish to know real peace before I die," he replied soberly.

She seemed to listen more carefully.

"Our people have been at war for my entire life, and through generations before me. I know there is no escaping this war, but I yearn for an end to it." He exhaled. "War is hell.

"I have never admitted this to anyone. I feel, though I have never known life to be otherwise, that there is something more I should be living for than to rob another being of his life. And with all the effort each planet has spent in this war, I think about how much less would have been required for us to work together to bring resources to our enemy, who my grandfather tells me only fights for his survival. That was before..." he shrugged, letting the heat of his argument dissipate.

"So you see," he laughed, "what I want is a dream. Peace doesn't exist, at least not here, not in my lifetime. And perhaps it never will exist."

"I never intended to make you pay for the information I was offering, Eiron. I only wanted to make a fair trade."

"A fair trade? Of what?"

"Truth for loyalty. It isn't a hard request. I knew your grandfather, Vaikyur. He pledged me his faith—and secrecy—long ago."

"But how? When?"

"He found me here long ago, when the Tiasennians investigated this area. And he did me a favor I couldn't repay at the time, as much as I wanted to. I hope someday I can. The real reason I need your help now is simple. I missed my chance back then to rectify my interference here. I fear I shall not have many other chances."

"What interference are you talking about?"

"What interference?" She echoed with a small laugh. "The fact that I ever came here. I wasn't supposed to. We came against orders, more like a band of renegades than an organized crew... And I knew exactly what I was doing when I set my spaceship Selesta's course for this world. I was never supposed to return to this solar system. But I came, Eiron. Against my own people's orders, I came, anyway."

He shot her a questioning gaze; she prepared herself to explain. And it seemed that, as she did, her eyes glazed over; she was looking back, back across the years, lost in a trance.

But could anyone remember the events of the past so clearly?

He wouldn't believe it was possible, not until much, much later.

"I accept your offer. Truth for loyalty." He said.

"Agreed."

Regia, crede mihi, res est succurrere lapsis.

Believe me, it is a royal deed to succor the fallen.

—Ovid
Chapter Six

I woke up, and oblivion faded. The long sleep was over. Memory and my sense of identity returned. We were near the Rigell system at last.

Again I went through the stages: shock, incredulity, despair. Most of all loneliness and grief at having lost them.

I remembered the screams of the afflicted explorers through their long, lingering death. I remembered Kiel's death, and the moment when I fell prey to the vapor. I lay for many tendays, with veins like ice so cold it felt like burning, my mind wrapped in delirium, my body disconnected from reality. I remember my own certainty that I was going to die—and die horribly.

The poison of the anti-serum spread from the ninth laboratory. The ship's automatic self-preservation mechanism flushed out the poisoned atmosphere from the unsealed portions of the ship Selesta. But not before the anti-serum had taken Hinev's immortals.

I woke from near-death, cold and alone. Thereafter, I was forced to live in a silent world.

Oblivion had been kind, allowing me to forget. I had been asleep for more than five hundred years. But the reality of what had happened was fresh as yesterday.

I knew that Kiel, Kellar, and Gerryls were tampering with Hinev's dangerous solutions—the chemicals and biological agents he had used to perfect his serum of immortality. In the wrong proportions, they could be lethal to ordinary life forms. No one had thought much of what they were doing. They were trying to save the last of our race—mortals we had saved from certain doom in the supernova of Valeria, our star, by trying to re-create his elixir of eternal life.

On that day we discovered that Hinev's serum could be also lethal to immortals.

Immortals who had been together for countless lifetimes—more than two hundred thousand years.

In the tendays that followed, all but one of the immortals perished.

I could not resurrect my fallen comrades. Hinev's serum of immortality had kept us all alive for aeons, but the anti-serum, accidentally set loose upon the ship, had killed nearly everything in its path. Nothing in the universe—not even a serum of immortality—could bring a person back to life from the dead.

I buried the dead explorers in the deepest part of the ship.

I left for the oxygenated section of the ship, alone, venting questions to the unknown.

The emptiness of the lower levels was smothering. There was nothing else living in the areas near the ninth laboratory that had been exposed to the cosmic void in order to flush out the anti-serum. I felt the loss of air pressure in my lungs. Immortality alone saved my life. Every moment in that void was agonizing, even though it had no power to kill me.

I asked the computer telepathically for directions to the nearest safe place within the ship—I found out that the crew quarters and lyra forest had been spared the anti-serum, so I headed there.

After the other explorers died, I was afraid that isolation and the loss of air pressure in my lungs would drive me to insanity. I was already beginning to feel signs of strange behavior. Would I go mad with the multi-personality effect, as Hinev had? I doubted it—the worst was over already. But I wondered, were all the memories of the other explorers, memories freed by their deaths, still lingering in the ship, still trying to invade my mind?

Only those dearest to my soul, those whom I had loved, could I manage to carry with me, as part of me. My mind had a way of telepathically rejecting those unpleasant memories and those men's souls that were the most difficult for me to handle in my own mind, in a manner of self-preservation. Gradually I fought off forever those invading memories which I couldn't tolerate.

We Immortals held the artificial memories of other beings in our minds. Telepathy, both superficial and deep, was one of the gifts Hinev's serum had given us. But the artificial memories of a deep connection were dangerous—any powerful personality we had encountered had the potential to corrupt our minds, if we let the other, alien personality into our thoughts. If we let it take root, it could take over our minds. That was why, only a few years after our metamorphosis, we had used only the rudest telepathy in our dealings with other living beings.

After many unguarded violations of the beings around him, our creator Fynals Hinev had discovered that the invaded memories of other beings were trapped in his own mind forever. And they had a power—a power to take hold of him. He had fought a multi-personality effect. It was, quite literally, the invaded souls of other beings, the personalities of creatures long since dead, still dwelling within his soul. All of Hinev's explorers had fought the multi-personality effect at some time or another. But the rest of us were far more successful at it than Hinev. I had long since ceased to suffer any fear on this account, but at times I remembered fending off the invasion of my soul with a shiver of fear.

For a while, I was afraid—were the souls of my comrades lingering like ghosts in the depths of the ship? The strangeness of it all was that they might very well have been. Our souls had been forever altered by the serum, as had our bodies. There was no knowing what the anti-serum had really done to the Immortals. Even though their bodies were dead.

That was why I decided to undergo the deep cryogenic sleep.

In my loneliness, I was thankful for the main computer. Its invasive presence kept me from complete isolation. But I was afraid—and coping with grief. I craved the oblivion of a good night's sleep and longer. I asked the computer to put me into a suspended animation. And to take us to the Rigell system, where the last of our race still existed.

You might wonder how it was possible for me to converse with a computer. The computer of Selesta was the most advanced computer ever to have been built. Long before my time, our people had advanced computer technology to the level that human and mechanical beings were interlinked.

Our computers could program areas of the human mind. Each person on our planet had computerized nano-implants in his brain that allowed him a wondrous existence, the likes of which no primitive world could imagine. And long before my time, our greatest achievement had been realized: the computers were able to embody a human mind, to absorb pieces of thought from a living being. Our computers could think. They could even feel. They were almost alive.

We had human-roids, artificial humans, capable of near-human behavior. You could hardly tell them from human beings. We had starships that were able to receive the brain waves and information our minds sent to their receptors by telepathy—and they could communicate to us the same way.

"I urge you not to go to the Rigell system." The computer told me, out loud.

"I gave you an order." I said, with resolution.

"Kiel and Gerryls set the course—to Kiel 3."

"I gave you an order," I repeated staunchly.

"I have no programming that permits me to disobey Kiel's orders."

"Kiel is dead."

"Our mission is clear. We are heading to the planet Kiel3. To find the Enorian singularity. To destroy the emperor, Marankeil. If you have any hope of returning to the past and destroying the Council of Elders—you must find the Enorian singularity. It rests, by all reports, on the planet Kiel3."

The Enorian singularity was of all things in the universe absolutely priceless. It was the only piece of known anti-matter, contained in a shell of matter that rendered its bearer the ability to pass through the black hole gates and starholes with absolute power over time—and matter.

Rumor had it that the Council of Elders had escaped the supernova of our star Valeria during the ensuing chaos throughout the Empire worlds. Rumor had it that their evil reign was to begin anew, from some undisclosed location. Rumor had it that the ruthless Emperor Marankeil and his Vice-Emperor Ornenkai had established a new base for their conquest of the universe.

Marankeil and Ornenkai—they were the first Immortals. But not of a human kind. They had re-created life from the first humanroids, and kept the advanced artificial intelligence technology to themselves. They had made themselves mechanized Immortals—and though they looked human, there was no way to harm them. They kept a secret alliance, and elevated only their own. And from this privileged position, they had begun to infiltrate the Federation years ago, and, with the help of the explorers and their generals, had eventually come to carve out an Empire.

An Empire that had begun in an age of benevolent glory, and ended in paranoia and massive genocide. The Emperor Marankeil mistrusted all life. He crushed his opponents ruthlessly—worlds, races, galaxies.

Hinev's explorers, living Immortals, then made a pact to destroy him, and made themselves his enemies. Their final mission became a journey in search of a legendary power—the Enorian singularity.

The Enorians' power had given rise to our people's Empire. It was fitting then, that the Enorian singularity should be the power to destroy it. Even the supernova of Valeria could not stop the spread of the poison of our Empire from contaminating the galaxies under our power.

So Kiel had set the course for Kiel3 the day we watched our planet Seynorynael engulfed by the supernova of our star Valeria.

"When they find you, you will become Marankeil's toy again." The computer said. "It is only a matter of time before the new Empire is reborn, and you are found. They will know to come looking for you on Rigell. And the legions of the Imperial Guard know the way. They do not have the coordinates for Kiel3—yet. There is still time. We can save the universe, if we act now."

"Set the course as I requested. I will go to Kiel3 when I am ready."

"The immortals promised Hinev that they would destroy the Emperor. He knew that it was his immortality serum that helped enslave an Empire."

"I do not agree." My voice was cold as stone. "I understood Hinev better than anyone. I am going to the Rigell worlds where his colonists fled. I am going to the aid of my people."

"Then will you go to Kiel3?" The computer's voice was dark and melodic, like a bard.

"We interfered there enough, long ago. I don't want to return! If the singularity existed, why couldn't we find it then, years ago? It's hopeless. I must return to my people. I have to be there, in case the Empire is reborn. We alone can protect them. I have seen what life is like under the yoke of the Council!"

"They are doomed already," said the computer. "It is only a matter of time before the lai-nen Empire, our sworn enemies, discover that our people still live near Rigell, and come to destroy them. And what of the many non-Seynorynaelian territories who have been freed? They hate our people, for what we did to them. They will also hope to find and destroy our people, destroy them utterly now that they can, now that the Blue Crown of the Seynorynaelian Empire has fallen."

"All the more reason for me to go to Rigell. I cannot bear my people to die."

"Your intentions are noble, but misguided." The computer persisted. "The Celestian colony of Rigell, in the Orion belt, may already be lost. And they are not entirely our people. Hinev's vision to found a simple colony far from the Council's control were nothing but the ravings of a man beaten by time, and by his own awesome power. He was respected and free to the end. For that reason, we have no record that his colony ever reached Rigell safely, after his death. You'll never escape the Imperial Grand Fleet, if it should find us again."

"I have no strength left for the journey across the Great Cluster. I must have life around me! I cannot make it twenty thousand years on my own! And for what? A gamble that I might be able to find the singularity, and that then I might be able to return in time and destroy the Council on my own?"

"All right," the computer agreed. "I will put you in suspended animation. We will go to the Celestian worlds of the Rigell system. And in time, you will make the journey to Kiel3, the blue world. Once you have prepared your people for what might come."

Oblivion came, but not as usual the oblivion of a beautiful, ethereal dream. This time, I felt no such blissful but conscious sleep as I slept within the capsule. I do not remember if I dreamed or not—five hundred years were lost to me.

When we neared the Rigell system, I awoke from the long sleep and headed to the forward viewport nearest the crew quarters. The ship was approaching a bright bluish-white star in the distance that grew brighter and larger as the moments passed. We had finally reached our destination.

"Is this Rigell?"

At first there was no answer. I began to fear the computer had malfunctioned while I slept. Would I never hear that voice again? Why did that thought suddenly bother me so?

"Is this Rigell?" I asked again.

"Yes."

The beautiful starfield that stretched across the forward viewport was vaguely familiar. There was a view of the constellations Herekor, or "golden fields", and Lysciena, "cold stars", flanked by the Great Red Nebula, a haze of purple-red dust known as the Valley of the Kings. It seemed so very long ago that I had last been here, just after our long sojourn on Kiel3, named after the mariner's star. I tried not to remember.

"We are now heading on a course for the planets Celestian one and Celestian two, cruising at nearly main engine minimum speed. We shall achieve orbital velocity and arrive in geosynchronous orbit above Celestian one in approximately twelve minutes."

"Take us in for a terrestrial landing on Celestian one."

"As you request." I was surprised in the computer's immediate acquiescence. It was unusual for Selesta to land upon the surface of a planet. While the detachable smaller ship Sesylendae made frequent landings, Selesta usually remained in orbit above the worlds we had visited.

And for good reason. The negative pressure that Selesta's anti-gravitational string engine produced had adverse effects upon planetary surfaces, and the alternative launch procedures required a great deal of energy to escape terrestrial gravity. While Selesta had visited innumerable worlds, she had made only two scheduled landings in her existence, both upon the planet Seynorynael.

The computer knew what the landing meant—I intended to stay on the surface longer than it directed me to, but what could the computer do to protest against this decision? It was only a machine, positively programmed to be my eternal conscience. I could listen to it or ignore it as I wished.

We sped closer to the binary planets hidden under our anti-gravitational cloak. I remembered the last time I had been to the Celestian system, years before any inhabitants had come here, on our first explorer mission.

I started to think about Hinev's settlers. I assumed that they would have all chosen to land on Celestian one, in the Dragon's Valley. I never expected to find the colony separated and broken.

"I have communication signals coming in from both planets." The computer informed me.

"What?" I couldn't believe it. Celestian two was barely habitable. "Send out a friendly message, please. Use the closest dialect to that spoken by Hinev's Celestian colony. Send messages to both planets that this is the ship Selesta, returned from a long absence from the Rigell system. Inform them that we are a ship of their own people, separated in a long space voyage."

"Yes," said the computer. "I will do that."

A few minutes later, we headed in between the two planets and raised our ablation shields to descend from our orbit over the smaller world of Celestian One—a beautiful blue globe shrouded in swirling white clouds with a rich nitrogen and oxygen atmosphere. Above the surface, Celestian Two floated high on the horizon. Extensive volcanic activity and an iron-compound rich crust stained the enormous Celestian Two a deep red, the very sight of the planet a warning against visitors. There was an area overlooking Falcon Ridge where the capital city shone like a bright star in the night.

"Confirmation has arrived from Celestian One, which they call the planet Tiasenne. They have received our message. They are asking if we are from the planet Orian, which must be Celestian Two, if my translation is correct. They are using a dialect very close to the dialect of Hinev's original Celestian colony. It seems we have found your people."

So, the planets were called Tiasenne, meaning, "The Dragon's Eye", and Orian, "golden tree" or "golden forest".

"Tell them that we are not from Orian. Let them meet us in an open area. I will answer all of their questions there."

"I'm not sure that this is the appropriate course of action," advised the computer.

"I don't care!" I said firmly. "You will do as I ask."

"The Tiasennians have accepted a temporary meeting." The computer said after some time. "The planet Tiasenne welcomes us as a peaceful emissary from Orian. We have yet to receive communications from Orian."

The emblem appeared on the forward viewport of a dark maroon and grey unicorn, opposing a feral beast with the head of a falcon, horns of a bull, and the body of a lion.

"Take us down on Tiasenne," I said.

The ship descended and landed on a grassy slope near a heavily populated area. Later, I discovered that this was Inen, the capital city. I hurried to the nearest docking bay. I was heading outside the large airlock as quickly as I could get myself there. The view was unparalleled. Green, redolent grass. Ah, the wind tasted good! The sun was shining. There were flowers such as I was unaccustomed to—little blue buds and yellow fan-shaped flowers. The grass was a very pale color. It smelled like a perfume.

I turned around to get a view of Selesta from the outside. It was an enormous mountain of radiant silver, with a smooth alloy skin that glittered in the sun. I had forgotten how beautiful she was.

There were small canary-like birds and flying creatures like white bats in the air making sounds like the soft tones of an alien music. No more horrible silence surrounding me, but sound everywhere! For a moment, I was intoxicated by the sounds and smells of the life all about me on this beautiful and bright world. The scent of life gave off a satisfying thick, delicious vapor.

A few minutes later, I saw a military convoy coming towards Selesta, bouncing along on the plain. The welcoming procession consisted of several heavily armed and armored transports.

Armored planes landed tentatively just beyond the rise of the hill, and other primitive mechanized conveyances made of clear metal brought troops of men wearing strange uniforms, with the emblem of a winged dragon opposing a white flying horse.

At the head of the procession, several uniformed men were visible within the clear, flexible, metallic dome that covered the vehicle. The vehicle halted, and the men got out.

One of them stepped out and approached the ship.

"My name is Reger Meliphon. We received your transmission. Who are you?"

For a moment, I allowed my conscious thoughts to sweep out over the plain. I pushed the man's mind to give up some information—the arrangements of local speech patterns, and the modern dialect of Tiasenne. I felt the usual rush as the telepathic power brought back a warming influx of thoughts and ideas from the people standing on the plain.

I braced myself as the thoughts and memories came. I saw barbaric images, memories, and desires. Dreams, hopes, names, loved ones. Impressions and senses came with even the barest telepathic invasion. I didn't like having to do it. I didn't know beforehand if I was going to like having to feel what these people had felt. It was forever a gamble. Sometimes, mindlinks gave hope and beauty. At other times, they brought nightmares to my mind that forever slept in the depths of my consciousness. I was fortunate I could push these away.

"I am Alessia," I said simply, in the Tiasennian dialect.

The men on the field had nothing really to hide, and nothing to disturb my thoughts. Much of their feelings for Tiasenne were in fact exciting. I had a fleeting sense as though I knew them, as though I wanted to know them, to be included, to have them know me. Benevolence and interest. It had been a long time since I felt such a rush. And these were my own people. Not tainted as our people had become on Seynorynael. They knew nothing of our Empire, of our greatness, of the ship that had discovered their planet, or of me.

"You speak our language. Are you from Orian?" Asked Reger. "If so, we would like to remind you that by the edict of the Hollin-Morzenko treaty, only diplomats are permitted in Inen. You are not intending to violate the conditions of our truce?"

"No."

"Are you an emissary of peace?"

"Yes."

"Then please step away from your vessel."

"You mean me no harm?" I asked, evenly.

"I am requested by my leader to investigate. If you do not make a hostile action against us, then we will not harm you. Are you going to step away from your vessel?"

"Where would I go?" I tried to say in a calm, reasonable tone, but I realized it was pointless arguing. I took several steps towards the transport, with my arms raised so that they could see I meant them no harm.

Behind me, the air lock slowly began to descend.

"What's happening?" demanded the officer, Reger. Throughout the conversation, he struggled with his own sense of shock that I was speaking Tiasennian to him. But, as long as we could communicate, and he could ascertain the information he needed, he continued to converse with me, and to keep on his guard.

"The air lock is set to shut when I am no longer in proximity."

"Stand as you are. We don't want to hurt you," said Reger, waiting until some time had passed after each transition. "You speak our language fluently." He said, finally seeming to be able to think clearly, not just with military efficiency.

"Our command center received a transmission that you were from this star system." Said Reger. "We do not have any record of your ship."

"I cannot help that. This ship left Tiasenne many thousand years ago."

Reger's face twitched. "Can you prove who you are?" He asked, looking at me closely. "I haven't been briefed well enough to discuss these matters with you."

"I can prove that I am not a hostile force if you take me to meet with the leader of Tiasenne."

"A moment. I will have to find out." Reger said, and returned to the convoy to confer with the officers there. With a little telepathy, I discovered that he was sending a transmission to the Headquarters to discuss the next course of action. I decided to push the minds of the officers around me for some information regarding the planet Orian. I was curious to know why they kept asking me if I came from there.

I sometimes felt guilty about using my power to steal human thoughts, but I was somewhat inured to the necessity of using telepathic means to discover information. Since I had no intentions of injuring the Tiasennian officers, or of offending them by my telepathic probing, I tried not to feel guilty about invading their privacy. I had no desire to know their personal secrets or to share them with anyone. I did not want to govern or influence their actions.

There were alien races who had resisted telepathic probing, but the Tiasennians had no defensive barriers against it. I didn't have to push too hard. The men of the convoy, unaware of my telepathic power, put up no resistance.

They had no idea that any intelligent lifeforms existed beyond Rigell. Neither Tiasenne nor Orian had received radio wave evidence, or any signals from an advanced civilization.

There were no records on either world of the Seynorynaelian Empire. The Celestian colonies had reverted to a primitive form of existence.

The planet Orian had crawled from a dark age, spurned on by natural disaster and overcrowding to seek a new home for its people, or at least to allow some of them to leave the planet and form a new colony. They had looked to a fertile moon that their burgeoning science indicated could support life. They were hopeful to find a better world, a world with fertile land, a world free from the waves of plague that had struck millions of Orians over the last few hundred years. They were hoping to find shelter from the wind storms that ravaged their planet. They were hoping to find a place where they would be free from the dangerous whims of their own land.

Long ago, the first radio signals had reached Tiasenne from Orian. The range of Tiasennian communications was shorter, and had yet to reach Orian through its magnetic ring that scrambled weaker frequencies.

The Tiasennians discovered that they were not alone in the universe when they translated the Orian signals. Tiasennian science quickly moved to keep this knowledge secret—they were going to be prepared if and when the people of Orian came to their planet.

Meanwhile, the Orians knew nothing of the people living on Tiasenne. Their world was rich in the ores and deposits necessary to create fine ships—and they set themselves to developing the technology of flight, and space flight. Around this time, they managed to cure many of the diseases that had plagued their people, and then population growth and food shortages became a serious problem. This helped spurn them to achieve flight quickly—all of their resources were bent on escaping Orian as soon as possible—and so they began to develop a space-worthy craft. The first spacecraft orbited the planet Orian—and received signals from Tiasenne, what the Orians had thought was their moon.

They were not alone, and the race of people living on their moon appeared to be of the same race. The greatest testimony was in the alarming similarity of the languages of each planet. The Orian language was nearly the same as the Ernestian dialect of Tiasennian, and it was this dialect that the Tiasennians later used in their dealings with their neighbors.

The Orians were less surprised to discover that there was life in the universe. Legend had become religion on Orian, and they believed that their race had celestial origins—that they had come from another world. The discovery of life on their moon only solidified their beliefs in their minds. The most idealistic of them thought of the Tiasennians as a brother race, and never suspected that their sense of brotherhood would not be reciprocated. But, there were others on Orian who feared the Tiasennians, because they had worked so hard to find and colonize a better world, and they were not prepared to find it inhabited by alien beings. These leaders were a silent minority at first, but they secretly prepared for war.

Soon afterwards, the first Orian space vessel requested to journey to Tiasenne to make contact, and was granted that privilege by the planet Tiasenne. The Orians brought gifts of rare ores and treasures. Their landing on Tiasenne on the Ernestian plains was a grand but secret occasion—the Tiasennian government had decided to let the people know that Orian existed, but they carefully controlled information about their moon. For a while, there was a story circulating that the Orians were a lost colony of Tiasenne from a former age of glory. This story was spread to assuage the fears of the public when they discovered that they had celestial neighbors—and the ruse worked. Later, the Tiasennians would claim that evolution had separated them, and made the Orians out to be an inferior enemy.

But at first the Tiasennians welcomed the Orians. There were celebrations and much talk of using the Orians' technology to begin a joint exploration venture to the stars.

As the Orians had hoped, the world called Tiasenne was rich and prosperous, replete with natural resources. They were surprised to find a people who were so prosperous, so similar, and yet so very different from their own. Tiasennian science was secretly at work on a space-worthy vessel and had just been beaten to the punch. And, the unsuspecting Orians had no idea that Tiasennian infiltrators would soon break into the space vessels unnoticed, to steal the technological innovations they did not share and Orian would not so easily give.

Meanwhile, the Tiasennians were openly glad to share some of their wealth. They gave a pledge to provide much of their surplus food in the future in exchange for the more advanced Orian technology.

The Tiasennians then secretly used the Orian technology to advance their space vessel development.

A joint mission of exploration departed from the planets and headed to nearby solar systems. In time, the Tiasennian leaders had begun to fear political domination from Orian, which was becoming increasingly dissatisfied with too small food shipments, and again wanted permission to send Orians to live on Tiasenne. The Tiasennian people began to fear the Orian race. Suspicion and fear would soon lead to open hostility and war.

It began with the accidental destruction of a Tiasennian-owned ship heading to Orian. Word somehow reached the Tiasennian Command Center that the Orians had shot it down in an open act of hostility. The situation escalated into war. The Tiasennians seized control of the Orian space vessels on their planet.

An enormous nuclear warhead was blasted toward Orian, but destroyed by the Orian defense. This caused serious climatic repercussions on both planets. And the more rational Tiasennian leaders realized that there could be even more serious repercussions if they attempted to destroy Orian—a geologically volatile planet of such close proximity to their own. After making a bad decision to try to destroy the Orians with a nuclear assault, the Tiasennian scientists managed to convince their leaders that to do so again would be suicide. The planet Orian's destruction would spell the end of Tiasenne as well.

So, each world reverted to tactical warfare: strikes and biological and chemical acts of war. The Orians did not want to destroy the planet they hoped to conquer. The Tiasennians discovered the danger of the light wash of radiation from space to the life on their own planet. Strangely, they and the Orians were capable of tolerating high radiation levels, while the vegetation and animals on both planets were not.

For seventy years, the planets waged war against each other in space and on land. There were lulls in the fighting. And all along there were people on Tiasenne clamoring for peace, on the grounds that Orian's situation would have inevitably affected Tiasennian life. Any potential climatic disaster on Orian could spell the end of life on Tiasenne, and at last it had been proved that some of the worst natural disasters in Tiasennian history had been the result of climatic upheaval on Orian.

With the return of Baidarka, the joint exploration vessel, the planets had agreed on a cease-fire. A treaty was signed between them. The war had diminished Orian's population problem for the time being. And the Tiasennians had stretched their mineral resources—they were not as fortunate as the Orians to have inexhaustible ore supplies for spacecraft and weapons manufacturing.

I arrived only six years after the signing of the treaty. The Tiasennians were not entirely disarmed, and the memory of war still loomed large in their collective consciousness. Since encountering each other, both races had become aggressive and hostile to anything foreign. But, Tiasenne was enjoying a short age of opulence and security. They were not pleased about the possibility that war would return so soon.

I watched as the Tiasennian ground transports drove up, flattening the grass beneath them, pulverizing small stones in the way. The air smelled so sweet on the green fields, and the wind was light and calm. Small insects sang in the evening twilight. It was easy to imagine why two peoples would fight over this world called Tiasenne.

"Fer-innyera Orashean has agreed to meet with you." Reger said. "And we've received word that Orashean has asked the Orian Ambassador Ai-derian Suraeno to attend the meeting.

A moment later, Reger invited me to the open air transport. I was ushered on board, and the transport's engines thrummed. We followed the long line of vehicles back into the city. The wind felt good on our faces.

I was amazed by the city of Inen. The Tiasennian architects had re-created a likeness of our ancient capital Ariyal-synai, in the days of my youth there. Why and how this had happened gave me a shiver, and no one in the transport knew the answer. I wondered if there could have been pictures of Seynorynael, preserved from the ancient past, somewhere on Tiasenne among the artifacts of the ancients. It was the only explanation. But I was content merely to admire the modern city.

Inen was a beautiful city. It was clean, and travel within the innermost rings of the city had been restricted to a few kinds of transports. Hundreds of them moved down the lanes at high speed but in an orderly fashion. No one seemed at all unhappy by the condition of their lives in this wondrous place.

About half an hour later we stopped on the transport lane of Vialatae Avenue before the Headquarters Building.

All of the intricately carved and ornately decorated structures around us, whether government offices, commercial buildings or residences, had been constructed to great elevation from a hard, white substance, a clear, flexible metal by the looks of it that reflected the sunlight.

"What is that building made of?"

"It's called cortan," said Reger. "We're here. An escort will take you inside," he said.

The Headquarters Building itself contained few windows because of security considerations. But the entire bright, beautiful city reminded me of the glistening snow-capped mountains of the northern snows on Seynorynael. I thought back to sunny but chill winter days on my home planet—and of a city that had turned into cosmic dust more than twenty thousand years before.

"You're not coming?" I asked.

"No," said Reger. "You'll be met by the Fer-innyera's private guard inside."

"It was a pleasure to meet you," I said.

Reger had no reply.

A few of the officers stepped out of the transport with me and took me inside. There, we passed through a heavy security check. We were cleared to enter the building only after some time.

Finally, we came into an enormous greeting room shaped like a half-moon. The stones on the floor were polished blue, yellow, and pink mosaic white-stone. The walls were a lovely reflective metal.

Orashean's private guard were waiting in the greeting room to take me to the Fer-innyera. We entered a large council room, also shaped like a half-moon.

A short, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested man with spindly legs and chestnut hair sat in a chair at the head of the conference table, flanked by two hard-faced officers from Orashean's private guard.

"Greetings and Welcome, Alessia. I am Fer-innyera Orashean," he said. "This is the Orian Ambassador Ai-derian Suraeno." He gestured to the other seated man. Orashean waited to see if there was any sign of recognition passed between us. The Orian was flanked by two young officers with short-cropped hair and blue eyes as pale as ice. They were all dressed in maroon uniforms.

"You are not from Orian." Said the Ambassador.

My blue and black uniform was like nothing they had seen, with wave-patterns woven into a flexible metal suit as thin as skin.

Orashean seemed to surprise himself with his own satisfaction that we were both telling the truth. But what could this mean? He and the Ambassador were both anxious, beneath their courtesy.

"Your landing, Alessia, throws us into a bit of a mess." Said Orashean. "Until your transmission, we were convinced that your vessel was Orian, and that it was perhaps a vessel of war."

"Leader Beren had similar suspicions, until your ship landed on Tiasenne." Said Ai-derian. As it turned out, his elder half-brother Lucianvar Beren was the Orian leader.

"What exactly are your intentions then towards our people?"

"Entirely peaceful." I said.

"May I ask what it is you want from us then?" Orashean said. "I hate to ask it, but your vessel shows us that your technology is advanced far beyond ours. There is little we might have to offer your people."

Apart from our planet, and our lives. I am not prepared to allow our nation to be enslaved by this creature, he thought. Better that we should cooperate, and learn what we must do to fight her if necessary. I am glad we are in a state of truce with Orian. I do not want our worlds, our culture, to perish.

The Orian Ambassador had similar thoughts on his mind.

"I only ask to be allowed to live among you."

Both Orashean and the Ambassador exchanged expressions of surprise.

"What about your crew?"

"I am alone in this request. No one else will ever leave my spaceship. There will be no threat from Selesta to either of your planets."

"Seles—" began Orashean.

"It is the name of my space vessel."

"How is it that you speak our language, Alessia?" asked Orashean, still in defensive mode, although relieved to hear that I claimed to come in peace and that, if I could be trusted, nothing further would emanate from Selesta.

"As I said in my message, we are the same people." I said.

The men tensed visibly.

"My ship set out on a voyage of exploration many years ago." I explained. "I am sure you are familiar with the concept of time dilation."

"Time slows down at the speed of light," said Ai-Derian. "So, you're saying that you are one of us. That your ship left this system many years ago, and that you have only just returned?"

"Yes, in a manner." I said. "We are the same race. Yours, mine, his." I pointed to Orashean. "Separated by only a few thousand years."

"Yet you speak our modern languages as well as we ourselves." Said Ai-derian. He was beginning to lose some of his fear, and to betray a sense of excitement.

"I received radio transmissions from your planets for some time." I said.

"I see," said Orashean. "Then you would have learned to speak Tiasennian again by listening to our transmissions." Orashean surmised. He was beginning to put aside much of his fear, and to notice that my behavior was friendly. He wondered if my people and I had outgrown the necessity of human hostility. It would allow him to exploit any kindness I showed them.

"And Orian." Said Ai-Derian quickly. He did not enjoy Orashean's subtle move to ally himself with me—it made him wonder if Orashean was planning to break the truce with the Orians. "This brings up an interesting point. You say you have evidence that our two races are one. We ourselves have long wondered about the origins of our peoples, and which planet we came from."

"Then perhaps I can be a peace-maker. I assure you that both of your races came from my home world."

Both Orashean and Ai-Derian were jolted in their seats.

"You are a colony," I continued. "I do not know what happened to your worlds or why you have been separated, or why you have forgotten your ancestral people. The only explanation I can imagine is that your technology suffered a blow in the past, and that the knowledge of space flight was lost to you—until recently."

"This is absolutely unbelievable!" cried Orashean in wonder. "A colony!" At first, he was giving no thought to how the information might damage his own political power. He was amazed. Just for a moment, he began to wonder where the Tiasennians might have come from.

"So then it is as we of Orian always suspected. We are brothers." Said Ai-derian with a satisfied smile.

Orashean turned to him a little, and drew back in suspicion.

"Alessia you have not told us whether or not the Orians ever came from Tiasenne. I have to admit that, frankly this raises the question in my mind as to whether or not they may have claim to our world."

I did not have the foresight to lie on that afternoon. I have since regretted my sincerity.

"Two ships left my home world towards this system. I think that the Orians are descended from one vessel full of passengers, and that your Tiasennian race descended from another."

Orashean nodded. Ai-Derian quickly moved to try to get me to take another position.

"But the ships were intended to form one colony?"

"Yes."

Ai-Derian relaxed.

"For the sake of our people, Alessia, I would ask that you keep this knowledge to yourself, and that you not speak a word of it to our public. We must have to have time to consider how to break this kind of news." Said Orashean. I looked to Ai-Derian. He did not agree, but it was clear he was not in a position to speak on the matter without Leader Beren's consent.

"As guaranteed by our truce, Leader Beren will have to be informed of this, and then we will know what his position is. It may be that he would like to inform our Orian people of this news sooner than our brother Orashean feels is necessary."

"We shall have to negotiate that later, according to the terms of our treaty," said Orashean. "If there are any provisos that might cover this eventuality—I suspect there are none, but we must work from what we have."

"Agreed," said the Orian Ambassador, "Did you know, Alessia," he continued, in less formal tones, "on our world we believe that the creator of all things scattered life across the universe. It is part of our religion."

Orashean let a grin slip past his lips, then managed to recompose himself; in moments he had redirected the course of the conversation to more practical, secular matters.

"Well, Alessia, I welcome your presence among us in the name of peace. And, if it should be possible, I would greatly like to have a look at your magnificent space vessel. My officers were telling me what a wonder it was to see."

Orashean was a deft tactician, and an opportunist. He didn't entirely believe that I was harmless. And both men were very aware of their planets' vulnerability as long as a large space vessel not under their control rested on the plains. However, neither of them knew that their weapons could not harm me. They had both interpreted my willingness to mingle among them as a sign of good faith and trust on my part. As they believed, for all I knew, I could have been killed from the moment I left my ship.

I liked it that they knew nothing at all about me.

"It is a lovely view from the outside, isn't it?" I said. "But not half as much as the city of Inen, in all its variety of splendor. I look forward to further exploring it."

"And you shall, but it shall have to wait for the morning," said Orashean, a little irritated by my evasion of his desire. "Our sleep period is approaching. We can conclude this meeting until tomorrow. Are we agreed, Ambassador Suraeno?"

"I have a few more questions to ask, and matters I would like to discuss, Fer-innyera," said Ai-derian.

"Then let us resume, and make it brief," said Orashean in irritation.

While the meeting progressed, I satisfied my own curiosity about the Ambassador. Though only a year or two younger than Orashean, Ai-derian Suraeno appeared much younger, even though he made little effort to keep in good physical condition. From that I knew that he was more Seynorynaelian than Orashean. They had in their ancestry the mixed blood of the Empire, mingling innocent and culpable, diluting the atrocities of the victorious with the sorrows of the vanquished.

Suraeno could have passed for Seynorynaelian. I would have appeared much like him—had not Hinev's serum forever changed my body chemistry on the day I received the injections.

In a moment of telepathic probing, I discovered that there were some Orian people who looked more Tiasennian. On both worlds, there had even been cases of people with strange features. They were called Umberians, and had amber skin and green eyes. At first, it was assumed that they were a genetic mutation. Throughout time, they had been treated as inferiors on both planets and often had become outcasts. They were actually part-Tulorian, from the Federation of five worlds around Seynorynael.

"Tell me, what is it like to live on Orian?" I asked.

Dry and worthless, thought Orashean.

I ignored what I had heard and turned to the Ambassador, who was eager to respond with more enthusiasm.

"We have many lovely cities, and our people regard virtues and excellence highly. Our achievements in culture have been praised across Tiasenne—our people have contributed much to our collective knowledge of art, music, and literature. But we have had to face many hardships. Famine and plague and disease. As you might imagine, those of us spared from the hardships have managed to create much in little time.

"But there is always the threat of idleness, at any moment when the winds sweep too strong, and destroy our agricultural fields. We have made every effort to protect our food supplies, but the task is too great for us. The fields are too vast. We cannot grow enough food to feed ourselves within the domes we have constructed that we have made safe from all conditions."

"I see," I said.

"This is something about which we of Orian might ask for assistance, if you have it. It is clear that your technology far surpasses what we have achieved."

"I would request that both worlds are fairly represented if you should speak of assisting each planet in any way." Said Orashean.

"As would I. We do not presume that you will help us. But if you decide to remain on our worlds, it may be that our problems will affect you."

"I have some vegetation samplings that have been known to tolerate all kinds of weather conditions—even the most arid climate." I said carefully. "Our race can live on them, and the food they produce has an excellent flavor."

As simple as that, our prayers could be answered, thought the Ambassador.

"Well then, we shall have to consider this information and come up with a plan to implement it. For myself, I welcome and thank your offer of generosity. Our people will not be able to repay you, except with gratitude, hospitality, and their memory," said Ambassador Suraeno. "We will never forget your generous offer to help us."

"Let us see how things progress," said Orashean, to cut off Suraeno's unusual show of emotion. His eyes were on the verge of tearing up—but if he could believe that there was an end in sight to the despair and misery of his people, he was willing to ingratiate himself, and to breach decorum to show his gratitude. I did not mind. I could sense that Suraeno was a worthy, strong and decent man, and that his emotions were nothing more than a sign of immense relief and hope.

"Under the circumstances, after the surprise and all that we initially feared, I am most pleased by what has happened, and grateful to be here today," continued Orashean. "You have not yet had the opportunity to explore our world, Alessia, and to decide where you might wish to stay, and whose company you might wish to keep."

And we would like to keep an eye on you, he thought.

"That being the case, Ambassador Suraeno has graciously offered to look in on you. He requested that you might be given a living arrangement on the same floor of his private rooms in the Government Oceanus Apartment Building, in case you have any questions or difficulties."

"My guard stays on that floor, and they will be attentive to your needs." Said the Ambassador, back to normal once more. "It is a guest-level reserved for high-ranking officials. The rooms are magnificent, and spacious. They have been fully furnished with everything a visiting official might want."

"I am sure you will be comfortable there," said Orashean.

"My thanks to you both," I said, eager and excited and hiding it with the last mask of decorum I could muster for one afternoon. I was ready to be a free-spirit again. "It would be a long journey back to my ship."

"Since you are here on Tiasenne, around Tiasennians, I will have to do my best to show you Orian lifestyle." Said Suraeno.

I hope you will not be prejudiced by any one side or person, thought Suraeno.

"I trust that Ambassador Suraeno will welcome you in a hospitable manner, and delay all talk of politics." Said Orashean.

"Agreed," said Ambassador Suraeno. We got up from the table and left the council room, flanked by guards. Somber guards standing at attention at the door straightened even taller as Orashean passed. Orashean took his leave of us in the long, featureless corridor, and we parted company. The Ambassador and I continued our conversation as the officers escorted us to the elevation machine, and up to the floors with the best view overlooking the city.

"Would you join my son and me for dinner?" The Ambassador asked suddenly.

"You and your son, Ambassador?" I was surprised. In a moment, I saw that he was being hospitable only. And already I enjoyed his company.

"Call me Suraeno, or Ai-Derian if you wish. You see, my wife died a year ago," the Ambassador said gravely. "I did not find out that she was ill until it was too late. She was home, visiting Orian."

"I am sorry," I said.

"I miss her very much," said Suraeno. "As does my son. I am sure he would be delighted to have company this evening." The Ambassador betrayed a very fond smile when he thought of his son.

"In that case, I would be happy to accept." I said, looking forward to it.

"I shall warn you, he can be a bit of a handful, though he can be well-behaved." Said Ai-Derian. "He has a wild streak in him, but he gets along with adults. I am having him tutored because he does not speak Tiasennian very well yet, and to keep him from being teased by the other children. He did not handle the death of his mother well, but what can I do? There are some friends he plays with here in the Headquarters Building, but we have to keep somewhat to ourselves. We are the only Orian family here. It has been hard on him at times, I fear."

"How old is he?" I wondered.

"Nine years old."

"A shame, to have lost a parent so young." I thought, feeling sad for him.

"Yes," said Ai-Derian. "Tell me, Alessia, how does one so young as you become Ambassador for your people?"

I remembered then that all the time that I had been speaking with Orashean and Ai-derian, they had been looking at the image of the young woman I had been when I went through Hinev's serum metamorphosis. Hinev's explorers had kept an eternal image of youth or middle age, whatever they had been when they underwent the metamorphosis.

"I am one of my people's explorers." I said. "We begin training very young."

"I was made Ambassador six years ago after the truce." Said Ai-derian. "My brother doesn't trust anyone else to serve our interests here."

We walked just a moment more in silence until we reached the Ambassador's apartments.

"Father, father, look!" An energetic, agile little boy carrying an airplane and making whooshing noises ran towards the Ambassador as we entered.

His short, unkempt, white-blond hair hung low in his eyes. He wore a slightly baggy maroon and grey uniform that had been tailored down to a size that would fit him, though the sleeves had been neglected to gather at his wrists.

He broke into a wild, delighted grin when his father caught him in his arms. The boy wriggled free and stopped laughing when he noticed me.

"Who are you?" he asked, round-eyed with fear. "Are you an angel? Like the one that took mother away from us?"

"No, Terin, this is Alessia, a visitor." Said Ai-derian. "She has come to join us for dinner this evening."

"Oh," Terin nodded. "You're beautiful, Alessia," he said after a moment of staring.

"Thank you, Terin," I smiled at him, helplessly amused.

"Terin is his nickname." Ai-derian interrupted. "I call him that because he's curious about everything. It's an Orian word for a curious little bird." Ai-derian explained. Then he ruffled his son's hair. "I have nothing for dinner but yesterday's stew," he said. "And some fine, refreshing cahlda to go with it."

"That sounds fantastic to me," I said. "How about you, Terin?"

Brightening, Terin grasped my hand. "You can sit next to me." He grinned, seized my hand in delight, and pulled me to the table. "Let's be friends," he suggested with the single-minded enthusiasm only children have. "Let's be friends forever!"

I laughed at his charming boldness and smiled in agreement. The Ambassador laughed, looking on.

"Don't let him be a nuisance. Forever is a long time!" He said. Terin wasn't listening.

Little did he suspect the power of one wish.

The true men of action in our time and those who transform the world are not the politicians and statesmen but the scientists.

—W. H. Auden
Chapter Seven

Two busy tendays on Tiasenne flew by. I spent the mornings meeting with the Orian Ambassador and Fer-innyera Orashean, discussing plans for seeding Orian's arable farmland areas. In the afternoons, I traveled to the Adad Academy to instruct agriculturalists from both worlds how to manufacture high-yielding, environmentally safe fertilizers. I did whatever they requested, and for a time I even enjoyed it.

It surprised me at first that Orashean supported the plan to help feed Orian. But the agricultural project would also benefit his people. If the Orians' food shortage problems could be solved, there would be no need for them to colonize Tiasenne. And if there was another war, Orashean might well fear that Orian would win.

I often marveled at how quickly and readily the people of Tiasenne and Orian accepted me. I gave the best impression of cooperation that I could, and the image of optimism that kept everything going. If they were suspicious of me still, underneath, at least they were not afraid of me. Anything that could maintain a cease-fire would be preferable to any alternative actions.

After some time living in Inen, I learned that the Orians trusted me for religious as well as scientific reasons. They believed optimistically that their God would never allow a dangerous foe to come from the stars to destroy them. The Tiasennians, on the other hand, reasoned that an intelligent species would not come so far out of its way merely to pick a fight. And if I had wanted to conquer their world, that would have been clear from the beginning.

Orashean never asked how long I intended to stay, or where I had been going before I came. Maybe he wasn't interested, or else he was waiting until everything he needed from me worked out. It seemed to me that neither he nor Ai-derian Suraeno were prepared to jeopardize my cooperation and aid by asking me questions. And, both sides were so wrapped up in what they wanted that they didn't think to be curious about what mission I had returned from, until later.

For two long months, Selesta dwarfed everything near Tiasenne's sprawling capital city. There was no way of hiding its existence. Orashean and his government did not want the Tiasennian public to know about me, so they sent a public message that the ship was a freighter-sized transport ship bringing ores for the many factories of Inen. After some time, the people's fears calmed down, but the inhabitants of the city never quite forgot what they had seen.

I couldn't sleep during the first few nights. Orashean had provided me the Hermes suite of rooms in the Government apartments adjacent to the Headquarters Building. I was excited. We were planning for the future. I had to believe that it would be a good one. I didn't want to feel that I was trying to mold and shape the people I met into what I wanted them to be. I didn't want to feel as though I was interfering or trying to regain what I had lost. So I had to believe that the future would be good. And that what I did every day was going to achieve it.

I was excited because there was life all around me. I was no longer living in isolation. I was living on the surface of a planet again, where no one really knew me.

And I thought about how excellent the dinner had been that first evening, in such good company. That little boy Terin had lightened my heart. We got along so well.

As the third tenday passed and with the plans for the new agricultural project completed, I returned to my ship to collect the precious samplings. The envoys accompanying me, which included the Orian Ambassador and Fer-innyera Orashean, waited outside for me to return. I refused to allow them to enter Selesta.

I would not have minded showing Selesta to some of the Tiasennians—scientists perhaps, or those who did not wish to use its power for their own purposes. But I knew I wasn't going to be presented with that opportunity.

After we returned to Inen, Orashean requested that I should remain on Tiasenne for a year, and then I would go to Orian for half a year. Until I left for Orian to oversee the planting of the seeds at the beginning of the warm season, I spent a lot of time meeting Tiasennian scientists who were anxious to learn what they could about Seynorynaelian technology.

Though I was helpful to them, I was careful to guard the secrets of my people's technology. I was afraid to give these people weapons to use against each other. They were the last remnant of my people's race, and I didn't want to see them kill each other.

Gradually, as there were fewer demands on my time, Orashean began to be more comfortable with me. As a token gesture, he gave me the freedom of the city and offered me a permanent suite in a separate apartment building. I asked to keep my suite on the twenty-second floor of the Headquarters Building instead, and Orashean reluctantly agreed to give it to me. That meant that I could stay near the Ambassador and his son for as long as any of us wanted. Taking advantage of my new freedom of the city, I visited the Records Department to research the history of Tiasenne and its people.

It was true that no one here knew that Tiasenne and Orian were colonies. But there was the proof, in that I never found a history of Tiasennian civilization dating further back than a thousand years. The records of how Inen had been founded were imprecise, and history books endlessly conjectured where the people had first developed cities. There had been so many wars on Tiasenne, with small groups fighting each other, that the origins of their race had been lost, and most Tiasennians accepted that fact. I began to wonder if something similar had not happened on Orian.

I spent an afternoon investigating the green fields outside Inen, and took a day trip around the coast.

After a while, I was asked to attend fewer meetings with the Tiasennian Council. Strangely enough, it worked out that I began spending more time with the Ambassador's son, Terin. He insisted I join him and his father for morning and evening meals and persisted tirelessly in his persuasive efforts until he won. After being around ruthless and narrow-minded politicians, his company made a refreshing change for me.

The spirited and quick-witted little boy also had a mind full of ideals. He valued ideals of goodness, greatness, honor, justice, tolerance, and mercy. But he had a good sense of humor and mischief. It was so wonderful to be around him that I felt young at heart again, despite the aeons of time that I had known.

I tried to treat him as an equal and guide him as I thought a suitable mentor should.

Terin followed me wherever he could inside the Headquarters building. Occasionally, I felt hounded by this, but since Terin's environment kept him from making many other friends, I allowed him. And soon I didn't really mind. He made remarkably good conversation for one so young, having always been surrounded by people more than twice his age, whether politicians, officers, tutors, scientists, or his father's aides.

Besides, I couldn't have escaped him if I tried. On the days when I was called away, he sat encamped in the corridor, waiting like a scout for me to return. For the first time in his life it seemed Terin had found someone to trust, someone whom he instinctively knew wouldn't deliberately abandon or disappoint him. His face erupted with glowing smiles and his mouth started running some amazing, intriguing story or other as soon as I appeared. I knew he had been lonely; how could he be otherwise with his father constantly away?

In fact, many nights—and days, according to the Tiasennian sleep period—his father never returned, and I took over the task of reading Terin bed-time stories, usually of noble deeds by ancient Orian heroes from a book Ai-derian had brought with him, but sometimes Tiasennian legends as well, which were often surprisingly similar. I would tickle him until he hollered for mercy. Sometimes, we had pillow fights or played games. We taught each other how to make several alternatives to urbin stew—I was still getting used to everything new on Tiasenne. Sometimes, we would just talk about nothing seemingly important, about the stars, about dreams and hopes, about people we had met, anything and everything.

At first, I felt a little awkward in the domestic setting, but in time, it was the end of the day I looked forward to most, and my little charge I longed to see. No one I had known or who had known me would have believed that I could ever look after a child. Too long I had been a key player in a grand struggle for power and control of the universe, a struggle for power and immortality that now seemed surreal and unimportant. After half a year on Tiasenne, I found I did not want anything to change, and that I had come to love living there.

Though Terin emulated his father, I knew I also had a chance to make a difference in Terin's life, as Hinev had in mine by taking care of me. I understood Terin's isolation—we shared a bond unlike any two other people around us—in everything we loved. It was a bond I felt in my soul. I was determined to make it easier for him.

All day of every day before I arrived, he stayed in the Ambassador's chambers or drifted down the corridors of the Headquarters Building, until the guards finally decided to escort him back. There wasn't any other place for him to go or any other children for him to play with. He spent a lot of time learning in the morning, and then being bored and dissatisfied by restrictions to what he could do.

After learning about my ship from his science and philosophy tutor, Senka Emeritas Korrince, he greeted me in an agitated state, all kinds of questions streaming forth before I even sat down.

"Senka Korrince says you came to Tiasenne in a gigantic spaceship. Is it true? Are you really a space person with a gigantic spaceship all your own?" He finally stopped when he ran out of breath.

"Yes, it's true, it's all true," I said.

"How big is it?" he asked.

"Enormous."

"Wow!" It took him a moment to let this thought sink in. "Wait," his curiosity suddenly gave way to fear. "You aren't leaving us, are you?"

"Not any time soon," I said, trying to smooth things over.

"Can I see your ship?" he asked.

"Maybe sometime," I answered unenthusiastically, realizing instantly that I had made a mistake. The expression in Terin's eyes told that he had filed this away as a promise. I knew then he was going to hold me to it. I had already discovered the futility of trying to let him down, or waiting for him to forget. He had a strong memory, and an even stronger will, despite his tender years. He was neither fickle nor hypocritical. To be fair, while Terin expected loyalty and integrity from others, he also never made a promise he didn't intend to keep.

Days later, it occurred to him to ask me what I did.

"Alessia, what are you?"

"Your friend," I said.

"I meant that, for example, my dad is an ambassador. Senka Korrince teaches me things, but he's supposed to. What are you? You aren't a prisoner, are you?"

"No," I laughed. "I came here to help other people keep the peace." I said.

"Oh," he laughed with me.

Children are far more perceptive than adults give them credit for, I suddenly thought. I had begrudged the lack of freedom in my life on many occasions.

"I'm a kind of scientist." I told him. "And I was an explorer in space."

"Then I'm going to be a scientist when I grow up, too," he said. "We don't have space explorers on Orian."

"I thought you wanted to become a military leader of some kind?"

"I can't," he said. "Dad says we don't want to go to war anymore. So that means that I can't be brave and fight for Orian."

"You can still fight for the people," I reminded him. "What about becoming a great speaker or a doctor that might cure people's illnesses?"

"If I become a scientist, we can work together," he said with an eager expression.

I couldn't help but laugh.

"What's so funny?" he said, angry and hurt. "You don't think I can do it?" he demanded.

"I do, I have faith in you." I said.

"I don't like it when you laugh at me," he said, unplacated.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh at you. I was laughing because I liked the idea."

"Oh," his expression immediately brightened. "That's good. I'm going to be one of the best there ever was."

"I'm sure you will," I agreed. The truth was I actually thought so. Despite his naïveté, sense of fun, and noble ideals, Terin had twice surprised me with an intensely serious side that was not so valorous. It was possessive, dark, and ambitious.

Terin's mind was not easily invaded. I could have persisted below the surface, but I never did. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I had stopped using telepathy around people I cared about, or people who I would be working with a lot; there were so many things about people's secret lives I had no desire to know.

* * * * *

As time always seems to pass more quickly when you manage to find a piece of happiness, the evening before my departure crept upon us. I remember that night like the calm before the storm.

"Tell me about the legend of your people again, Alessia," Terin pleaded, trying to keep me from leaving for the last time as I wished him good-night.

Smiling, I made my way to the edge of his bed and sat down.

"When I was a girl, I knew a creature that spoke to me of a land called Enor." I began predictably.

"Was he a monster?" Terin asked as if on cue, delighted, his eyes shining.

"Oh, a terrible monster to behold," I shook my head, "but not a monster inside, I think."

"And his name was Ornenkai." Terin interrupted.

"Yes, that's right." I nodded. "Very little was known about this creature, but his body was made of dark metal and his eyes were cold and quick."

"But you weren't afraid of him," Terin insisted, applauding my bravery.

"No. He came many times to visit my... father, and though he was quite fearsome, I wasn't afraid of him."

"He was the one who told you about the legend." Terin added, nodding excitedly because he knew the story well enough to tell it himself.

"Yes. He told me that there was once a lost civilization called Enor, and that they had believed that all living things were bound to their own cycle of life. All of our cycles together made up an infinite sphere of life stretching across the universe."

"Across the big universe," Terin added enthusiastically, gesturing with a wide sweep of his arms.

"Yes. And even if these cycles overlapped or converged, such as yours and mine, the people of Enor believed that none of us could break from our own cycle. Our own path, you might say. Or in other words, our own destiny.

"The Enorian legend said that for all time the cycles could not be broken, but truth be known, no one has ever been given to know upon which path he travels."

"Except the One," Terin interrupted again, his eyes widening.

"Yes, the One." I nodded. "The Enorians believed that One path alone followed no cycle. And that this One person would have power over life and destiny in the universe. The person whose existence began at a singularity point, who was himself like a living singularity, would be bound to no cycle of life. He could be born or die at any time. Long had the people of Enor waited for that One, but not even they had known when the One would appear. And he would be the One to change the fate of the entire universe..." I trailed off, for by now, Terin's eyes had closed.

"I wonder who he is, this One man." Terin spoke through a yawn. "Maybe he has already been born." He mumbled, beginning to fall asleep.

_Factum abiit, monumenta manent._ The event is past, the memorial of it remains.

—Ovid
Chapter Eight

It rained that night in Inen, but the next morning dawned clear and cold. In the afternoon, I would travel in a Tiasennian space shuttle to Orian's capital city, Nayin, where Leader Beren would greet me and take me to Orian's few fertile areas. I had no doubt that Orashean would try to explore Selesta while I was gone, but I didn't worry.

Any force he had would be ineffective to try and break in; Tiasennian science possessed nothing strong enough to penetrate the hull's exterior, and no scanning probe could penetrate the strong fields that surrounded the ship.

The Tiasennians held a parade with full fanfare to honor me on my departure; the political and military hierarchy assembled at the commercial airstrip a few nariars outside the city, hoping it wouldn't rain as a new arsenal of grey clouds rolled over the city. As I stood on the platform, the sounds of exultation all around me, I glanced at the Orian Ambassador and his son, clustered among Tiasenne's political leaders.

Ai-derian shook my hand in a stiff farewell in the formal manner of all diplomats. But Terin refused to say good-bye. Bending down, I peered into his joyless eyes. Tears started rolling down his mournful face. He tried to blink them back. I smiled, dried his tears with my fingers, then embraced him once.

"This isn't good-bye, Terin. I promise I'll be back soon."

But the boy refused to believe it and seized my hand, then squeezed it fervently.

"Let Alessia go, Terin. You'll see her soon." Ai-derian said gently, and Terin reluctantly did as he was told. But I'll never forget his anguished expression as I boarded the transport.

A few minutes later, the transport ascended smoothly into the air, and I saw his tiny form waving outside the window from away on the platform. He disappeared quickly as the world faded and shrank, hidden behind white clouds.

I had no idea how long it was going to be.

* * * * *

Five hours later, the shuttle touched down on the surface of Orian. As we came closer to the planet, the hazy red glow of its surface loomed closer, covered only scantily by a few thready cirrus clouds. The area surrounding the capital city appeared more fertile than other parts of the planet that I had seen from the air, despite the powdery soil, and as we landed on the air strip just beyond the city, swirling dust blew up and blocked my view through the transport's small passenger window.

I had seen gigantic mountain ranges, deep gorges and canyons, chains of active volcanoes, vast sweeping deserts, and small seas from my vantage point high in the sky.

Looking into the city, my eye was affronted by towering metal buildings with pointed peaks that pierced the infinite blue monotony of sky. The sun was setting, tinging the skies with gold. In the distance, just over a range of cliffs, lightening streaked through a lonely cloud, and the rolling echo of thunder fell upon the city like a harbinger of doom.

Hinev would not have chosen to found a new colony on this planet! I thought, nor would his Celestian colonists have chosen it. They would have known that Seynorynael's explorers had used terraforming to make Orian viable only for a semi-permanent explorer station. I could only assume that some unforeseen accident must have caused the Narae to land on Celestian Two instead of following the Hernendor to Celestian One.

The buildings had been packed closely together, ctenoid structures separated only by narrow lanes. Blocked from the light, the surface of the city remained eternally darkened, the gloomy shadows lingering even when the sun rode high in the sky. From these dirt-lined avenues, the city seemed like a nightmare world intruding into reality's domain, cold and damp, where the thunder echoed on but never offered the promise of cleansing rains.

I felt the anguish of thousands of minds.

I had to close my mind to force away the images and the sensation of nausea that welled in my gut. What a contrast this world was from the cool air, the voluminous oceans, and the green splendor of its sister planet. No wonder they surveyed Tiasenne with greedy eyes!

As I stepped from the shuttle, the chill night air struck at my lungs. A transport waited below the platform. As I took a deep breath, I noticed immediately how much thinner Orian's atmosphere was than Tiasenne's. I felt as though I were slowly suffocating.

Although my genetically altered body could survive without oxygen and without atmospheric pressure, I still experienced the sensation of suffocation, still felt the discomfort as my internal chemistry changed and my body's systems of energy extraction took over. The stronger gravity of Orian I didn't much mind; it simply sapped more energy in movement.

We left the small astroport and came to the first of many buildings which stretched like an endless sea of grass to the cliffs. Beren had designed his headquarters to be the finest and largest. Several somber-faced guards stood at attention; others waited on its front steps to escort me inside. Leader Beren's office was on the third level, his windows on the wall facing away from the other buildings, no doubt affording a panoramic view of the empty horizon.

A few guards clad in maroon and grey uniforms stood at either side of the entrance of his main office, their stultifying gazes fixed directly ahead, their faces unmoving. The officers led me through the double doors and into a brightly lit room that was dominated by a rectangular black table, etched in silver, at the head of which sat Leader Beren. The escort retreated just as I was noticing the wide, open windows in his office. There were various wall hangings depicting the hunt of fleet-footed gazelle-like creatures. Also, a fine carved statue of the Orian god of war.

Leader Lucianvar Beren and his advisory council greeted me in Orian fashion, clasping both hands on my one. There was an extraordinary family resemblance between Beren and his half-brother, the Orian Ambassador. They had the same clear blue eyes and fine avian facial structure, with high cheek bones and a moderately high and broad forehead. But Leader Beren was a larger man than Ai-derian, and considerably older, with streaks of white hair slicked behind his ears.

Leader Beren gave a slight nod and then indicated that I should sit down with him at his council table. The Tiasennian Ambassador followed, and soon we began an amiable conversation. Ambassador Regorr's emerald eyes were like a predatory bird's, unyielding and sharp. His skin had been stretched over a frame of awkward bones, but his jaunty, confident gait was surprisingly graceful. The wind had matted his honey-colored hair in the aircar on the way over. He'd combed his fingers through it several times, but it refused to lie down.

While Regorr talked about his ordeal getting here, I briefly searched Beren's mind. This proved somewhat difficult; his thinking tended to be erratic and complicated, sharp but not linear as he shifted focus randomly to new issues, yet his depth of knowledge was impressive.

I could have absorbed every memory of his life, his entire collection of identifying memories and not just his barest superficial thoughts, but I would need to force a mindlink to reach those subconscious memories, and I would never risk one of those again. Mindlinks had been the end of Hinev, who had been left alone on Seynorynael. They had destroyed his mind, and I would not have them destroy mine, too. All of Hinev's explorers had abandoned using even ordinary surface telepathy except when exigency arose. I tried to use this power as little as possible, but it was important to understand the leader of the Orians if I ever hoped to know what was going on on Orian.

I learned that Leader Beren had never been attached. He spent a lot of his time organizing his arguments and writing proposals to the Tiasennian government, pressuring them to admit a limited number of colonists. He himself was desperate to escape Orian and retire to Tiasenne.

If only he hadn't so many other thoughts in his mind at the same time, I could weed out that buried scrap of information. But at the moment these other thoughts, the true motives behind benevolent suggestions he made for his people, were so repulsive that I couldn't bear to probe him any longer.

I pulled away from his mind, watching with concealed disgust as he expressed convincing concern for his people and then thanked me profusely. Despite his magnetic personality and warm manner, I found I didn't like him at all, but I knew this unpleasant discovery was the penalty I paid for invading his mind. Beren was only interested in himself, and harbored little feeling for others; I was amazed by how different he and Ai-derian really were despite their more obvious outward similarities.

For more than an hour, the Tiasennian Ambassador Regorr and I listened to Leader Beren and his contrived speeches. Then I enquired when we would be leaving for our tour of the agricultural region and our departure was planned for sunrise, but that sunrise was still over thirty hours away. I had known other planets like Orian; scorching heat that seemed never to die away when the sun shone, aphotic nights that dropped degrees by the hour—planets that supported almost no indigenous life.

After this introductory meeting, an aide led me to a guest chamber to rest from my journey. I spent the long night sitting in contemplation by an east-facing window. The glass was cold as ice, and as I opened the window, a chill draft gusted into the warmth of the room.

Unlike the other buildings in the city, Beren's Aries Headquarters stood at least thirty meters apart from any other building. But I could make out little faces of pale and gaunt children peering out of the darkness with wide eyes at this rare beacon of light.

Twelve hours before sunrise, a clatter came from the floor below as the building stirred to life at the end of the sleep period. Hours passed. No one came for me. As I waited I was struck by a strange sense of premonition, as though natural forces were gathering to bring irreversible damage to this world with no regard for humanity's objections. The rushing wind blew harshly over the weathered cliffs surrounding Nayin, bringing whispered groans from the deep dark places of the world and omens of a coming metamorphosis.

* * * * *

The sun hovered beneath the horizon, casting purplish beacons into a cloudless sky when Leader Beren, Ambassador Ricimar Regorr, and I left for our predetermined destination early the next morning. Small black birds rose into the sky as we drove past the few straggly trees on the field. The main agricultural region wasn't far outside the city, but by the time we arrived, it had become so hot that our guide warned us how dangerous it would be to leave the transport.

Because seedlings planted in the earlier seasons to survive the sweltering heat only died during the sub-freezing nights, part of the plan we had outlined called for the creation of a dome over the entire area, lined with panels to deflect some of the heat, and solar panels on the roof to collect and store the solar heat for use when the temperature dropped.

The installation of the dome had been begun according to my instructions during the second week of my stay on Tiasenne but had only just been completed. The chief engineer for the project had met and discussed the plan with me on Tiasenne, and had been busy since. Countless workers were milling about waiting for our transport to arrive. They appeared to be content to enjoy the cool temperature inside the dome, and had gladly volunteered their labor in exchange for an improvement in their environment, however temporary.

The workers deposited my seedlings from the Tiasennian shuttle in the center of the Complex, beside the maintenance machinery. Working in shifts, they stirred and raked the soil into radial hillocks separated by water ditches. Irrigation rods hung at right angles across the main water pipes twenty feet above each row of soil. As the irrigation machines passed back and forth on the spoke-like pipes above each row, a valve allowed water to flow into a rod, and then the valve recapped as each machine moved to the next rod on each pipe.

The Orians had gone to great lengths to simulate Tiasennian rain down to the force with which it hit the ground. I heard Regorr explaining how fertilizers had also been dissolved into the water. They had put the leftover fertilizers in the small building next to where we stood at the center of the complex, and there was enough for several tendays. All that remained now was the task of sowing the fields, and the workers had volunteered to do that by hand.

It took the entire day to plant all of the seedlings. Leader Beren, his advisors, and Ambassador Regorr left after the first few hours and returned late into the night just as we finished. The solar heat storage system soon proved to be a success. Even well after sunset, the temperature had fallen only marginally.

After the sowing of the seedlings was finished, the workers finally loaded into a transport bound for the city, except for a handful who remained to operate the facility until the next shift. Leader Beren and his entourage seemed immensely pleased with the results of our effort as he and Ambassador Regorr moved down a lane to inspect the seedlings at close range.

A moment later, Beren was explaining Engineer Horans' catalytic converter that processed water from mineral compounds found in abundance around Nayin to Regorr as the two moved further down the lane. I was packing the soil around the edge of a row with my foot when I suddenly sensed danger. When I looked up, a poorly connected irrigation rod dangled precariously above Beren and Regorr.

The rod broke and fell, and a shout of warning came from one of the workers. The two men looked up, cringing, knowing that they were too late to move out of the way.

Was there time to decide? I don't remember. Without thinking, I let a current of telekinetic waves flow from my mind, energy I directed through the medium of atoms in the air to those of the steel rod. For a split-second, I held the rods suspended before pushing them slowly and deliberately to the left of the shocked and terrified men awaiting death...

As I did it, I knew I would not be able to sustain the veil. They would see me as I truly was.

And never fully trust me again.

Energy flickered around my body, and my hair fluttered silver like live wires. The officers nearest to me were clearly afraid and began to slowly back away.

Beren recovered first—he picked himself up off the floor, shook the dust off, and looked about. His eyes found me, wide in disbelief, settling into a mistrustful stare. Gradually, I began to appear as I had before.

Several officers rushed to Beren's side to help him and to help the Tiasennian Ambassador to their feet.

"Are you a devil or a god?" Beren said, carefully. "I've never seen anything like that. Did you all see it?" he asked his men. His eyes did not leave me.

They nodded in amazement. All eyes had turned to look at me, some accusing, others in fear.

"Who are you?" Beren demanded. "You claimed to be one of our race. But there is no man or woman on this planet who can do what you just did."

"Do you think she just assumed a guise to look like us?" Ambassador Regorr wondered aloud.

"Don't be ridiculous." I laughed, privately upset by this reaction, even though I expected it.

"I assure you, I am grateful for what you just did to save my life—our lives—Alessia," said Leader Beren, his eyes flickering towards the heavy steel rod, now lying harmlessly on the ground. "But we will need to know how you did it, if we are to believe you mean us no harm."

"If I had wanted to 'assume a guise' as it were, I would have chosen to appear something closer to Tiasennian." I said, then immediately shifted my appearance to that of a female version of Orashean.

"Unbelievable!" the officers shouted, now in great fear. Beren grimaced lightly. Ambassador Regorr just stared mutely.

I shrugged off the temporary transformation.

"Impressive. You are a shapeshifter." Beren said at last, keeping his voice studiously level. "But if you can do that, how can I know that you are one of us?"

"Just because you do not know how to do this, does not mean that our race cannot learn how." I explained. "You are a lost colony. Many of the secrets of our race were lost to you. I am what I seem, except when I use the temporary power of transformation. I cannot keep the change for long. I can move objects, but that is a variant of my mind's communicative power. Using this power creates light from the energy inside us, and from charged particles in our environment. This power is not easy to learn. But I assure you I was not born knowing how to do this, or with the ability to shift matter. It was something I had to learn. And something—a gift as it were—that was given to me. It is all a trick of science and technology. I am no devil."

I felt his change of emotion, and allowed his thoughts to enter my mind.

She moved that thing just by thinking about it?! If she is one of us, as she claims, perhaps I can learn how to do that with her help. Can I gain power over her somehow? Manage to learn her secrets, or convince her to teach us on Orian and not the Tiasennians?

To think how easy it would be to conquer Tiasenne, if I could win her trust.

As we left to return to the city, Beren and Regorr each wondered how he could use my power to his advantage, provided each could persuade me to take sides against the other.

And the workers at the dome would tell their children about what they had seen.

* * * * *

Shortly after the incident at the dome, Beren brought me to his office to express his further gratitude. Afterward, I met in a lengthy session with his council to discuss my suggestions concerning how they might best use the designs I had presented to build new dwellings for their overcrowded people. Beren seized upon this and praised me profusely as a noble benefactor while trying, in feigned, deploring tones, to convince me of Tiasenne's callous neglect of "the poor civilians of Orian".

About halfway through my scheduled visit, Leader Beren took me on a tour across Orian for fifteen long Orian days. It was at the Northeastern Notos Ridge, an ancient chain of extinct volcanoes, that I felt a dark mood descend over the shuttle. The bitter taste of ashes hung over us, and the rugged faces of the tall, reddish mountains seemed to glare with hostile intent down at our little shuttle.

With the planned time of my stay nearly over, Leader Beren, his advisors, and I visited the agricultural dome again. The samplings had grown, and the cool air inside the dome tasted sweet with the scent of lush vegetation.

Most of the other cities and small communities that I had seen on Orian had been able to survive at a subsistence level, but Nayin had been entirely dependent upon Tiasennian food shipments which they traded for rich ores and minerals found in abundance around the capital. But now the food grown under this dome would go to the miserable, half-dead wretches living in Nayin. I hoped it would, anyway.

Now, perhaps, those forced to labor in the mines would not have to toil so hard for their daily rations, and new buildings soon to begin construction would give a new luxury of space.

My last night on Orian seemed to last forever. I had grown unbearably anxious to leave. But after living on Orian, I had come to realize just how fortunate the Tiasennians were. This understanding made me more than sorry for the Orians, especially for the children whose lives held no promise.

But I could see no reason that it had to stay this way. I would not forget their plight! The struggle within me had been reawakened. I had to believe that it was possible to change their future. All I needed was time, and there was no hurry.

The wind whistled feverishly loud outside the window, battering the glass with brutal energy. A song seemed to ride on the wind, or just in my mind. The melody came from my childhood. Like the Selesta itself, the song originated near the region of Lake Firien, a great lake so vast it was more like an ocean.

The wind died, and the song ended. Without warning, thin vessels in my head began to constrict in my head shrinking like iron bands snuffing out all thought, all sentiment. The pain, the agony of the immortality metamorphosis, had returned. For the first time in more than twenty thousand years, the pain was back. And there was nothing but pain. In that moment, I forgot entirely who I was. Where I was.

I would have screamed for it to stop, but it was too sudden, and too crippling to make a sound.

A sharp pain spread like a burning fire in my mind, a burning through every little vessel and tissue, until the entire world was spinning, spinning under the pressure of it; for a moment, I was lost in an agonizing delirium.

Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the pain was gone.

* * * * *

When I saw the beautiful white clouds of Tiasenne part before our shuttle as we prepared to land near the capital of Inen, I realized how much I had missed, how much I had taken for granted, this blue jewel in the sky, my adopted new home world. The vast Northwestern Sea stretched on, seemingly infinite from our view as we slowed for our landing in the busy spaceport. Purple and amber painted the sky as the sun retreated. But the day was still bright, and the far-away buildings beyond were visible as tiny specks of twinkling light, reflecting the dying rays like silver sand on a tropical island.

Minutes later, our open-air transport sped towards the city of Inen, swallowing the wind with its low whining drone. The wind broke against my face and seized my hair. No matter how far we went, we never seemed to reach the far-off horizon.

But at last Inen loomed ahead, then closed in around us.

At that moment, I felt an overwhelming desire to lead a normal life—a civilian life free from missions. Could I make such an adjustment? I hardly knew.

However, first I had a meeting at the Headquarters building to review the work on Orian with Orashean and Ambassador Ai-derian. Then I planned to head to my new apartment outside the Administrative Zone in Hirinburro Street.

"The fusion generator isn't a problem. What we need is malanite." One of the government geochemical specialists, clad in recognizable reptilian green, was saying as I entered Orashean's council room.

"Malanite?" Orashean wondered absently. "What is it?"

"It's a mineral, named after Fer-innyera Malannon. We'll need to pick up a supply, sir."

"Can't it be manufactured?" Orashean asked, tiredly now.

"No, and we're running low."

Orashean looked up and smiled, waving the man aside.

"Good to see you again, Alessia." He said enthusiastically, then offered me thanks for all my help in the dome project.

After a moment, he began to show signs of agitation, fidgeting with the fastenings on his sleeve.

Orashean began to stare at me, waiting for a response.

"Why isn't Ai-derian here?" I asked at length, not giving him the one he wanted.

Orashean sent a guard to summon him with a smug smile on his face.

Ai-derian trooped into the room with a stately air, but he held back among his entourage, almost guiltily.

"Welcome back." Ai-derian said. "It's good to see you."

"And it's good to see you," I returned.

"We were all pleased about your success with the Nayin agricultural dome." He said, standing uncomfortably just inside the doorway and shifting his weight from foot to foot. And they had all been surprised, he could have added.

"Yes, well, your people did most of the work."

"Perhaps, but it always takes a miracle to put things together–" he stopped abruptly as though suddenly conscious that he was approaching something taboo.

"Not at all. Not at all."

"So what is Terin up to these days?" I asked to lighten the atmosphere. But Ai-derian reacted as though he'd been slapped.

"Well, I don't know. Terin returned to Orian to begin his formal education," he responded tightly.

"When?"

"A few tendays ago." Ai-derian sighed. "My brother expects him to become an important figure in our society some day and suggested that he should begin his training early."

"He did, did he?"

Ai-derian nodded.

"Terin wanted to become a biochemist you know, so that he could bio-engineer better food for our people." Ai-derian said, eager to convince himself that this was all for the best.

"Interesting. You sent him to a science center for his education?" I asked.

"To the Intelligence Center at Destria. It specializes in the sciences and politics. His mother went there..." Ai-derian trailed off.

"Of course, it's not really my business, but couldn't it have waited?"

"Well, Terin had been here so long that I feared he wouldn't even remember Orian, and I thought that the younger he was, the better his chances of adjusting to the change." Ai-derian said. "I did hate sending him away alone, but I hardly have the time to spend with him, as you know."

"Have you heard from him?" I asked.

"Once." Ai-derian's voice was calm, almost numb.

"Let the man catch his breath, Alessia," Orashean advised. "Or else interrogate him properly."

I rewarded the Fer-innyera with a disapproving stare, forgetting about Ai-derian, just as Orashean had planned.

We sat at Orashean's conference table, and I gave them a detailed report on the agricultural results so far, and we discussed some refinements that I had suggested before leaving Orian. Orashean seemed keenly interested in my estimates of total food production from the agricultural domes. With the review concluded, he paused.

"Since you're both here first, I think it would be a good idea to discuss our new joint space exploration mission." He looked at Ai-derian. "Yes, it was Leader Beren's idea. I received his proposal earlier today."

The twinkle in his eye told me that he more than approved of the venture, but he had been waiting for the right time to introduce his scheme. Orashean went on to explain that Beren had proposed a joint cooperative project to explore the nearby planetary systems that had been discovered during the first such mission over a hundred years ago.

"We thought your Selesta would be a perfect vessel to use for the new space exploration mission." He concluded dryly.

There was no way I was going to allow it—to allow them to use Selesta. I had no intention of going back there.

"No, we can't use my ship." I said firmly. "You will have to consider another option."

Somehow, Orashean managed to contain his irritation when I refused. He explained that the Tiasennian and Orian ships would take years in space, and even more real time would pass here, as if I didn't know that. Because of my youthful appearance, he reasoned that my ship must somehow have been able to travel great distances without the effects of time dilation or deceleration.

And Orashean had heard me talk to Terin about Selesta. A moment's probing of his mind revealed to me the existence of a silent betrayer, a secret transmission device in the ambassador's room and in every room that relayed information back to Orashean.

I suppressed a momentary flash of irritation at this discovery. After all, nothing that either Beren or Orashean did should surprise me. I said nothing.

Orashean spread his arms, palms facing me in a gesture of supplication. He hesitated briefly, then went on to explain why Beren proposed the mission. A virulent new bacterial disease had struck in the poorest district of Milaca, Orian's second largest city, and it had proved resistant to all available therapies. It had been contained by a strictly enforced quarantine, but it left its few survivors both blind and deaf. Orian pharmaceutical researchers had long ago isolated an anti-bacterial agent from among the plants brought back on the first explorer mission.

Recent laboratory tests showed that this agent might be effective against the new strain of bacteria. The Orian Health Ministry were deeply concerned that with the severe overcrowding on Orian, containment of another outbreak by quarantine might not be possible. They could not contemplate the consequences of an epidemic of the disease, and were pushing hard to continue their anti-bacterial research, but they desperately needed more materials to do so.

Orashean's manner was convincing, and I quickly determined that he was telling the truth. He had some concern that this disease might spread to Tiasenne, but his main intent was to find a cheap source of minerals needed for Tiasenne's industries, to find what else might be exploited for profit, and not least to gain access to the technology of Selesta.

Orashean and A-derian both looked at me expectantly. How could I settle into a "normal life" on Tiasenne and risk leaving these remnants of my Seynorynaelian people open to an epidemic as potentially devastating as any Ephoran attack?

Orashean reminded me of my promise to help them.

"Very well," I said at last. "I'll help you out on this mission. But like I said already, not with Selesta—"

"But—"

"I'll help you if you furnish the ship." I said firmly.

Clearly irritated that he was again denied access to my ship and all of her technology, Orashean still saw the mission as a profitable venture and agreed. Ai-derian was also disappointed, but began quickly to discuss with Orashean some ideas for organizing and coordinating their joint activities.

I walked over to the window and looked up at the sky. Memories were flooding back of exploring worlds all over the galaxy with my now dead friends. Suddenly I felt glad that I had agreed to go. What was there for me on Tiasenne, anyway? I asked myself, now abandoning completely my dream of only a few hours ago. Selesta's computer would be furious that I was leaving, and maybe that was good, too. Maybe that was why I had agreed. To occupy myself and escape the terrible memories of what had happened in the years during Selesta's last voyage.

But to realize again and again that everything my own people had known, everything that they had discovered, and everything that they had created could be erased so permanently, and that not even this last remnant of our Seynorynaen race would ever know the way things had been for us was inescapable to me. At every moment, this realization forced its way to the fore of my thoughts so that I could never really forget.

The reality of Seynorynael now existed only in my mind.

_Odenit, dum metuant._ Let them hate, so long as they fear.

—Accius
Chapter Nine

The first time I saw the spaceship Baidarka, docked in a cargo bay at the Academy and strapped with gangways, I felt an excitement and anticipation I hadn't known since my first mission into space. I wasn't sure why. Baidarka was nothing compared to Selesta. But perhaps it was because, while gazing up at her sleek bow, I was able to imagine what it must be like for the other scientist astronauts going up for the first time.

The Baidarka had already made that journey once before. An experienced veteran, the Baidarka was the small spaceship that had gone on the first historical cooperative explorer mission. It had been recently upgraded with the best technology from both worlds to suit the new mission.

As the Baidarka neared completion, Beren and Orashean brightened as they each considered the possibility of keeping me away from the other. Fearing that I would ultimately sympathize with the Orians' plight, Orashean had become concerned that I might use Selesta to bring large numbers of Orians to Tiasenne and force him to accept them. Beren, however, was concerned that I had inexplicably strong feelings for the planet Tiasenne, despite having lived there for such a short time.

The star systems we prepared to explore had been measured at distances of two hundred million nariars, one light-year, and two light-years away, relatively next-door by my standards. Nearer the bright center of the galaxy the distances between solar systems diminished. Located nearer to the center than the spiral arms of Galaxy 3, Rigell was surrounded by bright stars. The round trip to these systems had been estimated at 4.2 light-years.

I asked Orashean why he and Beren only wanted to explore the three systems that had already been discovered and not system E25, which was only 1.8 light years away in the opposite direction. Orashean responded that Tiasennian astronomers had registered unusual radiation levels coming from that area, more than background radiation, more than the stars could emit, and that life was not thought to exist there.

Baidarka's long, spear-like body had been refashioned with a new skin of sleek alloys. The winged ship used atmospheric oxygen in the launch into orbit before engaging its ion engines which allowed it to reach just over half light speed in space. Because the time inside the vessel would slow down as we approached the speed of light, at least twice as many years of real time would pass on Tiasenne and Orian. And during those years we would have no contact with either world.

The day of our departure crept closer and finally arrived with bustling activity everywhere. Men and women shuttled about, carefully stowing the final supplies of food, medical, and other materials on board. Keeping the atmospheric cycle would prove difficult if we had made a mistake in our calculations, so we loaded seemingly infinite amounts of plants into the hydrogarden hold and tested the oxygen count and oxygen generators six times at hourly intervals. If all went as planned, the same plants that would provide fruits and vegetables would also ensure a constant atmosphere by respiration.

Ground crews loaded unmanned probes, ground conveyances, and two habitable space shuttles into the docking bay hold. The Baidarka itself had only the heat shields for our re-entry into Tiasennian airspace, so the planetary exploration was to be carried out aboard smaller space shuttles. The astronaut crew included thirty scientists and their families as well as medical officers, defense weapons specialists, and six pilots, bringing the total crew count to eighty-three.

Take-off had been scheduled for late afternoon, and soon after the launch, the planets Tiasenne and Orian dwindled out of sight. The infinite, unquestioning void swallowed the small ship Baidarka and set us adrift in the endless stars. It was here that we would spend most of our time on the expedition, merely journeying to our multiple destinations. We could only afford a very little time visiting each planet.

One area in the interior of Baidarka housed the crew quarters, hydrogardens, and laboratories, all contained within a sphere in which artificial gravity similar to Tiasenne's could be produced, but much of the ship was subject to zero gravity. To no one's surprise, most of the crew preferred the artificial gravity area. In such close quarters, there were people in every corner of that area, and no one had the luxury of privacy. But to make up for the sacrifice, there was plenty of time to pass idle hours.

The astrophysicists charted star systems, neutron stars, pulsars, and black holes undetectable from either Tiasenne or Orian. The botanists and biologists helped to cultivate our food in the hydrogardens and regulate our atmospheric content and pressure, and a few others worked to educate the children of the crew.

After a time, I suppose we all began to feel lost in another world; this life was an idyll in which human suffering and political corruption became only distant memories, and of course everyone wanted to think only of the mission. In space, Tiasennians and Orians were united like fugitives who had been shipwrecked and forced to work together.

Twice, an Orian and a Tiasennian scientist became attached. Such unprecedented acts conveyed our optimistic feeling that further possibilities of cooperation would extend beyond our voyage, throughout the lives of all of the explorers, and to others after we returned to Rigell's system.

* * * * *

"Will you look at that?" We heard Enessa Fulten exclaim one day as the rest of us came to the bridge; a dingy brownish-red planet filled the forward view.

"Makes you homesick, doesn't it Enessa?" Dasan Mira quipped, giving her his ridiculous, pearly grin. Enessa had come from Orian years ago, and the two knew each other from years of working together at the Inen Observatory. They got along well together for people who were supposedly enemies. Dasan was lean and lanky, with unusually dark brown hair and eyes alight with mischief.

"It does not." Enessa insisted. Mira wouldn't have given up there, but we had reached our orbit already and needed to prepare the shuttle.

The planet Hyksos lay in a yellow star system that had three inner planets and two giant outer planets, all in the early stages of planetary development. The second planet out in the system, Hyksos was slightly larger than the third planet, Dynarean.

As the space shuttle descended through the clouds of Hyksos' thick carbon dioxide, methane, ammonia, and nitrogen atmosphere, volcanoes erupting in high mountain ranges beneath our orbital path became visible. Then as we continued to observe the outside conditions on our holo-sphere monitors, a dark ocean rolled into view, reflecting the pink sky. The large shuttle touched ground on a chasma, a steep ridge at the farther end of the ocean, which bordered an expanse of crater-pocked rock plains. When we disembarked, the yellow sun appeared as a burnt orange globe high in the sky above us.

We stayed on Hyksos two Tiasennian tendays. During that time, Mira finally admitted that even Orian wasn't that bad compared to Hyksos. The atmosphere had proven unbreathable for all the crew, as expected; the biologists had attached special prana tubes to the atmosphere packs that left sore shoulders all around. The Tiasennian biologists had devised the special apparatus after analyzing the reports of the previous explorer mission, but they didn't seem to have worried much about whether or not they were going to be very comfortable.

Marine life on Hyksos consisted of single-celled metazoans and a rapid-growing, prokaryotic, oxygen-producing bacteria that was the main reason for the visit to the planet. We had been instructed to bring back a quantity to seed Orian's oxygen farms. Once the biologists had finished conducting tests on the projected atmospheric evolution of Hyksos, we made ready to rendezvous with the Baidarka that had remained in geosynchronous orbit above the planet and to leave for Dynarean.

The mandatory ten-minute trip through the decontamination chamber before reboarding the ship hindered speedy withdrawal. As the teams moved back and forth bringing out the various rock samples, they had to wait in the shuttle in the air lock for those ahead of them in line to be sanitized.

Dynarean was more advanced in its evolutionary development and contained more oxygen and nitrogen than Hyksos, and a little methane, carbon dioxide, argon, and trace hydrogen in its atmosphere. The scientists could breathe the atmosphere of Dynarean for only short periods of time because the air pressure was low, around seven-tenths of Tiasennian air pressure in the valleys and plateaus.

Dynarean's gravity, weaker than Tiasenne's, allowed the children to make ten multi-nariar leaps in front of the ship, and a few of the adults were successfully prevailed upon to join them. We soon discovered that Dynarean had primitive tree-like ferns about ten times taller than the flowering trees found on Tiasenne and Orian.

Orian's trees flourished for a brief spell in the cool season and were usually sandy brown, producing little oxygen. However, Dynarean's ferns grew year-round, even at the present time in which Dynarean was at the farthest point in its revolution from the sun, at its perihelion. The ferns grew in green broccoli-like clusters and had huge, broad, flat segmented leaves sprouting from a torose, bloated stem.

The canopy formed by the leaves shaded the watery base from the sun like an enormous parasol. Tiny knobby sporangia poked through the surface of the leaf canopy like sprouting shrubs. On Tiasenne the green leaves on every tree fell once a year; we saw none of that kind on Dynarean.

We measured Dynarean's air temperature, finding it a little milder than Tiasenne. It rained there frequently during our three week visit, producing a springy turf which grew in a carpet over most of the plains, great expanses of interlacing mosses and hornworts that surrounded the ship like a green ocean, and small ponds that were home to all kinds of soft-bodied, tube-like creatures. We collected specimens of Dynarean's vegetation, in particular the Palie, the pond plants which were needed to continue Orian's anti-bacterial research.

The planet Dynarean was so beautiful that it saddened us to think that it was doomed to decay from the start. The planet's initial mass when the system formed had been low, causing Dynarean's weak gravity. Thus eventually its atmosphere would gradually be diffused into space. Only a thin carbon dioxide veil would be left, and lethal ultraviolet rays would penetrate the naked planet's weak shield.

Any life that had survived the atmospheric loss would be vaporized by the radiation. The oceans would evaporate, causing the hydrogen to float off into space and the oxygen to oxidize the rock formations and mineral deposits. All that remained would be silence and rocks and a graveyard of scant clues that once Dynarean had held life.

Almost a light-year away from the two planets was the white star system that contained Bayria and eleven other planets. Only a few lifeforms existed on Bayria, the fifth planet in the system. The largest were complex creatures with bumpy, leathery skin, little horns on their heads, and tiny, fold-covered eyes, like reptiles. After several tendays mining malanite from the surface and loading Orashean's supply of malanite on board our shuttle, we discovered a few small delicate creatures with dry shells similar to turtles and also large flying creatures with white flaps for wings, like bats.

Bayria's system was older than that of Hyksos and Dynarean, and the eternal rocks of Bayria itself revealed the planet's age at well above five billion years. Though a few creatures had evolved to a significant level of specialization, no evidence supported the existence of superior intelligence, though Chiren argued in favor of the horned creatures, who seemed to spend most of the day sleeping, after we captured them.

Before we reached Karona, several children were born on board. We decided to simulate video facsimiles of Tiasennian and Orian landscapes for them in order to make assimilation easier for them when we returned. Enessa Fulten made the task easier by lighting the simulation room with an artificial bluish-white glow like that of Rigell. But in the end, it was the homesick explorers instead of the children who spent more time in the simulation room.

By the time we got to Karona, where we eventually obtained large quantities of priceless ores used in alloy production on Tiasenne, everyone was thinking more about leaving for home than completing the mission, but it was a good thing we didn't just turn around. Karona was an orange-red world, the second planet in a red supergiant system of only two inner planets and seven gas supergiants. In the years since life had begun there, several varieties of furry animals with long claws and huge, lidless eyes had become its main inhabitants.

Despite the hot-looking glow of Karona's star, Red Sg 2, the planet's cold and dim surface bathed in a perpetual purplish-red sunset during the daylight hours. Though about half human size, the furry creatures were fierce if scared or disturbed but otherwise seemed quite docile. We decided to call them chirites after one of the chemists, Diminian Chiren.

The chirite creatures dug up small yellow plants and scraped masses of algae that were distinct from any form of vegetation the scientists had yet encountered, sitting back on great haunches to eat, holding out their food with their stubby arms. As we watched them, some of them clawed holes in the rock to pull out little, hard creatures with thick shells composed of scleratin to eat, and our biologists collected thousands of these and a family of the furry animals.

The chirites proved hardy and adaptable on board and were able to breathe our atmosphere even though it contained far more oxygen and less carbon dioxide than Karona's. They grew more active as a result and became a great favorite with the children.

Fortunately, nothing marred the tranquillity of the return home, though I had half expected some great catastrophe to keep us adrift. We had been away eight years according to our calendar on board when we re-entered Rigell's solar system. As we slowly approached the beautiful cloud-covered blue globe of Tiasenne and the arid face of Orian with its vast sand dunes and fiery volcanic ranges, scientists and children alike rushed to the viewports to catch the first glimpse of their home worlds.

Words failed and silence descended over the observation deck as the last person arrived, but this was more than a mere homecoming. Excitement permeated the air, but there was also a tense anxiety in it, too, a shared sense of anticipation we felt just before triumphantly reaching the safe harbor of Tiasenne's welcoming skies. Then at last we could turn our backs on the stars and the deadly, pitiless void and begin to plan for our future lives.
Give me where to stand, and I will move the earth.

—Archimedes, 300 B.C.
Chapter Ten

Moments after we landed in the spaceport, crews arrived to unload our cargo; on board, we were still getting ourselves ready to disembark and doing all we could to keep from forgetting anything. In the air, we had learned via radio that thus far there had been no epidemic-level outbreak of the virulent bacterium in Orian, thanks to the severe quarantine laws that had virtually confined the entire city of Milaca. We also learned that Leader Beren and Fer-innyera Orashean would be ready to meet us and that after a reception and debriefing at Headquarters, the crew could return to the Baidarka to collect the rest of their personal items and monitor the removal of the transported creatures and samples.

The radio communications officer Farron welcomed us home from the journey that had kept us away for eighteen years, two months, and thirty-seven days Tiasennian time before wishing us a brief congratulations and signing off. When the cargo door opened at the terminal, everyone gathered in the cargo bay hold moved out onto the platform and into the beautiful afternoon sunshine. Tears of joy and relief brimmed in their eyes, tears only a wanderer who has returned home after long years away can know.

However, our attention was immediately drawn to the edge of the platform where a row of dignified officers stood behind Fer-innyera Orashean and Leader Beren. Beren's hair had turned completely white, Orashean's was touched by a sprinkling of frost. The children beside us insisted on being allowed to keep their furry chirite companions with them on the ride to Headquarters, so one soldier ushered them into a special transport that would follow ours.

* * * * *

"It seems you've all managed quite well together." Beren commented some time later in the conference room, looking now and then at a few scientists sitting on the wrong side of the table. Before the misunderstandings carried any further, we quickly explained the inter-attachments of the six scientists.

Both leaders were further surprised, and perhaps even annoyed, to learn that five children had been born to these couples. Although the public had lost interest in our voyage, it being, unremarkably, the second mission to the previously discovered territories, it seemed Orashean didn't care to promote the idea that inter-attachments were acceptable.

The children were, essentially, incontrovertible living proof that both peoples were genetically the same. Orashean didn't want that kind of information becoming public before he was ready to make it known. Yet what could be done now? If Beren seemed pleased about it, he was even more so when he heard that the couples had chosen to make Tiasenne their permanent residence. As if the more Orians who made it to Tiasenne might somehow pave the way for others to follow.

At one point in the debriefing, Orashean was gesturing with his writing instrument to Hisden, the senior astrophysicist from Ernestia's observatory who had catalogued new star systems on the voyage. While Hisden was speaking, the pen slipped from Orashean's grasp as he played with the end of it, and it rolled to the floor out of his reach beside me.

I retrieved it and held it out, waiting for him to take it. Orashean turned to me absently and reached for the instrument while still listening to Garic Hisden's report, but clasped my fingers accidentally as he reached his arm closer to get at the pen.

He stared at my hand slowly a moment before turning my hand palm up. The conversation had come to a complete halt.

"Remarkable," he mumbled in confusion. He raised his own hand in comparison.

He stared at me again. "Tell me, Alessia, how is it that you stay so young-looking? You must tell me your secret. My wife says I need to get more exercise, but there are so many things that won't get done on their own, you know. Ah well, Hisden, forgive me for that little diversion. You were saying...?"

Orashean purposefully turned his full attention back to Hisden, dropping his pen on the table and looking down at it from time to time.

Beren and Orashean had noticed something that the others had taken for granted by now. Eight years had passed for us on board Baidarka, but the time had had no visible effect upon me at all.

And they wanted to know why.

* * * * *

Our entire crew had been invited to enjoy the luxury of the leisure center in Inen for several tendays, a generous reward that spoke well of Orashean. I did not intend to go. That is, until the testing of the Dynarean Palie pond plants believed to be a possible cure for the Orian bacterial disease hydantia, was abruptly taken out of my hands; Beren insisted upon their immediate shipment to Orian. I hadn't planned what else I was going to do apart from participating in the follow-up test studies of the Palie plants. That was how, after a chorus of protest from the others, Enessa Fulten and Dasan Mira managed to persuade me to stay with them.

Although Selesta's suspension capsules provided the only environment in which I could truly rest, I didn't even want to return to Selesta, knowing that I would have to explain my absence to the computer. It was only a computer, I reminded myself. What could it say to me? Nothing it hadn't been programmed to, but that wouldn't make its reproach any easier to bear. Because I knew I was wrong to leave Tiasenne for so long. I was wrong to leave Tiasenne and Orian unprotected; I was wrong to delay my journey to Kiel3. But I was the only one who knew of my guilt.

Or would Hinev, in the vastness of the stars, also somehow know, from heaven? I often wondered when I gazed up into the heavens at night. What would he have me do? How I missed the comfort of his counsel.

Sometimes I believe guilt is the most powerful force in the universe. It weighs us down until we can do nothing but make our amends.

Orashean and Beren made my decision easier. Even at the leisure center, it was clear that they were having me watched, but for what purpose wasn't clear. Ironically, neither one had any knowledge that the other was doing the same thing, for despite Beren's stay on Tiasenne and the cooperative mission, political relations between the twin worlds had changed very little in our absence.

It was a cool, cloudy day when the scientists left to resume their duties. We began to say our farewells in the morning; by the afternoon the last had departed to return to their homes in remote cities and observatories across Tiasenne and Orian. As I waved good-bye to the last transport, I resolved that it was also time for me to return to Selesta. I could not hide forever.

And I hadn't slept in a very long time. The suspension capsule in Selesta could overcome my body's energy systems and allow my mind the rest it needed; I knew I was growing dangerously tired. There was a point when my subconscious mind could take over my conscious will if I did not rest. I did not care to explore those depths of my mind. I needed some kind of real time to rest a little.

The ship lay only a few nariars from the spaceport, glinting in the sun on the grassy hill where I had left it so many years before, by now an almost permanent feature on the horizon. As I approached, the great cargo bay and docking bay doors slid open as if I had just left to catch a breath of fresh air.

The main hold was dark and still; when I entered, lights flickered on, and innumerable rows of gleaming Valerian space fighter jets sprang to life like ghosts in the shadows brought back to life to startle the fragile reality of the waking world. In perfect orderly rows they waited frozen in time, waiting, it could have been hours, years, millennia, or just minutes.

Beyond the cargo bay and docking bay, passages and intersecting corridors wound away, leading to rooms, storage holds, and chambers of every size and function as well as elevation devices that linked the ground level to all of the one hundred and ninety-four floors of the massive spaceship, now a darkened and silent maze. I heard no sound in the still air as I headed to my chamber, located near the front center of the ship with the rest of the crews' quarters.

"I'm glad you've finally returned, Alessia," the computer ventured as soon as I entered my chamber, almost as if it really were glad to see me back, even though it was only a machine. There was no criticism in those words, I realized. A weight came away from my shoulders. Without making any mention of the mission I had abandoned, the genuine-sounding, friendly, and familiar voice had been good to hear again.

So I spent the next several hours giving the computer an account of the past nine/ nineteen years, though not because I thought it was actually interested or because I anticipated that anyone else would be able to examine my report in the future. Some traditions are binding; we—Hinev's explorers—had always recorded our activities in a report to the computer.

After finishing my report, I released a mechanism on the control panel, and a flat plane slid out from a smooth section in the wall. From above, a clear dome lowered at a forty-five degree angle so that I could lie back on the rectangular plane. The dome then closed, and the last thing I remembered hearing was the percolating sound of warm liquids and gases filling the chamber.

In that state, I remembered no dreams, only a blissful calm. I had succeeded in dreaming before once or twice, lying here, but now more than anything I wanted only peace. A time that felt like years to my exhausted body and only a few moments to my unconscious mind passed, when an unwanted outside force jolted my conscious thoughts to life. Horrifying signals of pain bombarded me from some unknown source, not yet fully reaching my mind, yet warning me of the danger that had struck someone close to me; the pleasant dream haziness dissipated as I opened the dome.

Before I could ask, the computer informed me that I had been asleep eighty-seven short Tiasennian days. But in that brief time my years-long fatigue had nearly vanished. Empathic sensations of physical pain, feelings which rarely touched me washed over me and began to do their damage. I cringed, racked by pain, almost unable to move, unable to breathe very well.

At that point, I knew that this mental assault came from a strong telepathic bond with someone.

I tried to sense the source and winced as I discovered the identity.

I braced myself against the pain, but it retreated as quickly as it had come. Then I rushed from Selesta to Inen, stopping at the security gate of the Headquarters building to identify myself to the guards, waiting impatiently as they relayed the information to Orashean. In a moment he came down and offered to escort me to the spaceport himself, calling ahead to make the necessary arrangements for a shuttle and for a message to be sent to Nayin's spaceport.

Ten hours later the shuttle touched down at Nayin on the planet Orian. An open-air transport waited to take me to Destria, one hundred and five Orian nariars east of the capital. We arrived in only twenty minutes and took another minute to taxi over to the Aiolus Medical Center, a tall purple stone building with hundreds of flexible clear metal windows.

The critical ward was on the third floor. Pacing back and forth in the lobby was Ai-derian, surrounded by his officers and aides. His hair had patches of grey, and his clear blue eyes were bright but sunken and hollow from fatigue and grief. When he saw me arrive, a relieved smile broke over his face.

"Alessia," he called, excited, surprised. "We didn't know how to reach you. Orashean said you had left the leisure center without giving us a way to contact you." He rushed forward and took my hand.

"What happened?" I began.

"There was an accident."

"Where?"

"In his laboratory, they told me. My son was in the middle of an experiment. The chemicals he was using reacted and started a fire. There was an explosion, and the roof collapsed. It took the rescue team three hours to drag Terin out of the rubble."

"He was in the explosion and survived?" I asked, remembering the pressure against my lungs. Ai-derian nodded weakly.

"Yes. He regained consciousness eleven hours ago, against all expectations. He was calling your name and asking me if you were coming." My jaw opened in surprise; a flicker of a smile passed Ai-derian's lips. "He's a stubborn one." The smile passed, and Ai-derian's face crumpled in pain. Suddenly he looked like an old man, older than his years, and oddly helpless. "The doctors are still deciding what can be done to save him. I only hope they haven't given up—they think there is no hope now."

Ai-derian shook his head and tried to blink back the tears that involuntarily squeezed out from the corners of his watery eyes. "They keep telling me he hasn't got much longer—some bones were crushed and several of his organs are damaged. They've given him two blood transfusions already, but there's just too much internal hemorrhaging. They don't think he'll survive an organ repair operation or an artificial transplant."

"How much blood has he lost?" I asked.

"Too much." Ai-derian sighed. His arms hung limply, ineffectually, at his sides. "They did what they could to stop the internal hemorrhaging—he's been drifting in and out of consciousness, and when he is awake, he's delirious. But the doctors are amazed how long he's held on. He woke up several hours after the last operation. They thought that would do it, but they came in a few minutes ago with bad news..." He faltered. "I have to go in to tell him soon that he isn't expected to make it."

"Where is he?" I asked. Ai-derian told me the room number and fixed plaintive eyes on me, content to observe my course of action. "It would make him happy to see you again—but you'd better hurry. He's been expecting you to come by for months now, and then the accident happened. Please go in. Even if he can't really hear you, I would appreciate it."

I stood for a moment outside room 305. But as I entered the room, Terin's eyes fluttered open. He recognized me; I hardly knew him at all. It took a great deal of force to block out his pain. Through it all and through a mass of equipment surrounding him, he smiled weakly at me.

But the surprise and effort to speak proved too much for him. Behind him, some machine monitors blared as his vital readings changed. The subject fell unconscious. His life signs were weak. I stood a moment longer staring down at his incognizant form, and when my hand found my cheek, I was amazed to discover a wet river of tears. And at the same time, I felt an unexpected wave of panic. Could I bear to lose him? I asked myself.

All along, I knew I could save him. I realized I had been unconsciously questioning whether or not I should ever since I left for Orian. I knew he was beyond mere telekinetic healing—with the extent of the internal damage he might not survive as I tried to arrest and reverse the bleeding. Only one way remained—perhaps the riskiest of all. But my reservations—Hinev's ancient warnings against tampering with nature—didn't seem so important now that I had seen Terin's state. It wasn't quite a split-second decision, not exactly. But that didn't keep it from making a profound impact on my life, and upon the lives of others.

When the doctor burst into the room, I tried to explain my plan to him. His expression said it all. Set up the blood transfusion device, now? I had to be crazy. I insisted, anyway, that this is precisely what we would do. The doctor's slow movements and shaking head refused to register anything but the futility of it. I insisted again, this time forcing him telekinetically to comply with what I said.

Grudgingly, the head doctor instructed me to lie down on a cot next to the patient. Instead I sat in a chair by the bed. Anyway, I knew that I needed to be awake to direct the process, the process of manipulating Hinev's serum that ran through my veins. I was afraid the healing power of the serum might not take effect otherwise.

But did Hinev's immortality serum which ran through my veins still have the power to heal after all this time? I asked myself. For Terin was to be the first serum test subject in more than fifty thousand years.

When the clear tube colored dark blue, I closed my eyes to concentrate hard on the atoms, molecules, organelles, cells, and the metabolic reactions in the patient's skin, blood vessels, and bones. Standing above me, I sensed the doctor watched skeptically as my blood slowly dripped into Terin's arm.

Then I felt a part of my collective sentience pass forever outside my body. The sensation was accompanied by rising panic within me. My body and mind were in agony at the possibility of the permanent loss of a part of my sentient self—as though a part of me were truly dying and all the while the rest of me was conscious of it happening.

But this feeling was an illusion, of course, or so I told myself, for Hinev's immortality serum had immortalized my body and protected me.

Despite the horror of my recent experience, by will alone I was able to force the blood cells from my body to resist reabsorption into my system, to flow against the attractive forces compelling them to return to me and instead flow into the patient's arm.

Forcefully detaching these cells from my entire entity, I felt part of my collective being and life energy diffuse into the ambassador's son and begin to re-organize and restructure the damaged areas. The bones were soon rebonding, the arteries reforming, and the burned skin, torn muscles, ligaments, and tendons were healing and reattaching themselves to the bone and to each other.

The burst organs sucked in ejected matter and healed. Every hole and skin puncture filled in as if it had never existed. I had no doubt: the patient was going to _live_.

I pulled out the tube; immediately Terin's skin closed in, rippling, then solidly smooth.

I heard the doctor step back in horror.

Meanwhile, I felt myself losing complete contact with a part of my body, the cells that I had surrendered recognized their isolation and began to fight their confinement, rushing to the bloodstream of their host only to find that they had been tricked into sealing themselves within him. In a minute they would cease to fight and establish themselves in the various tissues of their host, eager for the unexpected challenge of metamorphosing another being. But did it have to go that far? I wondered. Couldn't the serum heal him without initiating a full metamorphosis?

I watched for a moment until Terin's heartbeat stabilized. The doctor still stood staring, mute, mouth agape. During the next few minutes I waited for the inevitable convulsions when Terin's immune system would fight the invading alien plasma.

A moment later, sweat formed along his forehead, and in his sleep he clenched his teeth. It would be better for him to sleep as long as possible. If he awoke the agony of the metamorphosis would be unbearable.

Terin remained in the hospital for a tenday, a longer period of time on Orian than a tenday on Tiasenne. When he woke two days later, he was still too weak to stand. Ai-derian and I decided to split the visiting hours. At the invitation of Ambassador Ai-derian, I stayed in the barracks normally reserved for military officers.

I had always respected Terin and his right to private thoughts. It seemed I still had a conscience, and it wouldn't permit me to violate Terin's mind. Yet on my visits to the hospital, I felt sure that I could discern a barrier that shut off his mind from me, so that I couldn't probe him even if I wanted to try. The first three days, while unable to speak, he passed me several scribbled notes, insisting that I detail everything about the operation.

He listened intently while I described the transfusion, not at all nervous, only placidly fascinated. He was also very keen to hear about our recent expedition. The doctor had insisted that he wasn't to speak while he was recuperating, but Terin whispered questions, anyway.

In the end, the hospital released its patient ten hours earlier than the doctors had originally planned. I received a message on the eighth day from Ai-derian not to go to the hospital but that his son wanted me to meet him in the Orian Science Research and Development building in three hours. When I arrived at the OSRD, I discovered that he was waiting for me in the biochemical department laboratory, so I let the guard lead me to the room where the young biochemists at Destria worked after completing their training.

Between men and women there is no friendship possible. There is passion, enmity, worship, love, but no friendship.

—Oscar Wilde
Chapter Eleven

The door opened a crack with an annoying creak. Well, so much for surprising him, I thought. Terin was standing behind an experiment table mixing chemicals of blue and green liquids, but it seemed he hadn't seen me. To shield his eyes he wore navy goggles that mismatched his maroon and grey uniform.

I tiptoed in, but he had sensed my presence and looked directly towards the door. Smiling easily, he pulled off his goggles after carefully laying the chemicals on the table. I would not have recognized him, I thought, as he crossed the floor.

"You tried to do that when I was a child." He admonished, laughing, and swept me into a great bear hug.

He was a head taller than me now, as handsome as his father with his bright, intelligent eyes, but I imagined there to be also something of his mother in him. I could smell his masculine scent in that embrace, and feel the warmth of his body.

"Has it been almost twenty years since I used to beg you to tell me stories?" he reminisced, stepping back.

"It's only been ten years for me."

"Yes, that is true. Well, you don't seem to have changed very much." He observed pleasantly.

"So what were you doing?"

"Oh. Well, why don't you come over and see my experiment for yourself," he said, already ushering me to the lab table.

"It's interesting, Terin." I said, looking up from the microscanner a moment later. "Actually, your father has told me a lot about your biological and chemical experiments. He's quite proud of your work."

"Alessia, interesting? Glad to hear your opinion." He said cheerfully. "But I should tell you—it's been sweet so far to hear you call me 'Terin', but no one calls me by that nickname anymore." He added. "I've been using my given name since I came to be trained years ago."

"Sargon, then?" I said in surprise. "The last time I saw you, you said you didn't like your name."

"Well, I like it now." He shrugged.

"It's certainly more distinguished." I offered, then another thought distracted me. That name—where had it come from? I wondered. For I had heard it many times throughout our history, even on the planet Kiel3 when we lived there.

"I guess a lot of things have changed since I left." I said.

He nodded judiciously.

"Alessia, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am to you for saving my life." He said, suddenly serious. "So I'll just say thank you and leave it at that. I'm afraid I have no gift for pleasantries, but I always sincerely mean what I say—"

"Yes, I know, I know. Do you remember what happened to cause the accident?" I ventured, hoping to distract him from offering any more unnecessary gratitude.

"Not really. I was mixing some routine but volatile chemicals in my laboratory. The next thing I remember was the roof falling down on top of me." He tossed his head lightly. "Doctor Minden tells me I was lucky I had gone over to check one of the monitors, or else I wouldn't have survived. I don't recall much else, but I visited the lab this morning while the repairs were going on. I got to see some of the stills taken just after the accident.

He stared hard at me. "You'd better be careful or someone out there is going to mistake you for a trainee. Wear a badge. Honestly, you don't look your age!" He observed, seeming to surprise himself as he said it.

"Speaking of which, you haven't told me anything about your training." I said, trying to change the topic of conversation.

"That's because you were never around." He laughed.

Over the next few hours he recounted the events of his life beginning on the day that he left for Orian. For the first time we spoke as equals, and I remembered what it was like to anticipate the ending of a story I could not absorb telepathically in seconds.

Sargon explained how he had been forced to leave Tiasenne and how he had feared never seeing me again. He had never understood why he had to leave before I returned from Orian. Apparently, the first years of training had been tough, and his father had only been able to visit a few times a year.

After a while, it had become easier to make friends, but most of them had withdrawn from training, which became more difficult with each passing year. The rest he no longer kept in touch with except for the occasional message; most of them had moved to different science stations across Orian after graduation.

Sargon had finished his training with the highest evaluation of his year and had been offered a position on the staff of the prestigious OSRD building. A week ago, Ambassador Ai-derian had told me that his son had since become the Orians' new star biochemical research scientist and that he'd been the honored guest at several conventions held each year in Nayin.

"I heard about the return of Baidarka from my father a few weeks before we received the reports." He told me, returning to the present. "But I was beginning to think you would never come to see me. You almost lost the chance, you know."

"I know." I admitted. "I'm sorry."

"Doesn't matter." He said, dismissing it. "Water under the bridge now, right? Besides, the anticipation was good for me, and you've more than made up for a little tardiness. Well, a lot, if you want to get technical."

"A lot of what—tardiness or compensation?"

"Both," he laughed, but not for long. "But I was talking about the promise you made the last time I saw you."

"I came back." I insisted. "You weren't there anymore."

"You're impossible." He shook his head.

"I'm surprised you remember, though," I observed.

"The day you left us?" He shrugged. "I'll never forget it. All of the officers and politicians were crowding around, and the festivities—I remember all those windbags were wasting your time and keeping you busy. Glad I'll never be as helpless again as I was back then," he added after a brief pause. "It's awful to be powerless."

"Say, are you hungry?" I asked.

He stopped, visibly considering his answer. It should not have been such a difficult question.

"There won't be many people around right now, and we can at least sit down and catch up," I suggested, and he nodded.

The olenfruit juice was too tart and the urbin stew was bland, but the afternoon passed quickly as we sat and talked in the dining hall for over half a sleep period. Sleep period times as used by the civilians were not so influential in the OSRD because people worked shifts at different hours night and day; there was always someone coming or going. After a while, Sargon decided to take me to the botanical gardens where he kept several of his experimental biological specimen hybrids.

"I visited your agricultural dome several times as part of my training. It's very impressive," he said as I sat down on a chair beside one of the hanging vines.

"Thanks."

"Not at all. It's good work. We studied a lot of the principles and techniques you gave the OSRD to construct the dome, too. In fact, I used some of them to build these gardens," he added, and for the first time I ran my eyes over the hanging plants, tall plant rows, and the medicinal flowers, all enclosed within a sealed translucent and curved outside wall covered intermittently by solar panels and reflectors.

"I heard a rumor that you saved my uncle and the Tiasennian Ambassador's life back then." He stopped and came to sit down beside me. "You never told me you were telekinetic."

"You never asked."

"I'm asking now."

"You're a scientist. You know it's impossible." I said evasively.

"That's your answer?"

"No." I don't want to talk about it.

"All right, so tell me later." He said, as though reading my mind.

"I'll be heading back soon."

"To Selesta?" He asked quickly.

"Yes."

"Hey, I'm still waiting for a tour. Or have you forgotten that promise, too?"

"What?"

"Remember when you said you'd take me there? Don't think I've given up on that."

"Of course not." I laughed. "You don't give up on anything, do you?"

"Not if it's something I really want." He shrugged. "So what are the rest of your friends like, the ones you used to talk about—is that where you went after you returned? Did you go back to your ship? Are they still there? Why didn't they ever leave?"

I stood staring at him. The silence stretched.

I knew I should be thankful that I at least had survived the anti-serum virus, but I could still hear the screams, the panic and despair of immortal creatures suddenly faced with a terrible death...

When Hinev's explorers died, the history of the universe, all that had been across a million civilizations, had died with them.

Sargon put a hand on my shoulder. "Are you all right?" He asked in ingenuous concern; I could swear I heard his heartbeat quickening.

How had he caught on so quickly on what I was feeling? Yet of course I knew how. I had only hoped that such a small amount of blood in the transfusion wouldn't be enough to change him. But Hinev's serum ran through my veins.

And now through his.

"Don't worry," I shrugged his hand off. "It's nothing. I wish I could say there was a celebration back on my ship, but I came alone on this mission."

"But... your friends, whoever they are or were—they meant a great deal to you." He observed.

"They did and always will." I said. "But they and all of our dreams are gone now."

"But our dreams don't have to die." Sargon argued, with a note of irritation in his voice and a definite urgency to negate my negativity. "Dreams are what we live for, what we hold on to beyond hope, if we ever expect to rise above our surroundings." He glanced out the observation window at the barren rock plain that led towards Nayin. A small civilian community had grown up around the military city of Destria, and their low dwellings filled the foreground.

"You can't forget them." He advised. "Most people out there spend their time worrying over the most trivial things. I often wonder why. But that's what happens when you let yourself forget where you're going." He coughed self-consciously as he realized he had taken a harder viewpoint than he intended. Then he extended a hand towards me.

"Well, why don't we go for another walk? The air in here is almost unbreathable with all the plants. And you've still got to see the rest of the building." He laughed, trying to be light-hearted again, imitating one of the aides that gave the politicians tours of the OSRD building. "Modern wonders are on display for your eyes only, but do take care." He said in a high-pitched way that mocked the center guides. "Lots of things are going on around here. You never know what might happen."

* * * * *

I postponed my return to Tiasenne. A month later, Sargon and I were invited to and attended a science convention held in Destria's Grand Amphitheatre. Even among his older contemporaries, Sargon had already earned respect for his work and found his advice in constant demand. I tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible behind one of the tables, hoping that no one would recognize me in an Orian uniform.

A few of the politicians and scientists knew who I was. One geneticist doing research in the processes of human aging and anti-aging for Beren in particular began an aggressive campaign for my attention, even after I had made it clear that I would not answer any more of his questions. From across the room Sargon saw what was going on.

A moment later, he dismissed himself from a conversation and approached the offensive man from behind, tapping him on the shoulder and whispering a private message in his ear that brought a flush to the man's cheeks. Stuttering an apology, the man quickly departed.

"What did you say to him?" I whispered, mildly embarrassed as I drew near him.

"Nothing I could repeat." He admitted unapologetically, then smiled and laughed at my expression.

* * * * *

A few days later, I decided to leave Orian. Beren had learned of my close friendship with his nephew and thought to use this attachment for his own ends. Beren had thus devised a plan to persuade me to join sides with Orian and orchestrate a colonization attempt, using Selesta as the major civilian transport vessel.

I decided to thwart Beren's secret plan by leaving Orian immediately. I didn't tell Sargon about this decision at first nor why I was going. Why I couldn't tell him I wasn't sure. I believe I was afraid he would persuade me to stay, or that by the time I found him, it would be too late to escape Orian and Beren would have already had me brought to the Aiolan Central Command to try and coerce me into joining his side.

However, Sargon arrived at my temporary quarters in the midst of my packing and knew at once what I was doing. For a long, awkward moment, he eyed me carefully, his face a blank in thoughtful calculation.

"What are you doing?" He demanded. Gradually it dawned on me that he had no intention of leaving me alone. He knew, though I hadn't said it, that I was leaving and I wasn't coming back. Of course, he couldn't physically stop me from going, so he didn't try, but it was clear he wasn't going to let me go anywhere without him.

"I'm leaving Orian," I returned. I felt abruptly guilty about abandoning him without an explanation. Without a word, he watched me nervously finish my packing. All the while, his eyes were cold, and his posture seemed strained.

I didn't know what to do. The tension between us was unbearable.

"Are you still interested in taking a tour of Selesta?" I asked suddenly. The cold look in his eyes vanished into oblivion. My question subtly indicated that I was asking him to come with me.

"I'm ready to go, too," he said, though he carried nothing at all with him. After a moment, I wasn't sure why I had invited him back to Tiasenne with me. I told myself I wanted to keep an eye on him, to monitor his continuing recovery.

In minutes Sargon had contacted the OSRD's resource manager from the communications center in my quarters and asked for some time on leave. I watched him throughout the conversation, struck by how complete the change was in him from a moment before. There was nothing in his voice but light-hearted enthusiasm, and excitement showed in his eyes, and in his every gesture.

After he had procured time on leave, I managed to persuade a freighter carrying minerals from Nayin to Inen to transport us along with the other goods in the cargo bay. Then we left my quarters together and headed to the OSRD transport center. Ai-derian had gone back to Tiasenne, and so we had no one to whom we might wish any good-byes; our departure from Destria was unceremonious, and it hardly seemed as if I were leaving Orian for good. We set off that afternoon for Nayin in a ground conveyance, leaving the sparkling buildings of Destria behind as we passed over a hill and into unknown territories.

* * * * *

The freighter landed on Inen's northeastern spaceport only a few nariars from Selesta. Unnoticed, Sargon and I slipped away from the area and out onto the flat plain around the airfield.

"I haven't been back to Tiasenne since the day I left for training," he said once we were beyond the hearing of the men who came to unload the cargo. "It's just as beautiful here as I remember. This was the spaceport you left from, wasn't it?" He asked, giddy a little still at what was happening, and gesturing to the airfield behind us.

"Probably." I agreed. "Unless Orashean cleared funds for a new one."

"I thought I recognized it." He laughed in sheer delight.

As we descended from the plain into a small valley, the city of Inen appeared sprawling on our left while the beginnings of long, low-lying hills rose unevenly on our right. Directly in front of us and just outside the city, my ship stretched over the horizon.

Sargon caught his breath, and I realized that he had never seen Selesta so close before. We had arrived on Tiasenne just as dawn tipped over the distant eastern mountains; by the time we reached the ship, the sun had climbed high into the sky.

Neither of us said much on the way. But the light breeze seemed to whisper warnings in the only language I could not understand, warnings I ignored.

"Wow!" Sargon whistled as we approached Selesta. "This is the most amazing thing I've ever seen—what an enormous ship!"

The main airlock at the ground level snapped open as we drew near the spaceship Selesta. The first closed compartment depressurized, decontaminated, and altered the atmosphere we had brought in to match that already present in the ship. After only a few seconds, the inner air lock door ahead opened—which was unsurprising, since the atmosphere in the ship was also from Tiasenne.

The day I had arrived, the computer had preserved only a few compartments that required specific atmospheric conditions. A few other rooms contained spatial particles, adjoining airlocks which had been exposed to space and sealed for experimental reasons on the explorer missions. Others I had sealed myself.

The corridor was dim ahead, but blinding light flooded it as we stepped inside.

"Here we go." Sargon laughed as we stepped into the Selesta.

We walked around for a few minutes, Sargon's eyes round as moons at everything he saw.

Then, at the intersection leading to the Valerian space fighters—

* * * * *

At that moment another loud rumble shook the sky.

Alessia stopped abruptly. Several hours had passed since she began her story. The light outside had faded, and the lights inside waned in synchrony with the outside world.

"Come with me," she finally said, and Eiron stood, shaking his head. Her lyrical voice had mesmerized him. She took his arm and led him over to the space on the wall where the doorway had appeared each day, the one through which he had so far been unable to pass.

The wall melted away into a dark aperture, but this time he was able to follow her through it. They walked for only a few minutes when they reached a metallic wall; the halls of dark sandstone were lit faintly by the barely-there, cold, pale, and flickering light that surrounded her and made her seem like a ghost.

The metallic wall snapped in half and retreated into the sandstone, and out of the blackness a small chamber appeared. After Eiron entered, the metallic door behind him snapped together like a shutter.

A strange, sharp, creaking sound soon broke off into silence. He could swear that they were descending rapidly, but he felt no movement to indicate that they were in an elevation device.

Alessia invited him to sit on the floor beside her. A soft light came on, and Alessia's face appeared.

He decided that he liked her, despite his earlier suspicions of her. He found it was an easier thing to do, now that she was trusting him with so much information about her life.

"That all really happened?" He said. "It's a true story?"

"Yes. If subsequent events had been under my control, I would have arranged for a happy ending to this story, but—"

"Then why do you hide away here?" He asked, a crease forming between his brows. "I wouldn't think the outside world could harm you. If you decided to cut yourself off from us—then why did you save my life? You said you needed a favor. But what could I do for you? Wouldn't this friend of yours, this Sargon, be better able to help? Or—I guess he's dead now." He amended, doing the sum of years in his head from his own knowledge of the Baidarka mission.

Eiron waited for an answer, but Alessia only shook her head.

"I told you before that you remind me of someone I once knew and trusted. But he's gone now, so I can only rely upon what visitors as God sends me. That's why, well, at first I never intended to bring you down here, so you would know nothing of me, so that you might return to the world and to your previous life unchanged. What I know, even knowing about me, could endanger your life, Eiron. But I thought I would just dull the memories in your mind, for your protection." She paused.

"What changed your mind then?" he asked.

"You did. You reminded me so much of the man I knew and trusted that I wondered if perhaps you could help me since he no longer can. I have so few chances to rectify the damage I caused here, and I can't leave before I restore the peace between your worlds. I owe it to both planets, and for the sake of the man who raised me, to fulfill a promise to him, for these worlds were his lost colony, his life's mission to preserve our race. It's true that being here has delayed the journey I should have made before coming to Rigell. But I feel responsible for bringing an evil upon you, perhaps even more dangerous to your world than the Seynorynaelian Empire ever was."

The Seynorynaelian Empire? Eiron thought, uncertain what she meant by that. "What kind of evil?" he asked tentatively.

"Eiron, in all my years, I never found a better man than this boy Terin, this man Sargon, and I made a monster out of him, a dangerous monster."

"You what?"

"I destroyed his soul. I knew what I was doing, but I wanted to change his fate, all because I didn't want to be alone anymore, maybe even because I wanted to defy Fate and all it has done to me. Because I was tired and tired of living alone, I did something I never should have done. I made an evil God out of this man, and nothing, not even my power, can undo it now. It is too late to save him."

Eiron was silent, and after a moment, she took him back with her, back to the memories of another life.

Adieu, brave Crillon, je vous aime a tort et a travers. Good-bye, my brave Crillon, I love you to distraction.

—Henry IV of France
Chapter Twelve

Sargon was interested in seeing every part of the ship, from the smallest botanical gardens to the specimens housed on the lowest levels, but I wasn't sure how I felt about having him here.

Perhaps I felt numb, compliant. The longer I lived, the more it seemed things spiralled beyond my control, and I no longer desired to be in control of others. It was sometimes a struggle to hold on to any sense of urgency.

"Tell me all about this place, everything." Sargon said as we left the lower levels for the central engine room.

As we threaded our way to the central engine room, located in the heart of the ship, I shook my head with a sheepish laugh. "There's more to tell than I could possibly relate to you in one afternoon, Sargon. I can try some time. Not today."

I felt content to re-explore the ship through Sargon's eyes, especially as we toured the command center and surrounding crew's quarters. Many of the rooms there were larger and more elaborate than mine. Most had never been occupied, since our small crew had been but a fraction of the grand number initially anticipated in the engineering plans.

It didn't matter. Sargon was interested in exploring them all, almost more interested than he had been to see the engine and defense weapon rooms. It was clear that he was fascinated by everything that he saw.

Our steps echoed unpleasantly in the deserted chambers of former occupants; unconcerned, Sargon glanced at journals and books of still images full of smiling people, Derstan's collections, Kellar's stills from the days of explorer training back in Ariyalsynai before I had known him or the other explorers. To me the atmosphere felt chilled, haunted, as if any minute the shadows of former occupants would appear and object to our invasion.

"You must have shared some great times, you and your friends you told me about." He said with a smile. "They look like the Orian people," he noticed.

"Very much." I admitted.

"You look like an Orian girl," he said with an embarrassed smile.

"I suppose!" I laughed, equally embarrassed by this statement for no reason.

As I watched Sargon wander through the rooms, I saw it in his eyes, the search for some secret in their faces that would explain to him what life was all about, but he would not find the answers there. Yet as he wandered and searched, it seemed he recognized with more than a little regret something that the universe as a collective whole had lost when our civilization ended.

"You know I think the world of all this!" he said again. "I can't tell you how often I have thought about you in the last twenty years, and dreamed of this place."

If he felt anything disturbing about the atmosphere, he said nothing about it. It was harder for me to keep my composure. In every room, the objects and personal effects had been placed with such care that it was like observing a slice of time that had been frozen forever, and the lingering presence of the dead was still perceptible because only a moment ago they had put aside that journal. Journals such as Lierva's.

Lierva—Lierva had been composing an entry on that day when the anti-serum spread like a plague down the corridors; her words ended abruptly on the printvolume, her thoughts unfinished. I could only imagine how she had heard the message from Kiel, gotten up to investigate—

And then she had laid down and died quietly in the corridor, alone amidst the vapors, succumbing to a dreadful paralysis, her thoughts still searching for Celekar and for the rest of us.

I hadn't returned to this section of the ship since that day.

Now, at last I was facing the ghosts that haunted me.

But Sargon was really happy to be here.

By the time we reached the forward observation deck Undina above the command center, the sun had long since set. I was relieved to leave the crew quarters behind, to leave those memories behind, and all the pain that went with them. The observation deck gave us a chance to admire the twinkling stars in the night sky above and before us, though all around metal led away like a flat, calm lake.

The night was tranquil silence, but Sargon broke it with questions.

"Alessia, how many star systems have you really seen?" He asked. "What are other planetary systems like out there?"

"Well, there are too many to describe, and all different."

"How did you survive so many long journeys?" he wondered all of a sudden.

He guessed that my people must have achieved some means of suspended animation and life span extension for me to have survived the trip to Tiasenne and Orian and to appear unaged after an eight year voyage to Dynarean and its neighboring systems.

"Were you somehow able to extend human life artificially, your people?" He asked.

"Yes, in a way." I replied.

Though I had already given him a reasonable explanation of our method of surviving the long voyages by describing our ship's tachiyon engine and the cosmic hole-creating string engine which we had harnessed to tear centipede passages in space-time, he had still guessed at more of the truth. Space travelers on board Selesta could return only a few brief years after their departure, relatively unaged, through the cosmic holes. However, our explorers had been biochemically altered to survive long space voyages.

Sargon had really enjoyed examining the blueprints and numerous schematics stored in the computer's memory while we were in the engine room.

He was young and ambitious, I began to see, and I was wondering what would happen if he knew about my mission and that I would someday have to leave to fulfill it. I never mentioned anything about my mission that night. But I did tell him several stories about the star systems and galaxies we had charted.

"Wow, I think it would be amazing to be able to go anywhere I wanted in the universe." Sargon said. He seemed entranced by power.

"Hmmm." I sighed, realizing that I had been feeding his idealistic view of the exploration of the universe, a view that ignored the hardship and the pain that all explorers encounter when they sacrifice personal comforts to be a part of discovery.

"It would be wonderful to explore the galaxies and go somewhere where it is always beautiful," he said. "I'd give anything to leave our worlds and all of their petty problems behind and find a better world to live on."

But would he want to go to Kiel3 with me? I wondered. That journey would not be a leisurely stroll exploring the universe. It was a race against time, and I had already wasted enough of that. Yet what was a decade, a century even, to an empire that had already lasted more than fifty thousand years?

"As great as our need to explore the unknown is, to dream about what lies beyond our reach in the wide universe and to strive to discover these unknowns, in the end, we were left with a longing and regret for home."

Hinev's words still haunt me, I thought, remembering his hollow voice as he spoke to me from the Celestian settlement just days before we received radio communications from him in his escape from Seynorynael. A man who had been like a father to me and certainly a mentor. No matter how I tried, I couldn't seem to forget that last time I had seen him.

I had ceased talking exclusively to Sargon, but he had no way of knowing it. All those years ago, Hinev had been right.

"I'm sorry," I said, softly.

"For what?"

"I am being so negative all of a sudden."

In any case, Sargon didn't seem bothered by my comments. With his knees pulled to his chest and his head resting on his folded arms, he sat deep in thought for a while, his eyes and face distant.

"Would you like a place to rest? There are plenty of spare rooms in the crews' quarters." I enquired after some time had passed. Sargon unfurled his long legs and stood up, leaning against the wall as his gaze wandered around. Finally, he turned back to me.

"No, actually, I'm not the least bit tired." There was an odd note in the way he phrased it.

"But it's getting late."

He shrugged, sporting a mischievous smile. "Nah, I've had too much energy since I was released from the hospital to sleep." He paused a moment, considering, and stroked his chin. At once I noticed something different about him. And I knew it could not be my imagination. The outline of his form had begun to glow, faint and ghostlike in the dark.

"And did you know that all of my scars have disappeared since the accident?"

"They have?" I said, knowing why all the while.

"Yes. Hard to believe, isn't it? Creator above, I was so afraid that I was going to die that day. I felt my mind drifting, drifting somewhere I didn't recognize. I was floating, the world was like a pit beneath me, and I was up somewhere, airy—observing. But all the time I was watching everything in horror!"

"Horror?"

"Because I wasn't sure what was happening, what was about to happen when you stopped it."

"When you got the last blood transfusion—from me."

"Yes." He agreed enthusiastically. "You know, I sometimes used to wonder if death is the end of everything. That there's just nothing, nothing beyond it, and no feeling, no thought. Then I used to convince myself otherwise that God has a paradise waiting for us, until the doubts would resurface later, stronger... but now I find I've stopped worrying about it at all. Not as though I got a temporary reprieve. I mean I've stopped worrying altogether. Oh, I can't even describe the feeling. It's strange, free, intoxicating. Don't just sit there," he laughed, with an unusual electricity in his voice. Suddenly, he reached out and took my hand, pulling me roughly to my feet.

The velvet, star-studded sky surrounded us both from above and below, where the light reflected in the surface of Selesta.

"Just look at that! How can the people of Inen give this up?" He wondered in a forceful tone, meaning the view, undimmed by the haze of city lights.

"They have to work in the city?" I offered.

"I worked in Destria, but you can still see the stars at night there."

"Some people find the stars disturbing." I said. "Contemplating infinity makes them feel small."

He laughed, delighted. "You have an answer for everything, don't you?"

"I have been accused of that before."

"Really? Then answer me this: why did you save my life?" His eyes narrowed patiently.

"Why?"

"Something tells me that your sacrifice is more costly for you than you let me believe."

As he waited, I had the disturbing sensation that he was hoping for a particular answer.

I was immediately conscious of his every movement, and I heard his slow, steady breathing as a loud noise that filled the still silence. He was exceptionally masculine, and undeniably attractive, radiating an intense sexuality I no longer thought I had any natural response to.

"I couldn't turn my back on an old friend, now could I?" I said, but in a stilted way. In my own ears my explanation sounded uncertain. I didn't know what I was doing! I wanted to say. Why had I risked the metamorphosis, the metamorphosis so dangerous that only thirty-three explorer candidates had ever survived with their memories intact?

Because he would have died without it. And I loved him so much I didn't want him to die.

Yet was that the only reason?

But I didn't love him as a man, did I? As I looked at him, I kept seeing Kiel's face watching me from the surface of Selesta. The way that shadowy image of Kiel was looking at me sent a shudder of horror through me.

Sargon put his hand on my arm. It was as bright as my own, and I recoiled. He read the shock in my eyes but didn't know that I had been anticipating this, or some other sign of cellular transformation.

"I meant to ask you about this," he stated calmly, lifting his radiant hand and bringing it before his face with a quick wave of fingers. "Something unusual has happened to me since the accident, and you can't deny it. And it's obvious what, I should say who caused it." His confident expression said that he had guessed the truth, or some of it.

And I knew I could no longer hide the truth from him, the way Hinev had tried to hide it from me.

"You're right, of course." I admitted. "And I should never have treated the matter lightly." I shrugged. "I had hoped that such a small exposure of my blood in your system wouldn't be enough to instigate a complete physical metamorphosis, that it might only heal your wounds and strengthen you."

"A metamorphosis?" He echoed in keen interest. "What do you mean, 'a metamorphosis'?"

I nodded soberly. "The weakness you were experiencing in the post transfusion hours happened to us all after Hinev gave us the serum." I shuddered involuntarily with the recollection. "The cells in my blood were altered by that serum, and in turn transformed your body's cells. But the physical pain you felt was the last you will ever experience that lasts beyond a brief moment, unless you allow yourself to sense the pain of others around you."

"How?" He managed, hardly daring to believe me.

"Our blood cells replenish themselves and the cells in the body in a process of preservation and perfect replication." I explained. "Bodily damage, like pain, is only temporary."

"So this serum heals you?" He asked.

"Not exactly. The serum-altered cells induce chemicals that stimulate physical abilities unknown to your world."

"Like perfect cell replication."

"Yes."

"Imperfect cell replication is what causes aging." He said, now coldly logical.

"Mostly."

"What about the other things?" He wondered, thinking further. "The telekinesis, the telepathy?"

I hadn't told him about the telepathy, but of course he knew. He may not have made a mind-link yet, but he'd been in the invisible traffic jam of human thoughts back at Destria, enough to pick up on a random few without even trying. He was trying to read my mind now, I supposed, but couldn't.

He laughed suddenly. "Yes, I was trying to read your mind!"

My mouth opened in surprise.

"Tell me more, Alessia. Tell me what is happening to me!" He cried in delight.

"Well," I said seriously, "Hinev's serum opens the untapped regions in the brain and in the individual cells and DNA sequences, dormant regions in the brain and in the cells of ordinary humans. These dormant regions in the brain and in cell organelles specialize on things like the control of matter and the ability to electromagnetically shield our bodies against the invasion of hostile alien chemical particles as well as biologically active viruses. The awakening of these dormant organelles makes it possible for us to absorb atomic and subatomic particles. You see, the serum awakens the dormant lyrachloroplasts in our Seynorynaelian blood, allowing us to extract energy from light and atomic particles themselves." I paused.

"This is what I wanted to know." He said, smiling. "So, my people are like yours, and now I am like you." He was so excited.

"In a manner, I suppose so, but there are innumerable other effects. And you won't notice them until an extreme necessity arises. Your body will find different ways to extract and metabolize energy, so you'd better keep your mind, I should say your will alert, or you might not like some of your body's ideas about how to survive."

He ignored the warning. "How does the telekinesis work?" Apparently, he hadn't mastered it yet.

"The awakening links your entire body telepathically under your control, down to the smallest atomic particle, down to the sub-atomic strings you are made of." I explained. "Everything, each particle, has its own awareness, but in living systems these are intractably bound together. Like protons and neutrons, they almost have a will to remain together, and through them you can influence—control if you will—any external atom or molecule by charging them with temporary cooperative semi-sentient waves."

"That's how you saved my uncle's life." He guessed.

"Yes."

"So, you're saying that after you got this serum, it woke up every cell and particle in your body, and they decided it wasn't bad to stick together?"

"I guess so." I admitted, but it sounded incredible the way he put it.

"So, if I were to try to get rid of something—I don't know, like an arm—"

"You couldn't." I shook my head, dismissing the grisly image. "Your cells are even aware of their formation, the position they naturally occupy within you. They will remain intact or coalesce and reform identically if destroyed or separated, unless instructed otherwise by your will." I continued, remembering what had happened to Lierva, one of my explorer companions, who had been shot down in her space fighter and returned from "dead". "Even then, your will doesn't last long."

"I don't know. You're putting a whole lot of faith in these cells' sentience." He said.

"Not faith." I said evenly. "I've seen it. Besides, it isn't inconceivable. Even in ordinary humanoids, cells somehow "know" to maintain themselves and perform their function in the body. They grow in an organized fashion when extracted, showing limited self-control. Even though they're controlled in the body by an involuntary part of the brain."

"But that part isn't part of consciousness." He objected. "You're acting as though involuntary brain cells can have identities."

"The brain is where feelings, thoughts, and the memories that characterize us originate." I retorted.

"All right," he conceded. "You were talking about using will against them. That sounded interesting."

"I only meant that you can regulate their activities as well as force them to break habit and reform. Disguise yourself atomically, so to speak, though only for as long as your will is strong. You can do this precisely because you can communicate with these cells."

Sargon's eyes flickered with doubt, but I continued. "Can't you feel it? It's there, if you reach for it, that complete awareness you can sense at all times, though it does become unnoticeable after a while."

"Yes, and part of you is inside me now, too." He said.

I blushed.

"So, I could make myself look like someone—or something—else." He changed the subject.

"It isn't as easy as it sounds, but yes."

"How?"

"By altering the frequency of the string vibrations. Moving muscles, tissues, also, telekinetically."

"That's impossible." He blustered, catching his breath.

"Strange, yes, but not impossible." I assured him. "Still, with most modifications you feel the desire to return to your normal structure right away. At other times, your body modifies for you, an instantaneous reaction that the system performs in order to regulate proper functioning or for protection."

"You mean if, say, you were to be attacked, it might try to confuse your assailant. Like camouflage."

"I suppose it might. But more often, I mean it protects you against environmental changes. Different planetary pressures and temperatures, things like that."

"The perfect survival machine." He concluded.

I flinched, remembering another machine that had survived across the ages. Marankeil... I was supposed to destroy you. What can I do now, to stop your evil reign?

"So why is my arm glowing?" Sargon demanded, with an almost perverse laugh.

"Well, the process of aging halts as a result of the automatic repair system and the chemical balance that it affects." I began.

"Explain that more."

"Our bodies still have to store energy, and in its most efficient atomic and subatomic forms. When we use the energy to serve our will or when the energy is evoked to preserve our organism, light and a particle wind are produced, increasing universal entropy. But we can restrict this light to the infrared range, invisible to human eyes, if we limit activity to a minimum."

"Is that why saving my uncle ruined your disguise?"

"Yes, exactly. Telekinesis is difficult enough, but the rod was extremely heavy, and I didn't have time to check my energy output." I admitted. "But it isn't a disguise. You'll find out. Hinev's serum has its own pure form within you, but you are still a human being. It's a strange phenomenon, actually."

"But you always have an aura of light about you. Can't you get rid of it?" He wondered.

I laughed. "You'd have one too, if you'd ever lived on Seynorynael. And no I can't. I have it because gray humanoids can reflect deadly gamma and x-ray radiation. That's why Seynorynaelians have developed their gray color—your people included." I added.

"Rigell doesn't produce that much gamma radiation." He insisted, not seeing what I had implied. That this was exactly why his people had to have come from another world.

"Who developed this serum, again?" Sargon wondered.

"He was a biochemist like you, a man called Hinev." I said.

"So, if he wasn't worried about the radiation, then why—"

"Did he come up with the serum?" I asked. "He was, though. We may have thwarted nature with the organs in our skin, but no adaptation is perfect."

"You mean your people were still dying from the radiation?" He guessed.

I nodded. "Yes, they were. But the serum finally protected our bodies, just a few of us, from decaying from radiation exposure. In the same way, it worked internally, protecting us from exposure to oxygen radicals. You see, radiation became our friend, not our enemy. We could use the radiation by collecting particles as an unlimited energy source."

"Oxygen radicals. They also contribute to aging." Sargon said.

"It's true, oxygen corrodes the lungs and the cells that depend upon it, and breathing is essential to speech. So it's a good thing the serum protected us from mutation, or else we would have to rely solely on telepathy."

"Because you wouldn't want to risk letting oxygen into the system." He surmised.

"Exactly."

"It's a wonder your cells don't decide to dissolve you into a sentient mass of energy," he joked. "It would be much easier for them."

I wasn't laughing.

"You might wonder why yours don't dissolve you, either." I reminded him. That kept him quiet. "But there is something that prevents that." I said. "Human beings need society as much as they need to breathe. And human physicality allows us to survive among humans. Besides, our will is who we are and, fortunately, keeps us from dissolving into amorphous energy."

He agreed. "And you said the cells replicate perfectly. Meaning that they would preserve your body the way it was. That would keep it from dissolving into energy."

"There is that, too." I agreed. "The cells may have a will, but they aren't original. They're trying to maintain our bodies so that we will never change—or degenerate I should say, since we can incorporate new information and experiences."

"But in essence, you're saying that now I can't die." Sargon said, his eyebrows furrowing skeptically, though from his expression I guessed he had suspected this might be true for a while.

"Well, it may be possible, but—no, you survived the metamorphosis. You are immortal." I said. "You can't die unless you set about trying to make an end of yourself." He didn't notice how sadly I spoke the last few words. I was thinking of the suicide of Fynals Hinev, who had found a way to die no one knew about except the scientist himself.

Sargon's face lit up in elation; his eyes were like two glowing orbs.

"You aren't serious, are you?!" In a surge of rapt emotion, he lifted me up thoughtlessly and twirled me roughly around and around in a circle, then set me on my feet again abruptly in agitation. He moved with the grace of a wild animal suddenly aroused, and a civilized man's sense of shame. I wanted to calm him down, but I sensed I would fail if I tried to.

"This is perfect! If neither of us can ever die, then we can always be together." He said.

"Stop it!" I protested, lightly, abruptly, perhaps unwisely.

"Come on," he said, with a hint of dark, knowing laughter. "You've got to know how much I love you. I've always loved you, and you had to have known it."

"What?" I repeated.

"You're the only one who understands me." He said with a shake of his head. "Didn't you see it?" He asked incredulously, hardly able to imagine that his feelings hadn't been obvious. "I've always loved you, ever since the moment I saw you."

"You were just a child."

"I'm not a child now." He returned firmly, unapologetically. "I am a man. Have been for a long time."

What he said was true; I hadn't even recognized him that day in the laboratory, once the bandages had been removed. But I couldn't tell him that I would have kept him a child forever if I could have, a child I could innocently love—hadn't that been exactly what I had been to Hinev? I couldn't tell him that, though I knew he was very much a man now, he was still a child to me, and he always would be.

"Yes, you are a man, I know, but you still need someone your own age." I shook my head. "Not someone like me. I'm not young anymore, like the girls you should be around. I'm so very old, much older than you even know—"

"If you think I care that you're older than me, I don't." He insisted. "Besides, age doesn't matter anymore, given the circumstances."

"That isn't the problem."

"I'm not attractive to you, is that it? We don't have good conversations? We don't get along well enough?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then why did you save my life? Why else would you make me into a companion, and not a lover, one that can't leave you?" He demanded, waiting with a hard, cold expression on his face.

"I can't think of you in that way."

"No?" He demanded, suddenly angry as he judged my resolve against him. "What do you mean? Why not? You're just saying that."

"It would be—wrong." Even as I said it, I felt terrible.

"Wrong?" he echoed mockingly, but clearly offended by that remark. "Then why didn't you just leave me in Destria? Why bring me here?"

"To make sure you were all right."

"So you're saying you never loved me? You don't want me as a man."

"I did love you when you were a child, and I could take care of you."

"You can still take care of me. That doesn't have to change," he reminded me. "And I'll take care of you." He laughed, but the sound wasn't pleasant.

I started to shake my head, in shock, and maybe I was wrong, I have often thought in times since that day.

"You don't really love me," I insisted. "You just think you do. And we'll end up as enemies, without any other people that stay with us to vary our lives."

"You're wrong." He insisted. "Yes, I admit that as a child I said I hated romance and never believed in love, but I've always loved you. We're both alive in this moment. We're both here now; we're both living in this same moment in time out of billions of years in this spinning universe, so what is age? That's what I've always thought, even when I was younger. I admit, I had a crush on you, back then. Perhaps it was a silly childish thing—my father told me to forget it. He explained that it was natural but pointless, my feeling for you. But while you were gone all those years on the explorer mission, I realized that ten more years would pass here. That gave me hope; hope that time would make us equal. And my feelings for you have only had time to grow in these last twenty years.

"I love you, Alessia. Please tell me that you love me, too. Don't you think it's fate that brought our lives together?"

To some, what he said might have swayed them to the same conclusion. But there wasn't any room in my heart for anyone else, not with the haunting shadow of Fielikor Kiel lingering there. I didn't want to love anyone else again—what use was love to me? What use were pointless emotions? The ones I still wanted were childish and innocent, all the more so as more years went by. But what could I say to Sargon? I didn't want to turn his love for me into hatred.

And his sudden and unexpected mention of fate had sent a chill into my heart. I didn't know what fate had in store for me, and often wondered about this.

I had long suspected interference from the Seynorynaelian Elders in my actions, after all those times I was called in to interviews with the emperor, interviews I could not remember. I felt sure they had found a way to influence me away from my true destiny, the destiny that might prevent the rebirth of their Empire. They did not want me to go to Kiel3. Maybe they had linked my thoughts of Kiel3 with suggestions that I find someone to share my life with and forget my mission...

I looked over at Sargon, and I was suddenly afraid of him, afraid of the power he had over my heart and through that, my actions. I had been swept along by the will of others before, and I refused to be controlled or governed by anyone. At that moment, I wanted to run away, to run away from him and from the impossible situation I had put myself into. I knew, somehow, that he was destined to become my enemy.

Why I couldn't even understand, but there was a power in him that no longer recognized any government or law, or brooked any refusal.

"Give me time to think about this?" I asked, knowing all the while that I was stalling, but Sargon's dark mood vanished. He offered me a cheerful grin that was somehow disconcerting.

"All right, but don't take too long, my sweet."

And how long was "too long"? I wondered.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely.

—Lord Acton
Chapter Thirteen

"Oh, come now, you can't be serious," Eiron interrupted as Alessia paused in her story, his head edging back slightly as he narrowed his eyes upon her in disbelief. "No one... is immortal." He said.

Now, he was back in the isolated passageway again, as far from the distant echoes of history as he could be, if only because that was what he believed. Alessia had transported him in time through the magic of her voice, but the limits of his own faith restored him to firm reality.

Eiron was still sitting down, and the soft ground beneath him made muffled sounds as he restlessly shifted his posture to match the whirling effect Alessia had wrought in his mind. He had the sudden urge to stand, to move about, but it was all fruitless if Alessia didn't explain herself, or how she could sit there so absolutely calmly and tell him that she was an immortal and had made this other man, this Sargon, an immortal, too!

The ghost of Inen... at last the words made sense. Yet was she a ghost or like an angel? Or was she something evil?

She had done only good to him personally thus far, Eiron reminded himself. Was she listening to his thoughts even now? He wondered.

"Tell me," he demanded, reaching out to grasp her arm before he even realized he had so brashly moved towards her. "Tell me that what you just told me is only a story, that it isn't true. People can't live forever. You can't read my mind, or move objects around just by thinking about it. You aren't... immortal. You can't be."

She was very close to him, leaning away against the wall, her eyes expressing and betraying an inner turmoil which her face would not. She was poised to answer him, he was certain, but why did she hesitate now? What could she fear by simply confessing the truth, and quickly?

Who was this Sargon? Where was he, and why hadn't she loved him in return?

Eiron's grip on her arm grew tighter. "Are you going to answer me?" He wanted to focus only upon the question, but he found his mind considering that perhaps this Sargon was the reason Alessia was hiding here in the Classified Zone. The thought brought him nothing but more unease, and he fought it off. He looked at her instead and focused on her face.

"You want me to prove to you that what I've said is the truth?" she asked quietly, in a level tone.

"Maybe. You're asking me to believe the impossible," he protested, shaking his head with the quick motion.

"I know," she answered quietly.

"Telekinesis, the healing—that I might believe..."

"And you would rather not believe that I can read your mind."

He reacted, stared at her hard, then nodded. _I would feel violated._

"Eiron, I wish I were lying to you," she admitted in a low, strained voice.

"What?" The delirium in Eiron's eyes retreated; he realized he was still holding on to her. He felt a wave of self-reproof for no reason at all, or perhaps because Alessia's face looked sad, and he had never seen it that way. He experienced a strange sense of helplessness, and his grip on her arm grew slack.

"I don't understand you now," he said, shaking his head at her, but now with affection.

"You think I'm crazy?"

"No," he protested, "I know you're not. But immortal—"

"I can produce proof enough for you later that what I have told you is the truth. Have you ever seen the face of the Orian Great Leader?"

"No," Eiron replied, with questioning eyes.

"He _is_ Sargon."

Eiron let go of her arm. The world was spiraling around him, though he stood still. He sat back, and sat down hard. After a moment, he looked up at Alessia and into her eyes. He stared, blinked a few times.

"If you can't believe me, Eiron, I'll understand." Alessia said. "But if you're willing to hear the end of my story—"

"Yes," he said, nodding.

"Then let us end the tale," she said.

* * * * *

Secretary Theodalix Alton squirmed in a stiff-backed chair in Orashean's vast, elliptical, uncomfortable council chamber. Alton seemed to be counting the tessellated navy tiles on the wall beyond the Fer-innyera rather than listening to him.

A few hours before, Enessa Fulten had sent me a message in Selesta that Orashean and his council were holding an important meeting, and that one of the topics on the agenda was a cut in Orian aid, specifically food aid. But Ambassador Ai-derian Suraeno was ill and unable to attend. The meeting had been called with such short notice that no other acredited Orian representative could replace him in time, but when Ai-derian learned that Sargon was in Inen, he had decided to send him to the meeting in his stead, even though Sargon didn't have Ai-derian's political experience.

Sargon requested that I should accompany him on the grounds that I was a respected neutral agent in these affairs. I agreed to go, not expecting Orashean would grant permission to attend the meeting when the request was passed to him. Orashean agreed however, and unexpectedly sent a message inviting us to meet him outside the Inen Aegle Spaceport.

We waited more than three hours before Orashean's shuttle landed from Ernestia, where he had been visiting governor Halkin to discuss the matter of trading food supplies to Orian in exchange for ores used in the production of space explorer probes. Ernestia was Tiasenne's finest agricultural city, located in the fertile Derrian plains about 2,000 nariars from the capital. Sargon had begun to pace impatiently by the time Orashean stepped from the platform, convinced Orashean had given us a conservative estimate of his arrival time in order to dissuade us from attending the meeting.

However, the Fer-innyera seemed relieved to see us, as though everyone were under his control as long as he could physically see them. At the same time, he threw me a chastising look, one a doting father might give to a naughty child. Sargon's irritation skyrocketed, but he kept silent.

It seemed that once we were again safely under his supposed control, the Fer-innyera no longer considered us his primary concern. For over an hour we sat idle in the conference room while his council debated social problems and the application of various proposed social programs, the unification of Ochnar and nearby Kestor as a combined production and distribution center of consumer goods, and budget cuts in funding of the Interplanetary Science Organization.

Finally the topic of conversation turned towards the proposition which had kept Orashean in Ernestia. The Nayin agricultural center on Orian had reached record yields. Thus, Orashean reasoned, Orian no longer needed to trade ore for shipments of Tiasennian food surpluses.

Alton, whose attention had wandered further in the last discussion, straightened up when Orashean asked him to present the report diagrams, and then the meeting would adjourn for an intermission during the meal hour.

After Alton finished explaining the last of the figures of his report, Orashean and his council left for the nearby cantina and opulent lounges of the leisure center.

Sargon hadn't said a thing about what had happened the day before, but I was afraid he was going to.

"We should go, too," I suggested before he could say anything.

"I'm not hungry," he said, shrugging.

"That may be." I shrugged. "But Orashean has been known to hold business meetings at the dinner table, too."

"You're saying I have a lot to learn about politics, is that it?" He laughed. "All right then. We'll just go check up on him."

When the meeting reconvened an hour later, Sargon was in a good mood. We had met the Fer-innyera at his table, where Sargon had successfully turned the topic of conversation. The others followed suit and began to recall old escapades from their youth. Orashean himself told us some humorous stories from his boyhood in rural Wysteirchan in the days before the interplanetary hostilities became a matter of public concern.

The felicitous atmosphere carried over a bit into the first part of the reconvened meeting. Even Orashean let down his guard. Then he turned to discuss Ernestian aid to Orian and proposed a decrease in the shipments to only half of their present size.

I had to admit that his argument sounded convincing, but he had neglected one important element. There was no doubt Orian was nearly self-sufficient. But Nayin still needed the vital Ernestian shipment. I couldn't understand why Orashean would decide to cut off that aid at all, much less without giving Nayin any warning. A mindlink would expose everything I wanted to know, but I no longer risked making mindlinks. I had no intention of forgetting my own self and developing the multi-personality effect that had destroyed Hinev.

But why did Orashean want to cut off the aid? I kept wondering. After all, according to the figures, he was producing more explorer probes now than ever before. He had to need the Nayin ores to do that.

But in a moment's superficial probing of his mind I discovered what Orashean had been hiding. He wasn't manufacturing as many probes as he had claimed. Violating every treaty in the last hundred years, he was diverting the precious ores to the production of comet fighters, notorious Tiasennian stealth space fighters.

The comet fighters had once been Tiasenne's chief guardians against Orians attempting to colonize Tiasenne. They had been banned in the Hollin-Morzenko treaty in return for the Orian agreement never to attempt colonization without permission. Of even more importance, it seemed Tiasenne no longer needed the Nayin supply of tinter ore since a large deposit had been discovered two months ago not far from Ochnar, on Tiasenne.

Orashean had been violating the treaty for years—so why was he working so hard and fast now to build up his secret army of comet fighters? After all, Orian had achieved a reasonable level of prosperity. They didn't need to colonize Tiasenne within Orashean's lifetime. What was he worried about?

Orashean smiled, reflecting with pleasure how he had been building up his secret force of space fighters and cruisers.

Suddenly, I knew.

In his enthusiasm, Orashean's secret thoughts flowed forth.

Orian's atmosphere, precariously balanced to support life in its present state, was slowly becoming unstable as volcanic activity annually increased. Hinev's explorers had discovered that long before there had ever been a Celestian colony.

But a tenday ago, Tiasennian geophysicists working on a base in Orian had discovered that noxious gas emissions had been dispelled at the Northeastern Lapisian Ridge. They estimated that in approximately ninety-six years, Orian would become unlivable. Orashean had foreseen that his own life would end before the problem escalated, and he hoped to put off any attempts of colonization once the news inevitably broke out.

As he saw it, if the Orians were allowed to colonize Tiasenne, then its resources would be stretched. People might become resentful once their comforts and livelihoods were threatened, and Orashean's position might be put at risk.

Anyway, why should he care about millions of Orians? He had never really liked them anyway, with their strange skin, more grey than any Tiasennian's, and their permanently somber and often carnal attitudes. Why should he bother about their survival? Was it his fault that their world was dying? Why should he have to take care of them if their own leader couldn't? The strongest are the fittest to survive, and we are strong, and so it is right that the weaker Orians should wither and die...

I was so caught up in Orashean's thoughts that it took me a minute to notice that Sargon had risen in his chair beside me. His face contorted with horror, and he stared in disgust at Orashean's complacent smile. He was untrained in telepathy, it was true, but it was clear he, too, had read Orashean's mind.

"You can't stop the shipments to Orian!" Sargon interrupted, seeming only a moment away from doing something violent. "Nayin depends upon that food!" Only with a great effort did he force himself not to articulate rage over the bleaker reality of his doomed world. If he said anything about that, Orashean might be provoked to launch an attack against unprepared Orian, thinking that they already knew about his secret legion of comet fighters.

Meanwhile, the others present shook their heads at Sargon's unorthodox and so far as they knew, unnecessary outburst.

"I'm afraid I already have." Orashean said, blinking slowly several times as though to underline his own composure. "Governor Halkin and I decided it this morning. Neither Inen nor Ernestia can afford the shipments any longer. We have our own population to feed, too, you understand." As the Fer-innyera prepared to move the conversation towards another topic, Sargon slammed his fist on the table.

"I demand that aid—we have an agreement!" He shouted, outraged. "You can't just take that part out of our treaty!" Sargon's voice rang in the heavy air as all waited for the next move, but Orashean firmly resumed his discussion. Finally, when he saw that his words were of no use, Sargon jumped from his chair, sending it clattering back, in a vain attempt to reach Orashean. I was glad he had not yet learned to control his new abilities. If he had, I was sure he would have created an energy wave and incinerated Orashean then and there.

Without that, Orashean was not so easily disposed of. The Fer-innyera knocked over a glass of water in his hurry to press a button somewhere below his seat at the conference table. A moment later, a dozen state guards rushed into the room.

"Restrain that man!" Orashean pointed to Sargon, and several of the guards advanced to pin down his arms. The first three Sargon flung off easily, much to Orashean's surprise. Immediately, two more lunged at him, but Sargon dodged adeptly aside and spun around, kicking a roundhouse and knocking one man to the floor.

Sargon's new strength didn't surprise me, but it was clear that they would eventually bring him down as Orashean kept frantically crushing his buzzer.

Force wasn't going to solve anything, or at least it wouldn't solve the main problems Orian was facing. There had to be a lasting way of stopping Orashean and his successors from condemning Orian to extinction.

"Let him cool off in a cell for a while." Orashean ordered once his men had wrestled Sargon to the ground, glaring petulantly at his captive, gloating over his victory. It seemed he enjoyed putting the Great Leader Beren's nephew into his proper place.

Sargon was dragged away ignominiously, his face terrible with righteous anger. His eyes met mine briefly—his in shock, mine full of anguish.

"Let him go," I said quietly to Orashean once the guards were gone.

"My dear Alessia, shouting and threatening behavior are not permitted in this chamber by anyone." Orashean countered placidly. "Leader Beren's nephew will have to learn to behave himself if he doesn't wish to get into more serious trouble. Now, shall we resume our discussion? Turning now to the Salingest sector, I believe we should consider—"

"Excuse me," I interrupted and got up from the conference table.

"And where are you going, may I ask?" Orashean questioned in a threatening tone.

"I'm going outside. And I suggest you let Sargon go."

"Oh?" Orashean said.

"Yes. Take this as a warning. You, and not I, will be responsible for what happens if you don't release him."

Orashean didn't even have the sense to consider this seriously. "Why don't you go see if you can teach him some civilized manners, Alessia. Then, we'll see!" He called, and was regaled with laughter.

* * * * *

Five hours passed before Orashean's messenger came to escort me to Sargon's cell far below the ground, where Tiasenne kept all of her political prisoners. As we descended to the fifth level underground, I shut out the oppressive images coming from the wretched hostages in this lightless, nightmare dungeon.

From the hallway, I felt a link to Sargon's mind, and I knew that he heard my approaching footsteps. The guard fumbled a while with the skeleton keys, the clattering sound filling the silence.

Inside the cell, Sargon stood facing the wall, his back to me.

After the guard withdrew, he turned around. His face was dirty but unscratched, making his eyes appear even brighter. I supposed he had been deliberating what to do throughout his short captivity. The resolution in his level stare gave me the impression that he'd come to a decision.

"Alessia, you must give Selesta to me." He said it with such innocent frankness.

"What?" He took me by surprise.

"I can use it to save my planet," he explained. "To evacuate everyone from Orian. I'll overcome Tiasenne's defenses and bring my people here. There's more than enough room for everyone. We can force Orashean to see reason—"

"Don't include me on that." I snapped, annoyed at myself as much as him in some unexplainable way. "Do you think Orashean will allow any settlers to live here? You can't force people to change their minds or to see reason as you put it, no matter how much power you have. They can only truly change themselves."

"Orashean won't ever change," Sargon said, shaking his head. "And I don't care if he does or doesn't. If I can't make him accept us, I'll get rid of him."

He said it so easily.

"Could you really do that? Could you just force him and everyone else to do what you want? Would you force everyone to think like you?" I persisted. Sargon dropped my hand coldly and backed up, lithely coming to his feet. I hadn't even noticed him holding it.

"Well, what do these things matter when my people's survival is at stake?" He threw back.

I knew then that there wasn't any hope. I agreed that his people should survive, and I had no intention of letting anyone on Orian die, but you just can't do anything you want to people who don't agree with you, I wanted to tell him. Killing Orashean might be the easiest way to make sure Tiasenne didn't resist colonization, but it wasn't the best solution. And it wasn't guaranteed to work. There were many people on Tiasenne just like Orashean, and they couldn't just all be killed, either.

And just as worrisome to me was that if Sargon gave in so quickly to his own new power and using it, soon there wouldn't be any opposing argument that could reach him. I was afraid that he would not have the moral restraint that I had to leave people their freedoms as well.

"You'd have to fight Tiasenne forever to protect your people." I reminded him. "Think of how many people would die if it came to that. How many Orians would be killed just because you can't be patient; because you can't bothered with negotiations."

Sargon's eyes remained stubbornly aloof, as though he would not register anything I said.

"Do you have any idea how many Orians there are?" I asked quietly.

Sargon's eyes flickered. "About one billion, eight-hundred million."

"That's almost five billion fewer people than there are on Tiasenne." I said. "Not very good odds for the underdog in a war, I'd say." I paused. "Don't you think you should be more concerned about ensuring your people's survival for all time?" I continued. "Using my ship to force your people here won't solve Orian's problems. It will just carry them here. The last thing your people need is to get involved in a land war in a hostile environment. You'd just jeopardize the future peace and the lives of Orian's citizens. Be patient, that's all I'm asking."

Instead, Sargon stared at me in profound disappointment. It was painful to see myself through his eyes, so painful I almost gave in. But my pride would never let me, even if my moral resolve weakened.

But now I knew that Hinev's serum had taken hold of him. Sargon no longer believed that any barriers held him except self-imposed ones; his moral conscience would allow him to do anything for his people. Even if he made the wrong decisions, he would feel justified. He was omniscient, so he could condemn others. He didn't want to understand anyone else, to see that their failings like his had causes, to deal with them.

He wanted to force the world to see it his way, and only his way. And he knew that if he had absolute power, they would be made to see it his way.

Of course, I had no doubts that Sargon would use my ship to save his people and protect them if he could, but it wouldn't end there. What more he really wanted, what more he was capable of, I did not know, but I saw enough of his thoughts to fear what might come.

At the same time, his voice still betrayed pain, and his growing anger. He had changed. Where had the reasonable, logical man I had known gone? The one who had cherished his own sense of fairness and wisdom? The one with a wry sense of humor? The serum seemed to have awakened all of the dormant aspects underneath his humanity; in that process, his emotions had gained a greater intensity, and he had little defense against being overwhelmed by them. At the same time, absolute power was pushing him towards all kinds of new possibilities.

"How can you let my people die?" he hurled accusingly, his voice strained with raw emotion. "You say that you love me. You said you cared about the Orians. If you refuse me now and will not help us, then your words are as meaningless as wind, and how can I ever again believe what you say?" For a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of fear and vulnerability in his eyes, the uncertainty of the child I had known so long ago.

But the guard was coming back. I had only a moment more to try to put things right.

"I won't let your people die. You have my word on that, no matter what else it might cost. But give me time."

"Your word? That's all you'll give? Empty words instead of action." He said.

The words stung me.

To him, my answer was the same thing as a refusal. To him, my promise was nothing. It meant little to him, but to me, my word was now and forever a binding oath. And the fact that he still little understood my intentions—little understood me—upset me more than any coarse insult could.

"You have hurt me, more than I would debase myself to admit to you." He continued, equally absorbed with his own injured pride and not afraid any more to hold back secret thoughts. "And of course, you must know that you leave me no other choice but to do as I see that I must from this moment on. Keep your ship." He said stonily, keeping all trace of anger controlled and from his features; only his eyes were beginning to betray his lie. Sensing this himself, he quickly turned back towards the wall, his back now to me.

I despised whatever instinct it was that compelled me to hide what I thought and felt for fear that exposing my emotions would render me vulnerable. Vulnerable... was it possible for one with absolute power at his command to be vulnerable? Yes, it was. I would argue that one was even more vulnerable then, for absolute power has a way of smothering the power and identity of the individual who wields it.

After years of commanding that power, which Sargon had only recently come to know, I had grown so terrified of abusing my power and of forgetting my own identity behind it that I would not tempt myself to use my powers under almost any circumstance, and yet... after so long, I was secretly beginning to fear that every vital feeling within me would die beneath all the defensive walls I had raised to protect myself.

I understood the torrent of confusion Sargon had been thrown into! His world had changed too quickly: the moment he awoke from the metamorphosis. He had tried to preserve himself from the inevitable transformation of his personality, but almost inevitably, he had failed. It was true that his reasoning capacity may have soared to an infinite plane above that of ordinary humans; it was also true that his emotions had also been highly charged, and this change in his emotional state for some reason seemed more immediately noticeable. But what human being would not have reacted so strongly to losing his reality as he had formerly known it? Innocence is not something that can be given back again, and oh, how one can regret the loss! For as Sargon's body and mind changed, he had felt every precious, sacred memory or dream he had once entertained slowly strangled by the invading memories of a thousand different realities.

Only two dreams remained, and they became of the utmost importance to him. One was securing the freedom and survival of his people.

The other I knew was to secure my love and fidelity for himself. For I was the one person who was quite literally the only remaining mystery in his life, a person who was also the only object that lay beyond his powers to control or obtain. And even after the metamorphosis, even after what I had done to him, I knew that he loved me still.

Should I reconsider helping him? I wondered briefly. No! I commanded myself after a moment's hesitation. I would not be forced into hasty foolishness just to prove my loyalty to him. And his atrocious arrogance, his misunderstanding of me, had stung my pride. At the time, I thought this was the main reason I refused to reconsider. But, in truth, it may have been that I was mortified by my sudden inclination to sacrifice all that I believed in just to keep his approval and affection.

Meanwhile, Sargon had kept his back to me to encourage my departure and remained silent.

The approaching guard called to me and led me through the door. He let it clang shut, then adeptly turned the clattering keys until the lock clicked.

I knew that this primitive, filthy little cell would not hold one of Hinev's immortals for long.

The next morning, the "Political Star" reported that Sargon Suraeno, nephew of the Orian Leader Lucianvar Beren, had escaped his cell by force, killing two guards in his flight, and had taken some other Orian prisoners with him. The renegade Suraeno had disappeared sometime during the night, and Fer-innyera Orashean assured the people that Suraeno would be re-caught and brought to trial.

From that moment on, I knew that Sargon and I would be enemies.

One has to requite good and ill; but why precisely the person who did us good or ill?

—Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil
Chapter Fourteen

Orashean lost no time in carrying out his plan, and by the end of the warm season, Orian's food supply from Ernestia was cut off. I had decided to visit Enessa Fulten the day after Sargon's escape. I didn't know where else to go. I couldn't go back to Selesta; I had to figure out what to do to save Orian first, and Enessa lived nearby in the Inen Uranian Observatory. We discussed what had happened, and she suggested contacting our friends from Baidarka. I hadn't expected she would know what I should do to reconcile with Sargon, but together we had come up with an idea how to save Orian.

In order to help us, one by one the scientists from the Baidarka mission quit their stations and arranged to disappear from society, which was no small feat, considering that Orashean's government kept loose watch over every citizen and on every notable citizen's activities. Since the underground scientists had no other option but to assemble at Enessa's apartment, space grew short. So far there were only eighteen of us, but others were on their way, bringing trusted friends. Yet Orashean hadn't seemed to notice that more than twenty of his top scientists had disappeared in the last tenday. He probably didn't care. Orashean had planned on downsizing this resource anyway in order to redirect funds into his new military machine, and for that he needed scientists and engineers to develop weapons, not useless botanists, biologists, and climate analysts. In those days, there were few nano-implants and no worldwide system of human tracking or monitoring. No one needed to fear hidden micro-bug recorders, either.

About this time rumors reached Tiasenne of Leader Beren's sudden respiratory illness. Soon afterward, Ambassador Regorr sent Orashean a message confirming the rumors. Apparently, Leader Beren was indisposed, and his ministers were regulating all of the government's affairs.

* * * * *

"What are you going to do about Orashean?" Dasan Mira asked, downing a glass of urbin spirits, the last of his girlfriend Enessa's supply from Orian. We were sitting in Enessa's apartment several tendays later, waiting for Chiren and the others to come back from the provisions center with enough rations to feed eighteen people.

"Who says she has to do anything about him?" Enessa said. "It's not as though he's done anything criminal."

"Hasn't he?" Mira countered.

"Not exactly. No one knows about Orian's fate yet, not even most Orians. Or about Orashean's comet fighters. He's keeping that highly secret. Besides the Hollin-Morzenko treaty itself isn't much help. The exact meaning of 'cooperation' and 'reasonable aid' are open to discussion." Enessa shrugged.

"Maybe, but you have to look at the intent of it. He knew what he was doing, that he was violating the intent of the treaty.

"But do you think he should just get away with violating the treaty?" He demanded, glancing meaningfully at her. "His actions are almost begging Orian to retaliate."

"It won't go that far, not with Beren, anyway." Enessa said. "He's known the truth about Orian for years."

"And what do you think that I should do to him, Dasan?" I asked, interrupting. But he didn't seem to have an answer.

"I just want to save Orian." He shrugged.

Saving Orian and is people was what we all wanted.

"Why should I care about Tiasennian politics?" Enessa asked. "Orashean's predictable. That's in our favor. Actually, so is Beren. The real problem as I see it is Beren's nephew. Despite Orashean and Beren's faults, they aren't really the type that's out to rule the world—or two."

"And you think this Sargon is?" Dasan asked. I had told them most of what had happened, of my folly and blindness that had followed the most difficult period of my life, the loss of Hinev's immortals, but I had not told them everything about the serum, or what Sargon thought of me.

Enessa nodded. "There are people like him, you know." She paused, looking around as we heard rough, heavy steps and a scraping sound coming from outside the door.

"We're all crazy, crazy I say." Chiren muttered, bustling in with an armload of supplies, followed by the others. "There's no chance in hell we could replace the food supplies Orashean used to send to Orian when we can't even find enough food for ourselves. We're crazy to even think we can do anything." He insisted.

And I suppose we were. What could eighteen scientists do to save Orian? I didn't know, but we were going to find out.

* * * * *

For the next few months the scientists from Baidarka and I worked to find a solution to Orian's supply problems and how to control the volcanic emissions. With the political turmoil in Orian, the politicians on Tiasenne had turned a blind eye to anything else. After a year, we finally arranged a cargo ship to take a kind of fast-growing algae that we had bio-engineered to Orian's North Nyx Plateau, the coldest region on Orian. If left to spread, the algae would improve the Orian climate and oxygen levels; the atmosphere and temperature might stabilize for a while. The biologists remained to monitor the algae until they were sure that it was established.

The remote North Nyx Plateau became a green field more than a million square nariars in size that was visible from Tiasenne. While they were on Orian, the biologists sent a message to all of our old colleagues from our Baidarka expedition, inviting our old colleagues to return with them to Tiasenne and to join us. Most of them responded positively, but were caught by the Orian army and detained.

About a month later, Orashean received a dispatch that starvation in the Orian city of Destria had stabilized, that they had coped with the reductions in supply from Tiasenne the previous year, and now Orian's governing body demanded an explanation as to why Orashean had violated the treaties. Now if Orashean didn't answer them, they were going to do something about it. Just as soon as Leader Beren recovered.

However, he never did. Near the end of the second year since my withdrawal from open society, news reached Tiasenne that Leader Beren had died, and his ministers would form a governing council until a new leader could be chosen.

There was a marked feeling of tension in Inen that year. The lack of information concerning Orian's activities convinced the Tiasennian public that something was wrong. Then, slowly, rumors leaked through with news of an extremist faction rising in Orian; the group gained support as each month passed. By the year's end, there were whisperings of a new Orian leader emerging.

Around this time, there was also a catastrophic volcanic eruption on the Northeastern Ridge of Orian that negated our efforts to stabilize the planet's atmosphere. The eruption of Mount Aeteriya was a sign that Orian's surface crust was reforming. The planet had ninety and perhaps as much as a hundred years left before the entire surface was reshaped by volcanism.

Perhaps only a hundred years left, before the population had to escape. We had gained them a few years, but nowhere near so many as we had hoped.

The terraforming procedures Hinev's explorers had once used to make Orian a viable planet, to pave the way for a permanent colonial station, were clearly breaking down. Orian had won its struggle against the taming power of our terraforming techniques and seemed to have retaliated in greater force; the same terraforming that we had used would no longer be effective on the planet; Orian was doomed. I had known about Orian's instability for more than three millennia; yet I never expected the terraforming processes to break down so soon.

I decided that I must go back to Orian and try to speak with the new Orian faction and to reconcile with Sargon for the sake of the Orian people. I waited for the opportunity to take one of the few diplomatic transports still operating between the two planets.

But within the tenday, a hailing signal found us, found me, even in our secret accommodation among the multitudes of Inen.

The signal came during the night, one of the few nights that year that I had attempted to sleep. The others had retired hours earlier. I had just settled down when I heard the faint recurring signal in the other room.

By now we had managed to take four apartments in the same building, and I lived with Enessa and six other unattached women in Enessa's apartment, a surprisingly run-down, unmodern dwelling for people of our profession with old pipes and water that tasted of chlorine. The heating had gone out a few days before, letting in the bitter chill of winter. Now and again I did what I could against that by taking energy from the environment, particularly when no one else was around to see the ghost face it seemed to make of me.

But right now, I didn't want the signal to wake the others, so I hurried to the communications console in the main room, my feet shuffling quickly over an ice-cold floor, wondering who would be hailing us using my personal emergency signal frequency—who else even knew it?

When I punched in the video terminal's receiver, the image that formed struck me with sudden pain, but I would never betray that.

Sargon had leaned over the video emissions console. Immediately I noticed he was wearing the maroon and grey uniform worn by Orian military officers. It resembled the cut and style once preferred by Leader Beren.

As if from a remote distance behind him, I could see similarly clad men and women rushing about purposefully in a military center of gargantuan size with hundreds of metallic consoles and operators manning specialized stations. I recognized the place from years before, having passed through it once on a tour given by Leader Beren and his officers.

It was Command Central of the Orian Headquarters Building, the giant complex in which all military decisions were made and by right the natural domain of the Orian Great Leader.

"Alessia. What a pleasure it is to finally see you again," Sargon said, but his mildly caustic tone implied otherwise.

"Sargon?" I managed to sound detached, maybe even nonchalant. "What is this about?"

He ignored the question. "As you can see, I've been busy since the last time we spoke." He said, gesturing around. "My people actually stand a chance of surviving the end of Orian now that I'm here to lead them. Don't worry," he said in triumph, "it will all be official in a matter of days." He laughed. "I'm sure your friend Orashean will be pleased to hear the good news." He added.

"Orashean isn't my friend." I corrected him. "I haven't seen him since you tried to dispatch all of his bodyguards by yourself."

"It doesn't matter." He rejoined dismissively. "It amounts to the same thing, anyway. Friend or de facto ally, whatever you wish to call it. Still I wish I could be there to witness his reaction myself. Not that I plan to honor him with a visit, mind you. There are far more important matters which require my attention than that odious little man."

As he spoke, I found myself remembering that last day in Orashean's discussion chamber. More than once, I had wished he had never left, so that I might at least teach him how to control his new powers and abilities.

I knew the hell he was going through. It wasn't easy, to read another being's thought before it was spoken. There were good thoughts for every bad one, of course, but you noticed the bad first. Every disgusting fantasy, every insult, every avaricious motive and base desire entered your mind easily. And they were hard to exorcise. That was how they worked their damage, corrupting your consciousness like spreading poison, poison that must be dug out. What could be left, after so many minds?

It would be a long and bitter internal struggle before he learned to accept and distance himself from these alien influences and could overlook the faults common to all of humanity, some of which he might not have known previously. Perhaps then he could focus on the benefits Hinev had intended his serum to achieve when it awoke so many dormant powers within us.

That had been the original purpose of Hinev, and the control group of subjects had shared these gifts; indeed, it had been crucial that the final serum group maintain a constant interaction in order for these abilities and emotions to emerge and grow.

And we had been able to shield our thoughts from one another in order to uphold our own personal freedom and privacy. We shared thoughts voluntarily to learn from one another, yet we lived in a society where our minds were our own, and our peers were equal in every respect.

Though my intentions had been good, I had condemned Sargon to isolation and strapped him with powers so great he had figuratively become a God among men—he could know whatever he wanted to know about anyone. The metamorphosis induced by alien blood had altered his soul and left him with only his human body as the last remnant of any ordinary humanity.

I felt an abrupt sensation of guilt, guilt of the acutest kind—perhaps because I always tried to escape feeling any guilt, I felt it terribly at that moment.

Meanwhile, Sargon had waited unmoving, his face betraying self-doubt for only a moment. Yet when he spoke again, his words were softer.

"Alessia, I contacted you... to give you one last chance to join our cause." He looked at me with intense blue eyes and spoke congenially, even gently. "You should want to join me, my sweet. Think of all the good you could do. And you yourself would not be as miserable here as... I know you are at present." He paused a moment. "I'm sorry if I spoke harshly to you a moment ago. Shall we keep arguing every time we meet?" he asked, with an impatient sigh. "Or can I take your silence as a sign... that you'll consider what I'm asking?"

"What about Orashean?" I asked, just to remind Sargon that there would be resistance to his plan as long as the Tiasennian leader built up his own personal army. "Neither I nor you can protect Orian's entire population once they leave Selesta and migrate across Tiasenne."

"He won't be a problem for very much longer," Sargon bit out.

"I see." I said, then paused. "Tell me, do you really want to discuss politics with me, or did you arrange this communication just to deliver ultimatums? Are we all supposed to submit peacefully to you?"

For a moment, Sargon seemed unable to comprehend what I had said. Then his face seemed to turn three shades darker. His eyes flared. By degrees he worked himself into a furious state.

"And is that all you can say?!" He hurled back at last, glaring, livid at my unintended mockery, though he kept his voice low. This from a man who had once despised drama and hysterias, who had ridiculed emotions, before he himself had been assaulted by their horrific power. "Submission? Eternity's cold gaze is staring into my soul, you know that it is, just as it wears away at you. It must!—or else there is no justice—"

"You speak of justice—"

"I have no intention of facing this hell alone!" he cried, refusing to be interrupted. "Submissive—if you change, if you _dare_ change, you know I would be condemned to this neverending hell of loneliness forever, and I would hate you then, Alessia. How I would only hate you, as much as I still love you and despise you now—in spite of all that I have done to rid my mind of you! I can't—you stole my peace of mind forever. You stole my soul, and I am a damned man, no, a damned creature. I am no longer even a man, thanks to you. But," he said, his voice low and level but strained, "fight me for a while, and you will come around once you see and understand what must be—"

"To what end must I fight, or should I even ask?" I wondered at his strange discourse.

His eyes narrowed. "I'm only waiting for you to change your mind and stop acting like this—love me or not, but help me!" he said strangely. "Alessia, I am afraid. I may resort to evil. Remember that. And it was your doing, Alessia. I am giving you a chance, and the freedom to choose. I warn you: don't force me to try to take everything from you by force someday. If I have to, I will have you create more immortals for me, or I will attempt it myself, for I will not remain like this, isolated and alone—"

"Enough!" I interrupted, recoiling from him; he caught my expression and his face glowered in surprise, but I continued, determined not to betray how much his words had affected me. "I can't help you your way, but I can offer you some advice."

He waited, bristling.

"Do what you have to do, but remember that whatever you do, you will always carry it with you. If you ever had a conscience, and I know you do have one, then your actions will weigh on your mind without mercy forever and ever, and you can't get rid of the memories—no, Sargon, even you can't get rid of them, not even with your power. Hinev's serum has heightened your sense of empathy, just to torment you. So listen to me and take care what you do, or you will never know peace again—"

His eyes shifted uncomfortably.

"You can't sleep, can you?" I asked, not expecting an answer. "I thought not. None of us could ever sleep much after the metamorphosis. Don't forget that you're going to have to live with yourself, that each day will come without rest or escape until this universe ends. Only the good that you bring to the world can lighten your burden. Regret—and evil mistakes, crimes—Sargon, they can only eat at your soul for all time."

"And do you have any regrets, Alessia?" He asked, unmoved and bitter. "After all, you made me like this. I have come to evil, because of you, and you know it."

I pulled out the receiver.

* * * * *

The next morning, the disappearance of the colossal ship which had become such a permanent feature on the horizon east of Inen caused a panic for those who feared that it had been destroyed by Orian. Only after Enessa, the director of Inen's largest Uranian Observatory, informed me of the uproar did it occur to me that the Tiasennian civilians had somehow come to view my ship as their stalwart sentinel against Orian and that its disappearance would cause such a disturbance.

Orashean released an announcement that afternoon claiming that the ship had been sent to repel the colonization attempt of a radical Orian political group. All lies, of course. But everyone cheered Orashean's action, delighted that he'd decided to take a heroic stand.

Orashean couldn't have been farther from the truth. After I had recovered from Sargon's untimely communiqué, my friends and I had gathered together in Enessa's apartment. I told them I planned to leave Inen in order to hide Selesta, and those who had been in hiding in Inen agreed to come with me. Shortly afterward, we took a local transport out to the fringes of Inen during the sleep period and progressed on foot the rest of the way to Selesta.

Under the cover of a heavy electrical storm, we engaged the ship's anti-radar device, took her up with highly charged, dense electromagnetic wings, using atmospheric oxygen and our fusion generators for fuel, and plunged her deep in the watery depths of the nearby Northwestern Sea.

Using precise lasers we bored a hole into the sandstone at the base of the continental shelf and carried Selesta several nariars under the shelf until she lay buried in ancient rock layers far beneath the cliffs.

We laughed when I heard that Fer-innyera Orashean and his men had been confounded and had tried for months to figure out how we had escaped and where our destination had been. They picked up a stream of suspicious radio signals when Enessa and a few others sent coded messages across the planet, but the Tiasennian government was unable to break the Seynorynaelian coded language that we used.

According to Enessa, rumors began to circulate in the command circles that I had deserted Tiasenne and some even claiming that I would betray Tiasenne to Orian because of my affection for their Great Leader. Orashean and his advisory staff denied the rumors, assuring the military that I had been sent away until any problems escalated. At such a time I would be duly recalled. In short, the situation was well under control.

Five uneventful years passed, except for news of increasing Orian discontent. At the height of his popularity, Orashean had no intention of mentioning to his people the matter of the decreased shipments of food to Orian. Instead, he wrote off the discontent as the feeble complaints of an impotent world bent on causing trouble and inflicting as much misery on its sharing, considerate neighbor as it liked to believe it was suffering itself.

Five uneventful years passed, until the assassination of Fer-innyera Orashean. The assassin was never caught, but I guessed who might have been responsible. Because shortly after Orashean's death, an Orian colonization vessel appeared in the skies of Tiasenne. The Tiasennian government, embroiled in internal strife, could not agree upon a response and remained deadlocked as the Orian ship approached the other side of the Northwestern Sea, near the city of Umber, with the clear intention of discharging its refugees.

The people of Umber retaliated when their central government would not. The Tiasennian army, still a force to be reckoned with, sent out a local arsenal of fighters against the refugee ship and when the Orian refugees refused to turn around, the ship was shot down, and the escaping Orian refugees held in confinement in Umber.

Some time later, they mysteriously disappeared from political prison. Dasan Mira and I brought some of them to Ochnar and some to Kestor, where civilian activities still went unmonitored by the local governments.

Perhaps Sargon thought that the Tiasennian government had executed the Orians attempting to settle on Tiasenne; perhaps that was why he didn't send more settlers to Tiasenne. Even if the Tiasennian government were in turmoil, the Tiasennian army was still as efficient a power as ever, and just as opposed as they ever were to what they regarded as Orian attempts to seize Tiasennian territory. In the two years that followed, word of a power struggle behind the scenes among the Tiasennian High Command's senior officers filtered through to the general public.

At this time, my few friends remaining in Inen escaped unnoticed and came to live with us in Selesta. Enessa and the others brought details concerning the recent power struggle. The military had grown weary of the power vacuum and had nominated one of its own, an experienced and likable officer with political connections. One of his grandfathers had been Theodalix Alton, Secretary of Orashean's old Council; the other had been Fer-innyera Mourier, whose reputation and accomplishments had recently been re-instated now that historians were looking back upon his regime more objectively. Mourier's chief detester had been Orashean, and he was now gone.

The only problem with the appointment was the young officer's age; at twenty-eight, Baxver Alton was the youngest Fer-innyera ever to take office. Some of the old council shook their heads and wondered what the government was coming to. Yet the fact that Fer-innyera Alton remained suspicious and watchful of Orian met with their approval. And apparently, Fer-innyera Alton had good reason to distrust Orian. As a boy, his father had been killed by an Orian extremist who had failed in an attempt to assasinate Fer-innyera Mourier.

I couldn't help but wonder if Alton would be a better Fer-innyera than Orashean. There was no way to predict the future, but Alton seemed to be a studious, scholarly man of little political ambition, who was likely to become a puppet of the military that had chosen him.

The thing I was most worried about was that Sargon would try another attempt at forced colonization and provoke a war that could only have one outcome: the complete annihilation of both planets. The Tiasennian military would have no qualms about using their nuclear arsenal against Orian in an attack that could destroy the surface of Orian and threaten the survival of Tiasenne, whose climate and weather systems would almost certainly be catastrophically affected by any violent volcanic activity on Orian.

Sargon could only wait so long, though. The time was approaching when nothing would be able to live on Orian.

However, from the Orian refugees I had learned one important fact: under Sargon's leadership, Orian had become truly self-sufficient. Food was rationed but enough was provided to keep every citizen from starving, and the violent philver virus had been eradicated through RNA engineering. The Orians were prospering in spite of the impending doom of their planet. Under Sargon's strong and effective leadership, they no longer needed Tiasennian aid. The only thing they needed was Tiasennian land.

And they could wait for it if necessary; but not for long.

Meanwhile, Sargon wasn't foolish enough to do anything that might force my hand against him or force me to side with Tiasenne. I felt certain that deep down, he knew I wouldn't let the Orian race perish; he knew, for I had told him, that the Orians were almost entirely Seynorynaelian. I had not come halfway across the Great Cluster to find the last of my people only to let them perish.

If I admitted it to myself, I had withdrawn from the world out of selfish reasons.

Like Hinev before me, I couldn't face my own creation. Confronting Sargon could end in disaster. If he could face me again, would he make a threat with terms and demands I couldn't refuse? Would he threaten to eliminate all of Tiasenne if I didn't agree to join him and create more immortals for him? I wouldn't let him have that chance!

Still, more immortals could mean a threat to his power.

Yet what if, in my absence, Sargon were to become a threat to Tiasenne's survival, even to the survival of his own people? I couldn't bear the reponsibility of risking so many lives by putting them at the mercy of a man out of control, a man I had made immortal. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't run away and let him conquer Tiasenne and risk his one day murdering untold numbers of the Tiasennian people.

Apparently abandoning the attempts at colonization, Sargon developed an attack strategy against Tiasenne intended to terrorize the Tiasennian civilians. Did he intend for them to rise up against their military government for failing to protect them, or did he think that his bombs would reveal where I had taken Selesta? I never knew, but his method of waging warfare seemed ineffective.

Time was his element of surprise. He could keep the Tiasennians ever on guard, expending far more energy than the Orians, who would only have to send a few ships now and again to keep the threat alive. Terror strike tactics. What else could he do that would not endanger the land itself? But surely, he enjoyed terrorizing Tiasenne.

As for Tiasenne, their only assault against Orian was a disaster. Shortly after his appointment, Alton launched a sqaudron of Skyhawk space cruisers against Orian in retaliation for their attacks; however, all contact was lost with the fleet when they reached Orian, and none ever returned. Alton decided not to repeat the assault and turned to an aggressively defensive stand that has remained Tiasennian military policy ever since.

Despite my fears of what Sargon might do, it wasn't easy for me to wait for the Tiasennians to offer the Orians asylum rather than just forcing them to accept them as colonists.

Despite my reasons, Selesta's computer never understood why I remained in Rigell's system. It just didn't understand that I couldn't leave for Kiel3 with Orian, and Tiasenne, in such utter chaos and danger. Who else would be able to prevent mutual destruction if the great war leaders decided to destroy each other?

Shortly after we had hidden Selesta deep in the earth, we burned a passage through the rock from the ship to the region behind the cliff face. We hollowed out chambers near the surface so that we could pick up radio communications from our informant in Inen. When our informant fell sick and died, we were effectively cut off from the world above. The scientists who had helped to man the listening post retreated into Selesta. I, however, made a passage into the rear of a narrow crevice on the cliff face, and through this I made secret visits to the surface.

On occasion, I would see or hear Orian and Tiasennian planes flying over the cliffs, so I knew that the conflict continued.

I was in the main chamber when I first heard a plane crashing above. I made my way to the surface and waited a few moments to make certain that there were no companion planes above, no rescue mission, and quickly made my way to the smoking wreckage which was about half a nariar from the cliff face. There were no survivors, and I left the wreck exactly as I had found it. Over the next three years, the level of airborne activity over the cliff area intensified, and there were frequent clashes between Orian and Tiasennian planes. Over a dozen were either shot down or had crashed along the cliffs during this time. Most of these were Tiasennian.

Eventually I found a survivor. Derisar had been flying alone over northern Inen and had been intercepted by Orian Hyperion terrorist planes and driven to the Northwestern Sea before he had been shot down. He was unconscious when I pulled him out of the wreckage. I called Dasan on the Selesta, and together we carried Derisar back to Selesta.

This posed a great dilemma for us; while we were morally obligated to tend to Derisar's injuries, we knew that if he recovered we could never permit him to leave. His return to Inen would raise questions that were better unasked. As he recuperated, we found out from him that Orian had intensified its campaign of terrorist flights and bombings and had added space fighter patrols over some desolate areas, such as our cliffs. We went to great pains to explain the true history of the conflict to him. Derisar had never heard of the Hollin-Morzenko treaty and was completely unaware that Tiasenne had provoked the interplanetary conflict by violating it.

However, our obvious sincerity and the evidence we shared with him were convincing, and before he was even fit enough to return home, Derisar told us that he felt he should remain with us. He well understood that if he returned to Inen so long after his crash that there would be an investigation which might lead to the discovery of Selesta. Derisar knew that his wife and daughter would assume that he had been killed and that his decision meant that he might never see them again, but that was a sacrifice he felt he must make. We were never forced to tell him that we could not allow his return in any case.

The increased Orian attention in the area surrounding point aico-seven had been noted by the Tiasennian military and the matter had been raised in the council meeting with Fer-innyera Alton and his ministers. Alton decided that in order to avoid alerting the Orians to an investigation, an unobtrusive but painstaking search of the area by a highly trained and trustworthy individual was the best approach. So it was that Dvari Ristlav Vaikyur spent the next several months alone and unarmed except for his sidearm, wandering through the blasted scrub lands, searching every gully and crevice, checking stone by stone, bush by bush looking for what he did not know, anything unusual—out of place in this wasted area.

And so, mid-afternoon on a scorching summer's day, Vaikyur edged himself along a narrow ledge on the cliff-face to examine a narrow crevice and found the hidden entrance to our main reconnaissance chamber. I was there alone when he stumbled in, listening to the endless and almost meaningless radio and vidigital chatter from the government controlled information station in Inen, trying to glean some useful information about events.

Vaikyur's eyes were as big and round as moons for one brief moment as he took in the sight—the surveillance equipment and me sitting there operating it. He reacted swiftly and pulled out his sidearm and pointed it straight at me. He questioned me about the Tiasennian disappearances and the Orian activities in the area, and I could tell from his wording and his demeanor that his impression was that he had found an Orian spy at home in her roost.

He had no way of knowing that I, an immortal with telekinetic powers, had no fear of him or his weapon. However, I let him believe that I was threatened and answered all of his questions, but in such as manner as to lead him to ask further questions, questions that allowed me to paint in his mind a picture of the true history of events and of the conflict between the two brotherly planets. We talked for many hours, and I could discern in this young man an idealist who believed emphatically in truth, integrity, and justice. I could see his mental struggle as he came to realize the truth of my words and that he had been deceived in the cause he had been dedicated to. When he finally laid aside his weapon and wept silent tears, I knew that this was a man I could trust. I spoke gently to him and invited him to visit the Selesta.

My colleagues accepted Vaikyur wholeheartedly, and we all agreed that in his case, no threat would be posed by his return to Inen—in fact, we only saw advantages. As a secret messenger reporting directly to Alton, Vaikyur had access to Alton that could be invaluable. We agreed that Vaikyur would return to the surface and continue his "search" for a reasonable time then report back to Alton in Inen.

Vaikyur was certain that he could convince Alton that since he had found nothing of consequence in the entire point aico-seven area, the best approach would be to declare it an exclusion, or Classified Zone, but to maintain a constant watch over it for which he, Vaikyur, would be personally responsible. No one would question such a declaration.

Several such Classified Zones had already been declared in areas where radiation levels were dangerously high. The military enforced the Classified Zones, and so long as the military itself was forbidden access, the whereabouts of Selesta would remain a secret. And only a Fer-innyera could alter the exclusion status of a Classified Zone. Vaikyur would do what he could to diffuse the hostilities between Orian and Tiasenne, but we all knew that it was a dangerous game he was about to play, and he would have to be extremely careful.

I have no doubt that Sargon believes that I will use Selesta against him. He seems incapable of understanding what I have told him, or of caring. He appears to enjoy tormenting the Tiasennians with his terror attacks, but I believe these are principally a feint to cover his search for Selesta which he wishes to wrest from me, and perhaps the technology to immortalize his own people, if he should dare.

Fifty-three years have passed since Vaikyur left us, and since then we have had no direct contact with the outside world. We would be honored, Eiron, if you will meet with us on board the starship Selesta, which is an archaic word in Seynorynaelian that means—

* * * * *

"Discovery." Eiron interrupted. "We have the same ancient word in Orian. I speak some of it," he admitted.

She stood up. Just behind her, part of the wall faded into a doorway lit by an intense blue-white ceiling beyond, bright like a hazy, cloud-covered sun that no ordinary human eyes could long endure. Beyond the doorway stretched a long corridor, the narrow confines of which were composed of a smooth metallic blue-grey alloy that glinted in a harsh reflection of the artificial daylight.

They walked down the corridor until the passage abruptly came to an end; then they stepped into a cavern containing a complete, artificial environment of grey trees, grass, and blue flowered hills. Eiron regarded the unexpected presence of this verdant landscape there in the desert cavern, far below the ground, with wonder. The cavern was awe-inspiring by its sheer scope, roughly fifteen nariars long, seven nariars wide, and one nariar high, what he gauged to be the approximate height of the starship Selesta. The ship lay a few nariars from the passage but swallowed almost all of the space from one side of the cavern to the other.

A ground shuttle had been left by the tunnel to take them to the ship, and soon they drew near. Alessia halted the shuttle several hundred micro-nariars outside the ship as if sensing that Eiron wished to stop for a look at it. As he stared awestruck at the great space vessel, Eiron realized that nothing could have prepared him for such a sight.

Above all, Eiron sensed that Selesta had been the centerpiece of other stories of interstellar conflict and ill-fated ventures begun ages ago that had never been finished. Or these may have been thoughts carried over to him inadvertently by Alessia, who also stood absorbed by the sight. Nevertheless, through strife and war Selesta had survived the many long years.

As he stared at the ship, more and more he had the impression that it was alive and observing him, or rather that it was aware of him. There seemed an almost human sadness in that cold dark skin, the regret of a living being imprisoned in this immense cavern.

As Eiron looked to Alessia again, he sensed that this presence was entirely distinct from her; he sensed that it seemed to regard her as a pawn caught in another's game. But a moment later, when he turned back to the ship, the presence he had perceived had withdrawn.

Tacitum vivit sub pectore vulnus. Sua cuique deus fit dira cupido.

The secret wound still rankles in her heart. Each man's fierce passion becomes his god.

—Virgil
Chapter Fifteen

Eiron didn't like children. At least, he didn't have time for them. Actually, when it came down to it, he didn't really consider them to be people, not real people, only small, underdeveloped, thoughtless creatures who needed more guidance than he had patience to give. He remembered his own childhood vividly, and that was enough.

But out of everyone, Selesta's children were the first to accept him. They came running out to meet him as he and Alessia approached the ship, eyes round with curiosity and with the promise of play. Eiron found himself overcome by a barrage of questions; more surprising was that for once, he didn't mind. Their enthusiasm made a sweet welcome.

The children seemed to consider him quite a novelty. He was the only grown person they had ever seen that had come from the outside, finally making the legendary outer world real to them. As the years passed, the Selesta community had grown as children had been born, but no unfamiliar adult had ever intruded into their world.

Alessia told them stories sometimes when she came back from the surface, but she never stayed with them for very long. Once she had told them about Eiron, but to them he was as a character in a story.

Still, the children had already decided that they liked Eiron, and they were delighted when Alessia told them that he might come for a visit. She was the only one who could make them believe that this was possible. They believed in her as they believed in magic, that she could do anything. After all, even the ship's computer that spoke with a synthesized voice obeyed her instructions as if it wished to please her and not just because it was programmed to do what she requested.

Maybe Eiron could even tell them some new stories, stories as good as Alessia's. After all, he knew about the world outside, had flown in a big blue sky that they had never seen except in the simulation room. Alessia had said that he came from a city where millions of people lived. Anything could happen in a city so big!

It was all Eiron could do to try to answer questions one at a time. He wasn't used to it. He had no siblings of his own and hadn't seen children in several years because he had spent so much of his life in training and at the military barracks north of the capital.

Then it struck him. He could see mixed heritages in most of them, as plain as his own. They were like him. But shame, grief, and ostracism had not taken their youthful joy and dreams from them.

But, he thought wistfully, they had never seen a real sky.

* * * * *

No wonder they need moving corridors, Eiron laughed as he, Alessia, and a large group of Selesta's inhabitants sped into the Cargo Bay from the air lock. Alessia was calling a meeting of the descendants of the Baidarka crew in a nearby hold, but it was taking much longer to get there than Eiron had expected.

The others finally arrived from all across the ship nearly an hour later. The children had been bustled away to let the adults get down to business. Eiron answered their questions all evening, noticing that though the youngest adults' questions were no less relevant than the others', they had a odd way of thinking about the outside world. It was as if the rest of the world only existed in memory as their heritage, and galaxies might just as well have separated them from it. It was clear that as the generations grew, they departed further from the greater reality and became more solidly rooted in their own restricted world, in this tempting island of peace.

Nevertheless, the outside world still fascinated them. They delighted with the idea that one day they might return to it. In doing so, they reminded Eiron of a child who proclaims himself the hero of an adventure but ultimately tires of playing the game as it begins to grow complicated. Reality just couldn't live up to their dream of it.

He wondered if Dasan Mira, Enessa, or Derisar were still alive, but of course they must have died years ago. Only Alessia kept their memories alive. He sensed, though, that she had not told the others much more about why they were here than they needed to know; she seemed somehow stubborn about not interfering in any lives again.

However, many of the children born before and during the explorer mission still lived, children no more, but wizened old men and women revered by their children and grandchildren. Their chirite companions Eiron learned had been confiscated by the state long ago, all but one Alessia had smuggled away for them. Chir the second had died several years ago, but not until he had everyone in Selesta under his spell.

Eiron connected with the one-time children of the Baidarka mission remarkably well, more than he thought could be possible, considering the great age gap between them. Yet they clearly respected him, remembering Ristalv Vaikyur and the hope he had symbolized, hope that they could remain undisturbed and unprovoked until a whole way of life could change.

After everyone else withdrew for the sleep period, Eiron sat for a long time in the Great Cargo Bay, hoping to lose himself in the rows of gleaming space fighters.

His gaze darted among the disinterested space fighter planes that seemed to hover poised, eager for the next sortie.

Eiron turned around when he noticed the subtle intrusion of a ray of natural light reflecting on the space fighters' stark synthetic surfaces that grew brighter as the light source approached.

Alessia sat down soundlessly next to him.

"You must be exhausted," Alessia finally said. "If you want, I can direct you to your new quarters."

"That's all right."

"You really should get some sleep."

"No, I'm not tired, really," he insisted, gazing around at the sheer enormity of the Great Cargo Bay, though it was but a small section of Selesta.

"Well then, shall I show you around?" Alessia suggested.

"I thought you'd never ask," Eiron laughed.

* * * * *

Eiron decided if you had to be locked up in a spaceship for eternity, Selesta was the only way to go. As a licensed spaceship engineer, he appreciated the ship more than others might have. He especially enjoyed the hundreds of botanical gardens and the Seynorynaelian lyra forest the best; the engine room was even more interesting.

Alessia said little when they got there; Eiron guessed that this had little to do with him and so took a great deal less time than he would have liked admiring it. No doubt past circumstances surrounding it brought back unpleasant memories for her.

When they reached the crew's quarters, Alessia led him to an unoccupied room furnished for his use. Then she withdrew and left him on his own. Although he still wasn't very tired, he decided to retire so that when the children rose, he could tell them the stories he had promised with enough spirit to do them justice.

Not that he liked all children, but these were growing on him, he admitted to himself. Besides, someone had to set them straight about things. Life wasn't all about holographic illusions.

Suddenly, as he drifted into that blissful state the moment before you fall asleep, knowing only the contentment of lying still and the anticipation of dreams, the cold computer terminal on the wall interrupted the quiet with a voice that wished to know when to sound the morning call.

In his dreams, he was sure he recognized that voice. What did it keep telling him? Why was it trying so hard to make him want to leave?

* * * * *

Two tendays passed. With practice, Eiron learned his way around the well-traveled corridors, making friends among the Baidarka mission's descendants and spending a lot more time with them than he thought he would. After the first week, however, he began to stick more to his own normal sleeping hours and so saw less of them every passing day.

The initial novelty of his presence was beginning to wear off, and the adults resumed their routine daily activities. The children had a school that they attended and also retired early. Eiron had not seen Alessia since the day of his arrival, and after the second tenday, he found that he was spending the most of his time alone.

The first morning of the third tenday he woke early but found he couldn't get back to sleep. The timescreen on the wall suggested that somewhere above this prison in the rock Rigell would be rising, dispelling the grey nighttime mist with sharp, static sunshine flooding the land. He remembered how much he loved watching the sun rise; he had seen dawn after dawn while flying on patrol over lonely, uninhabited sectors.

Thinking about the outside world, he found himself wandering somewhere near the outermost airlock an hour or so later. It took him a few moments to remember where the airlock release was located, and then some more minutes to figure out how to activate the device.

Maybe it was just his imagination, but somehow the air outside tasted fresher, even though it circulated within the ship. In the open space he remembered, a few nariars of grassy green stretched away, dotted with trees and lit by an artificial light from high above. Eiron had been told that the past three generations to live on Selesta had created these gardens and fertile pasturelands outside the spaceship, though above them there was only barren desert.

But the sight of the cavern, however vast it was, only reminded him of the reality of his confinement. He wanted to get out for a bit, but he didn't feel up to a run, so he decided to walk around the ship. The walk had to be at least five nariars, long enough for him to reflect on all that had happened to him in the last few tendays.

It was only until he came to the ship's edge that he saw the dark and narrow tunnel twenty micro-nariars wide connecting the cavern to a glimmer of light beyond, visible as but a small speck in the distance. Curiosity overcame his fear, and it drove him down the tube-like space flanked by rock and cold metal; half an hour passed before either of these readily became discernible. Then the beacon of light began to illuminate the darkness, softening it into shadows that seemed bright now that his eyes had grown used to the pitch black.

The cavern which greeted him at the other end seemed much smaller than the previous one. Though more brightly lit, the semblance of dawn, midday, and evening must not have been maintained here because it was already nearing dusk and the light above shone unwavering. Grass grew only on a discolored rectangular patch marked by little hills several hundred paces ahead; beyond and to the right a naked rock floor appeared untouched since the day the cavern had been hollowed out.

Few of the inscriptions etched in the stones made any sense to him, but he nevertheless wandered down the aisles, reading, reading, yet trying not to register. Only the furthest and oldest graves made him stop. He read the plaques over and over slowly. But the names he knew already.

At Derisar's grave he sank to his knees, giving way to fatigue, intrigued by the objects assembled there. Long-dead flowers had been left to decay in a pot at the foot of the grave; someone had put up a stick next to it where a yellowed image clung. Eiron stared at it—a moment in time frozen as a woman laughed, clutching her little girl in her arms.

The impression remained behind his eyes even as he closed them. That touched him, though he wasn't sure why. You accept death as a part of life, that was the way of it. It no longer mattered to the vanished people in old stills; they had taken their memories with them, but this day lived on before his eyes. He wasn't sure why he found it so absurd that he, a stranger in time, should have come across it. Or why the still of this child tugged at his heart.

Had there been enough other smiles to make up for losing her father?

He heard a crunching in the sand and wrenched his head around hard and quick, the habit of a soldier, then rubbed the side of his neck regretfully. Alessia stood beside him, a wreath of flowers in her hands.

"It was his anniversary today. I promised him—that I'd remember." She explained and gently laid the flower wreath on the grave. "Let's come away now. Sometimes it's better to let things rest."

Ironic, he thought. Her words betrayed a trace of envy. In her place, he would not feel that way, he thought.

The seconds slipped away, but Eiron said nothing. Then, rising, he let her lead him back to the ship.

* * * * *

Eiron was lying on a sleep panel, gazing up blankly at the ceiling. Only a few days ago, the small confines of the featureless room had reminded him of a bird cage. When he was left alone like this, intense claustrophobia drove him into depression.

His fingers played absently with the frayed fringe of a polished silvery medal he'd been wearing. He tossed the metal high, watching it spin, weighted unevenly, a kaleidoscope of colors in the light, and caught it with a slight effort. His wounds didn't bother him at all as he crunched forward to catch the medal again and again.

Boy, he was out of practice, he thought, as the medal fell with a loud clink out of reach onto the floor beside him.

He got up as if to retrieve it and continued out the door, leaving it where it had fallen.

Alessia found him wandering around several hours later.

He had been trying to avoid her, but surrendered himself to an afternoon of volunteer work unloading food supplies into one of the storage rooms. If he felt a little intimidated by how unnaturally strong Alessia was, he didn't let it show. He wasn't accustomed to many people being stronger than he was. Anyway, she wasn't an ordinary human; he knew that, and so did everyone else aboard Selesta.

As the work ended, he began to wish he were somewhere else. It wasn't that he disliked Alessia or anything, but in her company, he found to his displeasure that he remembered how little he'd been accepted in the outside world. As much as he craved freedom and the opportunity to return to his home, it had begun to dawn on him that going home would mean permanent exile in a world that criticized and scorned his heritage.

He couldn't seem to shake her because she always knew exactly where to find him. And he was afraid that after a while he wouldn't want to. He didn't want to allow himself to become dependent on her companionship if it was something he was going to have to give up.

"That's the last," he said, tossing in a small sack of seeds into the storage room near the cantina they all used. He wiped his hair back, letting the cool air work its magic on him. His muscles felt pleasantly fatigued but not stiff. He'd worked up a thin layer of sweat, but it was a long way back to his room for a shower.

"Why don't you go for a swim?" Alessia suggested, as though reading his mind. Eiron agreed reluctantly, with a pang of regret for the silver pool he had left behind in the cliff side reconnaisance chamber. Swimming there had helped him to regain his strength as he recuperated, but it was nothing to the vast river that ran through the Seynorynaelian forest in Selesta.

He wasn't about to admit that he didn't remember the way to the forest, though. Alessia spared him any excuses by not asking any questions. She threaded their path down countless corridors and past security gates to the enormous hold, where trees no Tiasennian had ever seen grew as large as in any terrestrial forest.

Cool, emerald green leaves with shimmering silver-gold veins and undersides that helped to deflect some of the radiation formed a bright, multi-colored canopy over their heads; the smooth, light grey trunks of the trees called lyra were in fact strong, sturdy, and deep-rooted, providing a comfortable resting place to while away immeasurable hours. There were other trees, too, interspersed among them—pink-blossomed sedwi trees and smaller white sherin and blue sherin trees, whose petals cascaded to the forest floor like snow. Many artificial streams ran through the forest, but the largest, which cut through the heart of the retreat, could have been called a small river. Its slow current and cool, shallow basin created the perfect place for swimming.

At the water's edge, small slate blue and purplish-grey stones tickled Eiron's feet as he waded knee-deep, his pushed-up leggings brushing the surface of the rippling water.

There was a perfect breeze blowing, smelling of the sweet, golden flower blossoms growing along the banks. How could he be inside a spaceship far beneath the earth? He felt as though he had discovered some secret lost world, far from the evils of his society, immortal and beautiful, a paradise which belonged only to the two of them.

Here, while tendays passed uncounted, he drew strength from this strange, alien soil, filling an unconscious need in his soul.

His only fear now was that he would never want to leave this place.

* * * * *

Alessia said nothing about his leaving until late one evening.

He heard a knock on his door, almost a rhythm, even as the computerized monitor announced the name and ship rank of his visitor. He found it interesting that it always called her "Assistant Bio-specialist, Alessia Enassa", when she had told him her name was something like Zadúmchov.

"I've brought your uniform back to you." She said seriously, as she laid his uniform on his bedside table. "You'll need it if you're going to return tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" He echoed, bemused, his cheerful mood vanishing. Staring at the familiar flightsuit, he had the disconcerting feeling that the man who had once belonged to it was no longer the same man. His past life on Tiasenne suddenly seemed like someone else's.

For a moment, Eiron struggled to accept his departure and what it meant; his heart was sinking for no apparent reason.

"All right, tomorrow," he repeated stonily.

It was a shock to realize that he didn't want to leave. Somewhere down the line he had convinced himself that he wouldn't, that they, that Alessia, would keep him here.

As he watched her, he felt a strange pang of emotion, what he thought was apprehension. Its intensity surprised him, and he realized that it was not fear about going back, he was afraid of losing what he had found.

As if that could ever be his.

He refused to allow the thought to form. He would not cross that line, even while his mind was tortured by the confusion. He managed to keep his emotion from his face, as Alessia watched him, waiting.

She was beautiful, he thought so anyway. Not just strong but as strong-willed and independent as he was.

His own senses had tried to keep him from thinking much about Alessia in any other light than as his rescuer. And if he did occasionally forget, he suppressed the thought. So why was he so disappointed that she wanted him to leave? That she didn't seem very upset to see him go? What was this emotion he felt when he looked at her? After all, he had never before been able to center his thoughts on only one woman. He was not an emotional man in general. And why was it that he was suddenly no longer jealous of her unnatural powers?

"Is something wrong?" He thought to ask. "You haven't given me a whole lot of notice."

She didn't answer him but regarded him impassively. He did not perceive her distress because she spoke calmly.

"Yes, there is something." She said. "I'll need that favor that I told you I would ask for, if you're willing to do it for me."

"Hey, I don't forget my debts. You're asking for it now?"

"Yes."

"So, can you at least tell me what this is all about?" He asked.

"I think it's time to shake things up." She said.

_Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt._ Men in general believe what they wish.

—Caesar
Chapter Sixteen

"No, it can't be." Vaikyur's voice rose as though to object against a miracle, a miracle he secretly longed for. "That's impossible. Read it again."

"Yes, sir." Kesney snapped to obey. "Radar reports that we are receiving an emergency signal frequency identified as that belonging to Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov. We've traced it from sector five, fifteen nariars northeast of point aico-seven. Do you have any orders for me to relay, sir?"

"Send out a recon plane, and warn the pilot to keep a good look out." Vaikyur added, thinking about what happened last time. "I wouldn't put it past the Orians to stoop to dirty tricks."

"Yes, sir. I'll notify Senka Kalear immediately." Kesney nodded, then turned back to his console and tapped the receiver. "Attention, Senka Kalear, this is Ekasi Kesney calling with orders from Command Central, attention Senka Kalear. Senka Vaikyur's orders are to send a recon to identify source of emergency frequency coming from inside Classified Zone perimeter of sector five. Investigate with caution..."

Vaikyur stood listening for a while but turned away, heading for his command chair. Three months without word had erased all doubt in his mind and taken hope with it. It was going to take a lot to restore his sense of hope.

He suddenly found himself wishing that he'd spent more time with Eiron when he'd had it; ironically enough, he had plenty of time these days to dwell on regrets.

In time, the pain was going, leaving him to get on with the remainder of his life. But guilt was far more stubborn. He had sent Eiron out alone on his last mission, he reminded himself. He had waited too long to send recon reinforcements. He had put too much on the boy. Yet who could have known that Orian had planned to attack?

He told himself he should have foreseen it, knowing that was not possible.

"Sir, Senka Kalear reports recon is on its way."

"Good." Vaikyur said calmly. He tried to hold on to that serenity a moment longer, to wait patiently for news. What else could he do? Still, the questions came back.

Who could be transmitting the distress code? Most likely someone had found the transmitter in the wreckage of Eiron's plane, and that also meant that Eiron, or what was left of him, had been discovered. Or was it the enemy?

They hadn't made a move in over two months, and the younger officers were lapsing into the kind of unhurried inefficiency you usually only saw at the Academy. However, Vaikyur couldn't help but wonder if this lull was only the quiet before the storm, and that maybe their old adversaries had fabricated the message for a reason, maybe to set them up, or as a decoy.

Yet if Eiron had activated the device himself... Vaikyur allowed himself a momentary glimmer of optimism, but it soon faded.

No, old man, no sense getting your hopes up. He thought, shaking his head. If Eiron were alive, why hadn't he returned and where had he been these last three months? Fool, but creator above! I'd give anything to have the boy back.

Yet if Eiron still lived, Vaikyur wouldn't get to see him, not right away, he reminded himself. Headquarters would take him in first for debriefing, if they wanted to be nice about it. If they hauled him into interrogation, Vaikyur might never find out what happened.

Without a doubt, Eiron would have to explain himself to them first.

But Eiron couldn't really be alive after all this time, could he?

* * * * *

Miles away at that very moment, Eiron contemplated the explanation he might offer. No, better to wait until they ask, he shrugged, refusing to let anxiety paralyze him or cloud his thinking. He waited only a few minutes before the transport landed. The pilot released the gangway for him but never spoke a word.

When the rescue plane touched down back at the Command Center, Eiron peered out cautiously from inside the cockpit's shotgun seat. The pilot was already halfway across the docking bay heading towards the barracks corridor when Eiron finally backed his way down the co-pilot landing ladder.

Jumping to the ground, he lingered beside the plane a few minutes longer, gazing around at the familiar surroundings. Right away, he saw that the docking bay was empty. Training maneuvers were usually going on at this time, weren't they? he asked himself. But all of the other planes were out, and there weren't any flight officers around to guide them back in.

That would mean that his unit had been transferred to Ernestia for a month of recon duty, protecting the ore shipments, he reasoned. So why had they brought him back to Headquarters instead of sending him to join his unit? He wondered, foolishly, knowing all along the reason why, but being optimistically hopeful. The Senka in Ernestia could easily have debriefed him, but they had brought him back to Headquarters.

Obviously they had a special welcome in mind. Eiron turned his head around anxiously, keeping his back to the plane. He thought he sensed several pairs of eyes watching him from above; he hoped they would hurry up and make their move.

As soon as he took a step away from the plane, several hatch doors hissed open, dispelling armed Tiasennian guards wearing navy blue uniforms with bronze shoulder guards, belts, and knee-high boots. The Primary Guard. Twenty men and women chosen from the best of Tiasenne's military. The Primary Guard were Ezáitur's own first and foremost, and in performing their duties had become the pilots of the new, improved comet fighters, his parents' project—Eiron had hoped to join them one day for that reason.

The Primary Guard existed in order to protect and serve the Fer-innyera. When Fer-innyera Ezáitur traveled anywhere on Tiasenne, the Primary Guard flew escort to protect him. Whenever Ezáitur remained at Headquarters, the Primary Guard kept on the watch for signs of espionage and assassination attempts on Ezáitur's life, and of course, they performed the most challenging, special tasks which Ezáitur could not entrust to his other guards and officers.

"Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov, it is my duty to inform you that you are scheduled for a de-briefing in the interrogation room. We are here to ensure that you reach that appointment on time." The rich baritone of Senka Aktaeon Forren, the leader of the Primary Guard, echoed in the hold. He was a tall, middle-aged man in impeccable shape, with a rugged, uncompromising face and bright cobalt eyes. That was not what you noticed, though. His hair was uncustomarily long, immaculately trimmed at shoulder length, and it was jet black. His unusual appearance didn't seem to have been a problem; however, Forren's intimidating, swarthy mystique fit the role of Ezáitur's front man and interrogations officer perfectly.

Forren took a step forward and waved his arm. In response, two guards moved forward to bind Eiron's hands; Eiron surrendered them willingly, for now.

Eiron was surprised when they passed the main interrogation room of the Command Center and continued down the corridor. The procession cleared six security checkpoints before stopping before an unmarked door about fifteen minutes later, somewhere in the corridor that connected Command Central to the Headquarters building. Eiron was escorted inside, and then the Primary Guard took up a position outside the door.

A man in civilian garb sat in a deep, cushioned chair with his back to Eiron on the other side of a large, polished, purple desk. A smaller stiff-backed chair had been placed a couple of feet before it.

"Do be seated," the unidentified man instructed. Eiron stared at the man. Even from the back, his salt and pepper brown hair seemed familiar.

The man who swiveled around to face him was Fer-innyera Ezáitur.

Ezáitur wasn't a tall man, but not short either, with a defensive yet manipulative personality.

"Don't look so surprised, Ekasi Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov." Ezáitur purred. "Do you know, I remember you from your graduation—what was it, six years ago? I never forget the faces of my top graduating officers."

"It was seven years ago, sir." Eiron corrected him.

"Ah yes, thank you," Ezáitur's tone was anything but grateful. "The years run together, you know. But your exploits since are not entirely unknown to me." He continued gracefully. "Everyone remembers the surprise attack last year on Wysteirchan and the young patrolling Ekasi that single-handedly defeated twelve enemy space fighters."

"That was only blind luck on my part, sir." Eiron protested.

"No, no, my dear boy." Ezáitur frowned elaborately. "You mustn't be so modest. Your training records confirm our subsequent assessments—excellence in reaction time and maneuvering ability. Perhaps you get that from your mother. I knew Melain Vaikyur at the Academy, you know. What a beautiful woman she was—it's a real pity she became attached to that Orian. A real pity."

Eiron said nothing, of course, refusing to let Ezáitur stir him up.

"Melain had a gift. Vaikyur has it too, you know. I understand you have that same gift. No ordinary pilot gets promoted to company leader and head of maneuver training at the Academy."

"Yes, sir." Eiron clipped in agreement.

"That's better." A slow smile crept over the Fer-innyera's face, exposing sharp, even teeth. "Now I would like to know what happened on the evening of the attack on northwest Inen and the enemy's appearance in sector five's Classified Zone. You disappeared that night, and were presumed dead." Ezáitur laced his fingers and tucked his thumbs under his chin thoughtfully. "I would like to help you, honestly. Otherwise I would have left this questioning to my new Secretary Mahlinswur." Ezáitur reclined in his chair, predatory eyes fixed on Eiron.

"Yes, sir, I understand." Eiron said. "Senka Vaikyur ordered me to fly by the northwest corner of the capital to investigate the civilian complaints concerning noises in the sky." He explained. "I was attacked by six new Orian planes, faster than any I've ever seen before, and they drove me into the Classified Zone. I was hit, and I crashed, sir."

"Please don't prevaricate, Ekasi Erlenkov." Ezáitur interrupted, feigning amusement. "Enough. I am sure Senka Vaikyur will be interested in learning about the enemy's newest space fighters, but I am more concerned with what happened afterward. How have you managed to survive all of this time?"

"I'm not sure, sir." Eiron managed to appear perplexed.

"You aren't sure?" Ezáitur's tone was incredulous. "Could you be more specific please, Ekasi."

"Well, to put it bluntly, I mean I don't remember anything since the crash." Eiron shrugged, suppressing a smile. "Some debris landed on my head, and I passed out. After that—blank. I can't remember anything. I'm sure someone must have fed me and tended my wounds, but the only thing I remember is coming to way out in the middle of nowhere. I didn't know what to do, so I activated my emergency frequency transmitter."

"Yes, I see you still have your uniform." Ezáitur spat the words out. "Looks like it was a bit torn, though. I wonder who mended it?"

Eiron remained silent.

"Well then, if you can't remember now, perhaps you should stop by again when you do." Ezáitur flashed Eiron a congenial smile. "Until then, I'm sure your grandfather will be pleased to see you." Ezáitur reached out to press a buzzer on his desk.

"Senka Forren, I'd like you speak with you, please. That will be all, Erlenkov, you may go." Ezáitur waved his hand dismissively. "But wait outside for a moment, and Senka Forren will escort you back to the Command Center."

Once the Primary Guard Commander stood before him and Eiron had left the room, the Tiasennian Fer-innyera's pleasant countenance vanished. His forehead furrowed in dissatisfaction.

"Watch him closely, Forren." Ezáitur said at last.

"Sir?" Forren asked, bewildered.

"You heard his explanation."

"Yes, sir, I was monitoring it, as you instructed me."

"And?"

"And, I don't see why he would be lying to us, sir. I know Erlenkov's record. And I'm familiar with his psychological evaluation. We don't consider him a threat. He's unswervingly honorable. We'd have asked him to join us already," Forren explained, "except he won't do cover-up operations. He was demoted once for disobeying orders, or he'd've been a Miran by now, too. It's a pity to waste talent, though. He's a remarkable pilot."

"I thought as much." Ezáitur said.

"Sir?"

"That I should trust his assessment about the new Orian space fighters. Quite an annoying development, yes... yes, indeed."

"Yes, sir." Forren agreed.

"However, I am not concerned about his status, Forren. I mean for you to watch for signs of his attitute, not his aptitude. I mean I don't believe that he's forgotten where he was. He knows all right, but he's got his reasons for not telling us."

"Have you got any ideas as to why, sir?"

"Oh yes, Forren, and more than one." Ezáitur licked his lips and drew a deep breath. "He may have been taken by the Orians themselves."

"You don't really believe—"

"He is half-Orian, you know. Perhaps they found him and cared for him for their own reasons. It would explain the way he's acting."

"I don't understand, sir."

"How shall I explain?" Ezáitur said. "Let me tell you a story from back when I was at the Academy. In my third year, I was present at the interrogation of an Orian soldier. The man was crazed, terrified that Fer-innyera Alton was going to 'steal his thoughts' as he put it. My superiors concluded that the Orian leader must have a mind-searching device to extract information coercively."

"A mind-searching device?"

"Indeed. We could not detect the presence of a nano-chip in the captive's brain, but as you know a nano-chip can be made to be undetectable. After the interrogation, the prisoner was taken to a cell, where he was kept under constant surveillance. Every so often—at random times it seemed, for it didn't matter what he was doing—his face would contort suddenly and then he could be heard to scream. It was an agonized sound or so I am told. Only a few words could ever be made out. 'I told them nothing, Leader Sargon, nothing' was what he was saying—it took us a while to figure that out. You couldn't tell much from that volume. The distortions—"

"I know, sir." Forren nodded, well versed in the ways of interrogation.

"Well, I can tell you, his behavior intrigued us, and at last we learned the name of the Orian Leader, which as I've said before—"

"You had already heard, without knowing where or how." Forren said.

"Anyway," Ezáitur continued, "I remember thinking, surely this Sargon could not reach him to harm him here! So I concluded that the Orian soldier must have had some security device implanted in his brain that caused him to feel pain whenever he contemplated betraying his Great Leader. To prove it, we had Doctor Erness run a body scan."

"And?" Now Forren's interest was genuine.

"Well, we found nothing out of the ordinary, and as I said, no signs of any kind of behavioral control device implantation in his brain, so my colleagues dismissed the incident. However, I still believed my hypothesis, even after the prisoner died a week later."

"What has this got to do with Vaikyur-Erlenkov?" Forren saw the direction Ezáitur was heading but needed confirmation.

"Well, Forren, perhaps if he was captured, he may have been programmed as a spy or an implant to sabotage our High Command, even without his knowing it. It is possible that they were able to take over one part of his mind, maybe with some kind of nano-implant, and that the rest of his mind has no knowledge of the secret saboteur within him.

"In that case, he wouldn't remember anything. But on some level, he cannot betray his captors, or they will mutilate his mind, just as they did their own pilot."

"But you believe he does remember, you said before, sir." Forren reminded him.

"Yes, his eyes gave him away." Ezáitur agreed. "I am sure he does remember his captivity and being forced to tell them what he knows. Maybe he doesn't wish to spy for them, but it is probably something beyond his control. If he refuses to cooperate, he will feel his punishment. Perhaps he already has."

"But if you feel he's a spy, then why allow him to rejoin us? Put him in confinement." Forren shook his head in confusion.

"We can watch him. But told you I had more than one explanation. Inen is rich in historical folklore, more than our other cities."

"Yes, sir." Forren agreed. This was fact. "The civilians of Inen have been exposed to political rumors for a long time."

"You are correct, Forren. The civilians here remember more than we give them credit for. I am well aware that the truth lives on in legend, and I have often fallen to such sources of information when my officers are unable to extract it."

"You mean Vaikyur, sir? Mahlinswur failed to find out—"

"Yes, of course he did." Ezáitur interrupted impatiently. "It seems he was a bad choice, far worse than Marúsh. Remind me to demote him sometime. I'll send him to Nestor, I suppose. There's not much going on out there.

"Anyway, what was I saying, Forren?" Ezáitur coughed, trying to recall.

"You were talking about folklore, sir." Forren responded quickly and waited.

"Ah yes." The Fer-innyera's eyes alighted with recollection. "Well, you see, I grew up in Inen, as a matter of fact, not far from here. As a child I loved to listen to my grandmother telling me stories she'd heard in her youth. One of them she told to frighten me concerned a region she'd heard about from her father, Senka Korrince. She told me that soldiers, enemies of the state, had disappeared without a trace near the Northwestern Sea and that if I wasn't careful to mind and learn to obey then the ghost of the cliffs would come for me, too.

"Well, I told her that I didn't believe in ghosts." Ezáitur chuckled. "I was getting too old. She looked scared, as I'd never seen her before, and she warned me that I'd better not say things like that aloud. She claimed to have seen the ghost woman when she was alive, that her grandfather had taken her to meet her, and I should be afraid because even then the woman could _steal_ a person's soul with a look.

"Of course I didn't believe her, and I said so. She told me then that the ghost woman came from the sky in a ship that she led to victory against the Orian Leader's flagship. The woman died in the attack, and her ship was destroyed, but where she fell her soul still haunted the cliffs to punish those that scorned the cause for which she'd sacrificed her life.

"For years I believed that her story was pure fantasy, a tale told to frighten a misbehaving child." Ezáitur sniffed.

"But while I was at the Academy, I learned that a woman named Alessia matching this description really did exist, even if the ghost and ghost stories weren't taken seriously. And, my dear Forren, if you ever visit the northeastern plain of our great capital city just where the hills begin, you will find traces of an impression in the soil that stretches several nariars, before it disappears in the hills."

"So what has all of this got to do with Vaikyur-Erlenkov, sir?" Forren asked.

"If you had been monitoring Secretary Marúsh's last meeting with Senka Vaikyur, you would understand, Forren." Ezáitur shook his head in disapproval. "They were discussing the Ekasi's disappearance at point aico-seven when Vaikyur asked Marúsh of all things if the man was afraid of ghosts. Can you imagine such nonsense? And out of the blue. But there is a method to his madness. You see, my grandmother was the only other person I had ever heard mentioning Alessia of 'The Ghost's Cliff'. So, the odds are there must be a connection."

"I think I'm beginning to understand you, sir." Forren nodded slightly.

"Vaikyur was the only man we know of who returned from the area until today. And, I believe it was Vaikyur who persuaded Alton to forbid access to the area."

"Then perhaps Alessia survived the attack, sir." Forren suggested.

"That is my belief." Ezáitur nodded. "And those missing scientists and pilots who were with her must have helped her escape to hide in the cliffs."

"So you believe their descendants may have saved Vaikyur-Erlenkov, sir?" Forren pursued.

"It is a possibility." Ezáitur concluded dryly.

"Ah-hah. Vaikyur's such a sentimentalist. It would be just like him to protect her disciples from undue attention." Ezáitur was so involved, he didn't register the informality of Forren's remark.

"Yes." Ezáitur agreed.

"So why do you bother with him, sir? Do you think he knows anything else?"

"Of course he does." Ezáitur shook his head in exasperation. "Vaikyur knows too much and thinks too much. Men like him are dangerous. But it is even more dangerous to ignore them. I keep him around because I must, but I shall never turn my back on Vaikyur."

"Hmmm." Forren nodded, wondering. "But is all of this information important, sir?" Forren's brows furrowed.

"I'm not sure." Ezáitur responded dilatorily. "I believe so, but I think we may also find it worthwhile to watch our prodigal ekasi from now on. If he was taken by Orian, he may be of use in prying the old man's secrets, or else perhaps the traitor will expose the Orians' plans by trying to lead us in the opposite direction."

"You think he'll try something, sir?"

"I'm sure of it."

"I don't understand, sir." Forren had brought his fingertips to his face briefly to knead his forehead, then exhaled shortly before turning to regard Ezáitur. "If he was taken by the Orians, I can see your point. But if Alessia's disciples helped him?"

"That seems less likely, but in that event, we may have stumbled upon something far more important." Ezáitur suggested in subtle triumph. It was a win-win situation. Either way, he would soon have Vaikyur-Erlenkov—and the elusive Vaikyur—precisely where he wanted them.

"What do you mean, sir?" Forren asked, though his tone implied the kind of feigned ignorance one used in setting up an argument. "If Alessia is dead and her ship was destroyed, why should we care if and where her people hide? Does Eiron really think he's protecting them from us? They should all be dead or in old age by now."

"Maybe he isn't protecting them from us at all." Ezáitur's reptilian gaze had grown increasingly animated with each of Forren's questions.

"Who from, then, sir? Not the Orians, surely. Why should they care about the descendants of a band of crazy scientists that fled to the hills? If they really are trying to find something there, what could it be?"

"That is exactly what we must know." Ezáitur said.

"We'll be watching Vaikyur-Erlenkov for any unusual behavior, sir."

"Good." Ezáitur clipped approvingly.

"And if he seems normal, sir?" Forren wondered.

"He will betray himself." Ezáitur had no doubt.

"You don't really believe Alessia's people exist, do you sir?" Forren asked hesitantly.

"Not really." Ezáitur replied, his voice studiously, artfully level as though baiting Forren. "Orian is a dying planet, and the hostile barbarians deserve to die. Nothing they could search for on Tiasenne would save them from their fate. Revenge alone is their only recourse, and our cities are too well guarded for urban flyby bombings to succeed. We aren't in danger, so long as we keep up our guard." Ezáitur gave Forren a sly sidelong look, testing to see how far he believed him, how far he accepted the perfectly constructed response.

"Then why did you bother telling me about the stories concerning Alessia?" Forren asked.

"You are a brute, Forren, even if you are the best at what you do." Ezáitur chuckled. "Didn't you ever listen to your grandmother?"

"No, sir. Mine was insane." Forren explained. "She kept insisting that the war was a farce, and my father had her locked away."

"You may go." Ezáitur said.

Forren nodded absently, then left.

* * * * *

"Requesting off-duty permission to enter the Command Center, sir."

Vaikyur looked up at the two figures standing in the doorway.

"Vaikyur-Erlenkov?" Kesney breathed, recognizing the speaker; Eiron's attire looked the worse for wear, and his posture seemed a bit strained with fatigue, but otherwise, he hadn't changed since his disappearance at point aico-seven. Senka Forren stood to his right, turning a level, unmeasurable gaze around Command Central, a gaze that seemed likely to find fault with everything he surveyed.

"Dear boy, you're alive!" Vaikyur proclaimed, rising in his chair and striding towards his grandson in an excited state; after a moment, he composed himself. "Permission to enter the Command Center granted."

As Eiron approached the Senkaya-Sukura, he surrendered himself to a quick hug. "HA HA!" Vaikyur said, roughly slapping the sides of Eiron's arms. "But how? We were sure that your plane went down."

"I can't discuss that, sir." Eiron said formally, flicking his eyes behind him. Senka Forren, who went where he pleased in the Command Center, had followed. At least not here, Eiron's eyes seemed to say.

The looks exchanged between grandfather and grandson were not lost on Senka Forren. Vaikyur had that almost unnoticeable furtive smile Forren so admired on his face. The way the old man had understood in a moment that his grandson had something significant for his ears alone, and the innocent game they played was enough to throw anyone who believed in the purity of duty, like the young Junior Ekasi Kesney sitting there, off the track.

But not Forren.

"Senka Forren." With a stiff salute Vaikyur acknowledged the intelligence officer now standing behind Eiron.

"It is an honor and a privilege to meet you again, sir." Forren returned the salute, and found himself meaning his words as he studied the old man, though he wouldn't have let anyone know that for all the world.

Now here was a leader you could admire, Forren thought secretively. Not like Ezáitur. Personality cults aside, Forren felt certain that everyone in the higher ups not on his payroll hated the Fer-innyera, those who were not terrified of his dangerous and destructive little whims. He certainly hated the Fer-innyera, even though Ezáitur was unaware of this and trusted him fully. But the Fer-innyera also thought that Forren was stupid and of no threat whatsoever.

And Forren was smart enough never to give himself away.

A single moment can change all.

—Wieland, Oberon
Chapter Seventeen

It wasn't until four hours later, after Vaikyur had come off-duty, that he and Eiron returned to the privacy of the Senkaya-Sukura's quarters for a glass of urbin root spirits and a lot of catching up.

Vaikyur was careful to activate his personal scrambler before the two took a seat on the sofa and chair in Vaikyur's living area. As long as the faint whine of the device could be heard, they wouldn't have to worry about whether or not someone was trying to monitor their conversation.

"So you've known about our Orian enemy all this time." Eiron said after a while. "That the Great Leader is Beren's nephew, that he seeks revenge for Tiasenne's break with Orian and our violation of the co-existence peace treaties. And that's why people say you sympathized with them."

Vaikyur looked surprised, then shrugged unapologetically. "I told you all that you needed to know." He insisted gruffly, gesturing in the air with his glass.

"I understand all that." Eiron dismissed his defensive protests. "I know about your visit to Selesta."

"My what?"

"Alessia told me everything."

"Alessia? You mean she's still alive?" Vaikyur balked. "But that's impossible. When I knew her she had lived here at least fifteen years, and that was fifty-three years ago." So she was indeed an ancient being, perhaps even immortal—as he had long suspected.

"She saved my life." Eiron answered calmly. "I would have died if she hadn't pulled me to safety and taken care of my injuries. Then about a month after the crash, she brought me to Selesta."

"Then her ship is still there?" Vaikyur swallowed, his eyes glistening with interest.

"Yes." Eiron nodded, unsuccessfully trying to suppress any outward show of feeling about this.

Vaikyur chuckled at his grandson's enthusiasm, a reminiscent smile forming around the corners of his mouth, his eyes crinkling.

"You don't remember," he began, "but those stories about Selesta always fascinated you when you were a child."

"You're right, I don't remember." Eiron returned, confused.

"I understand." Vaikyur nodded. "Your mother used to tell them to you." He explained. "She was a lot like you, you know. Melain loved those stories when she was a little girl. I guess when she died, I tried to put those memories behind me."

"You told them to her?"

"Yes." Vaikyur sighed. "I guess that's how I always knew there must be some truth to the stories," he added cryptically, then went on in explanation. "I grew up in Inen, under the shadow of an unknown ship surrounded by rumor. I remember seeing it once from the transport tunnel skyway to the Aerospace Museum."

"What skyway?" Eiron asked, bemused.

"Well, they've torn it down since then. The tunnel used to be fifteen deci-nariars above ground in those days, when it linked the museum to the top of the traffic tower. That was before we built the underground tunnels for the safety of our people." Vaikyur added, reconstructing the city in his mind as it had been in his youth.

"Anyway, you could see the ship at the edge of the city for years. I remember it seemed to stretch halfway to Ernestia. Then one day it disappeared." Vaikyur smiled with the memory.

"Grandfather, I have an idea that might end the war." Eiron interrupted his reverie, avoiding his grandfather's questioning gaze and rising from the sofa. He began to pace about the room. "And I'll need your help."

Vaikyur raised an eyebrow but said nothing, so Eiron continued.

"Sargon wanted to use Alessia's ship to escape the system and find a new home for his people."

"A reasonable request, under the circumstances." Vaikyur said.

"Except that she doesn't trust him. But if we don't do something about Orian soon, he'll try to force us to accept the refugees as colonists. If we refuse, we'll have a real war on our hands."

"Sargon isn't the negotiable type." Vaikyur agreed. "I've watched for signs of a new Great Leader."

"But each attack on our remote sectors bears evidence that the situation hasn't changed?" Eiron guessed. "We can't wait forever, grandfather. We have to try something."

Vaikyur agreed privately, but what could be done?

"What are you on about?" Vaikyur asked, intrigued.

"We've got to urge the High Command to negotiate."

"Do you really think they would?" Vaikyur chuckled.

"They don't know about Orian's situation. Maybe some of them would listen. A lot of them would listen to you, anyway."

"All right," Vaikyur conceded. "I'll try. But they aren't afraid of Orian. Only a very few among them will care."

"I've seen evidence that Orian's building up an aerial force." Eiron countered.

"Okay." Vaikyur laughed. "Why are you so determined?"

"Alessia's ready to come out of hiding." Eiron said. "She wants to get the Orians safely away before the destruction of Orian." Eiron ignored Vaikyur's expression of surprise. He knew that Vaikyur had long suspected something of that nature would happen.

"But she also wants to protect us." Eiron continued.

"We're at a stalemate now." Vaikyur reminded him.

"Exactly. But what if we were to build a rescue ship based on the designs of her ship's engines? Dangle it over the Great Leader's head and see what happens?"

"Even if Sargon does agree to peace, there's no telling if he'll honor it." Vaikyur insisted.

"Exactly why we'd need something in our corner. A flagship to defend us."

"And if we lose the battle?" Vaikyur asked tiredly. "If Sargon opts for mutual annihilation?"

"We'll make the ship big enough that we can escape Tiasenne if we have to." Eiron said. "We won't want to use it for that, but it would give us an advantage."

"I still think he won't buy it. And we might not have time or space to get everyone out. So why don't we just wait until Sargon dies?" Vaikyur asked and poured himself a drink from the decanter on the table before him.

Eiron stopped pacing, his brow furrowing as he considered whether or not to go on and how to phrase his words.

"We can't." He said simply.

"Why not?"

"Sargon isn't going to die. He's like her—like Alessia." Eiron said. Vaikyur's eyes flickered, but he was not really shocked, only surprised that his own wild suspicions had been confirmed.

"'They fell before the power of immortals. But they shall rise again.'" Vaikyur quoted, almost poetic under the influence of alcohol.

"What's that?" Eiron asked.

"Oh," Vaikyur shook his head. "It's an ancient inscription. They found it etched in a stone outside Inen when Mourier put in the new northern Inen air base."

"What does it mean?" Eiron asked, allowing himself a moment's distraction.

"I have no idea." Vaikyur said. "But I think I 'm beginning to understand."

"You are?" Eiron asked, confused.

"Yes," Vaikyur said. "We're the losers here."

"What do you mean?" Eiron demanded, a little annoyed.

"Win or lose the battle, it doesn't matter. We shouldn't interfere in the affairs of immortals fighting against each other. We're the only ones who can be hurt."

"But—"

"Oh, I'm not saying we're so innocent, or that we have any other choice but to fight." Vaikyur waved away Eiron's protest. "I'll be the first to try to stop this bastard, no matter what the consequences might be.

"Just tell me one thing," Vaikyur added. "Why hasn't Alessia done anything until now?"

"She never told you?"

"Yes, but that was a long time ago. I expected something sooner, but I guess if she is an immortal, then she doesn't have to be in any hurry."

"I see your point." Eiron admitted. "Honestly, I don't know. It's strange, though—when I was on Selesta, I had the feeling that—but it's probably only a guess." He shook his head.

"What?"

"That there's someone else there, telling her what to do," Eiron finished. "And she's trying to resist for some reason. Whether it's someone real or just in her own mind, I don't know. But whatever it is, it's got her. Tying her hands, I guess you could say."

"Her conscience perhaps?" Vaikyur laughed.

"I think there's more to it." Eiron disagreed. "She told me her people once practiced mind control, like the Orians."

"Sounds like an excuse."

"She never used it like that. It's just my opinion. Anyway, she's doing something now. And she tried to give me her ship's engine plans."

"You refused them, I suppose?"

Eiron nodded. "I looked at them, but I couldn't understand what I saw very well."

"You think you can do it, though?" Vaikyur wondered. "Come up with something bigger and better than the Baidarka without any help?"

"I don't really have a choice." Eiron said. "Alessia's calling in a favor, so I've got to try."

"Ok." Vaikyur laughed. "But it's about time you used your Field of Specialization from the Academy. I've always said you're as talented a Spaceship Engineer as your father was."

"I knew you'd like the idea." Eiron sighed. "Anyway, I need your permission and supply clearance to begin the construction of evacuation ships."

"'Ships'?" Vaikyur asked.

"You're right. One won't do it. At least, we couldn't risk just one being successful. And we'll need enough for both Orian and Tiasenne."

"And where would we go, assuming we have to leave Tiasenne?"

"Alessia says we can survive on Bayria."

"I'd rather stay here," Vaikyur shrugged.

"So would I," Eiron agreed. "And if the negotiations go well, we could help transport the Orians here, or evacuate them to Bayria if the negotiations fail and Orian becomes unlivable."

"I can see you've already given the situation a great deal of thought, Eiron." Vaikyur nodded his approbation. "I'll organize the clearance petitions and send a few construction engineers over to you first thing in the morning so you can work out the details. I assume, then, that you've completed your engine blueprints?"

"I sure have." Eiron laughed. "But I'll have all of the documents brought to you before work on the outer hull components are completed."

"One more thing." Vaikyur rose halfway and turned his head slightly to keep Eiron's attention when it was clear that Eiron had finished. "If anyone asks, these ships are to be prototypes—new defense space cruisers you're testing out. Don't let Ezáitur find out about them until we've seen how the negotiations go." Vaikyur sat down again heavily on his chair.

"Yes, sir." Eiron started to leave.

"It's good to have you back." Vaikyur added, cherishing his grandson's answering smile before the door closed behind him.

But he sat moments longer on his favorite chair, considering what Eiron had left unsaid.

He'd had his own suspicions years before when he had met Alessia. Vaikyur had understood that more was going on than Alessia had led him to believe.

* * * * *

Some days he could almost forget what he was doing. Usually they were days he spent alone surveying the horizon and the high grey ceiling of the sky from his apartments on the top floor of the building. Ah, how the wind came rushing up the valley to meet him dead in the face.

And then a simple-minded cadet would come to interrupt his peace to report news of some kind or another, to bring him dinner, or to ask him if he required anything. Trifles! On such occasions, he was at least reminded of what he was waiting for, why he kept his forces instigating these mindless little random attacks across Tiasenne, but he couldn't help but break a disdainful frown at being disturbed by such simpletons, not unless they had some real news to report.

Now watch him scurry for cover, he thought, regarding the latest messenger. There he goes. Clatter. And there goes the door. Spineless beast, he sighed in disgust.

He really hated to frown, but it was becoming a permanent part of his facial structure, as natural to him as breathing.

He wanted to smile, but he couldn't remember the last time he had.

Tears were in his eyes before he even noticed them. Could he still do that? He hardly ever felt pain enough to succumb to tears he had once considered weak and womanish until he understood their bitter taste himself; the last time he had felt such despair had been a brief two days for some reason nearly fifteen years before.

Or was this sudden attack some unbidden pang of regret? he wondered. Perhaps. If left alone long enough, some of the normal side of him would return.

I'm not crazy, he thought again. I never asked to become the creature that I am now.

By this point it was the beginning of the end. Very soon he would submerge into the hellish depths of his mind, the murky depths of thought beneath clarity and reasoning where his anger resided; this part of his mind now also held the memories of countless other lives, alien memories that conspired with those of his own former life to torment him. Why had she not warned him of the dangers of telepathy? He wondered resentfully. He was no longer one man in his soul, but plagued by the minds of those he had probed with telepathy.

And why wouldn't she help him save his people from certain death and oblivion? he wondered. Why had she left him alone? Especially after what she had done to him! Why had she bothered to save his life at all—he wondered.

Of course, he had known other women since her, and he knew he could easily glut his mind and senses as easily as his body with sensations of unending pleasure—but it had all become an illusion, an illusion his mind would never allow him to care for, an illusion that disgusted him. He wanted Alessia now more than ever, to punish her and hurt her if he could.

It didn't matter how many other lives he had to ruin in order for him to obtain what he wanted. When he remembered his purpose, he would attack. It could very well prove to be the catalyst that changed her mind and made her come back to his side. Though time which had no more power over him could not heal him, it had granted him patience in the last few years. Yes, he was patient. What was a hundred years to an immortal but the merest blink of an eye?

Sargon was now resolved to quit his chambers for the Orian Command Center. It would be at least a year before he needed sleep or felt any desire to return to his chambers or the vista. He needed no more inspiration. His mind was wholly his own again.

If she wouldn't come to him, then he would find her. He would make her face what she had done. He would scare her out of hiding.

Let his officers run from him; he would not move from his position at the balcony for days if he felt so inclined. Let them suffer a stare of his if they disturbed him. For whatever he did, they would follow his instructions. They revered him, knew that if anyone could, he would save their world. Each one truly believed that the happy ending was coming.

As if their dreams, wishes, and fantasies had any real influence over reality.

* * * * *

Vaikyur's biggest battle in the construction of the new space cruiser was over materials. He insisted on the best, and the Minister of Industry finally gave in. Vaikyur would not back down, and he relished his quiet victory. Too often in the past, the government's attempts at stretching the budget for new space cruisers had resulted in the purchase of faulty parts, and Vaikyur had been obliged to attend the funerals of all the men and women who had died when the ships blew apart or crashed.

For the past three tendays, Eiron had been juggling his time between routine patrols with his unit in Ernestia, maneuver training at the Gakano Leraestava e Lil-lieraya, and quiet moments when he could document his engine plans. And then there were the progress meetings with the specialists who would be doing the actual construction of the first craft.

It wasn't until the third tenday that the superalloys from Celin, Tiasenne's orbiting space station, were brought to the Command Center's cargo bay 3B via cargo shuttles and the construction could begin.

Now Vaikyur was on his way to observe the lacing of the hull plates on the superstructure that had been completed almost a week and a half before. As he reached bay 3B, his groundcar nearly collided with a transport of specialists leaving for home at the end of their shift. The whine of breaking air behind him signaled the arrival of their replacement crew.

Five hundred crews of seventy-five men and women had been hired from specialist guilds in Ernestia's military affiliated supply vessel construction complex, the remainder being regulars from Command Central's payroll who specialized in the construction of single space fighter manned space cruisers.

The scope of the assignment had necessitated recruiting more specialists than worked for the Command Center, and though the government had enthused over the project since Eiron's meeting with Secretary Mahlinswur, Vaikyur had all but twisted the arm of Secretary Nortinn for additional funds. The government often gave verbal support but then faltered when it came time to pay the price.

Of all the thousands of ships and fighters the government produced, only the comet fighters maintained a high standard of quality. Vaikyur opined that many of the rest merely provided numbers to fulfill Ezáitur's increasing production forecasts.

However, it was convenient for driving purposes, Vaikyur reflected, to have these underground tunnels connecting Command Central and the Academy's hangers to the more remote Headquarters building. For example, if he wanted to breathe down Nortinn's neck for immediate action, he didn't have far to go.

And it seemed the last meeting had been productive, Vaikyur noted with pleasure as he observed that the ores he had ordered had already arrived. Over the next several hours, he watched as the first hull and its internal cosmic-ray shield neared completion. At that time, the crew would begin work on padding out the interior skeleton with the leftover plates.

It would take months for the interior and engine work to be completed; the hard part would be ensuring that the fragile interconnecting conduit network was installed properly. Once the interior work had been completed, work on the second hull would begin.

Additional circuitry connecting the first and second hull would have to be synchronized with the main operative system within. The air locks between the first, second, and hull "skin" would be built and tested, as would the hanger, upper deck defense cannons, and the second deck main laser battery.

Finally, the hull "skin" would seal the ship, a ten micro-nariar thick layer of superalloy, smooth and seamless. If the skin were breached, the second hull rotary plates would be shifted beneath to secure the aperture. Even if a volley managed to penetrate the skin, second hull, and first hull to the interior rock shields, the moveable layer of overlapping plates that composed the second hull could secure the ship and preserve its internal atmosphere and artificial gravity.

Vaikyur couldn't help but marvel at the ingenuity behind the plans. No one had ever come up with such a brilliant new technology, or devised such an effective system of shields before, and most of Tiasenne's vessels were about as sturdy as flypaper. If an ordinary cargo or carrier ship took a direct hit, even in Tiasenne's atmosphere, it was all over. Eiron had revolutionized the industry—and at the same time improved safety conditions for a starship's crew.

Speaking of the boy, where was he? Not like him to be late, he thought. But maybe if he didn't insist on working to all hours, he'd be able to get up a little earlier.

_Semper enim falsis a vero petitur veritas_. Falsehood always attacks truth in the guise of truth.

—Seneca
Chapter Eighteen

Eiron paced, marking the passage of time, his boot heels clicking, his soles shuffling over the bright, blue and gold polished mosaic marble floor. Why he had been summoned to meet with the Fer-innyera's council? Perhaps they wanted an update on the progress of the spaceship Sukúr, he thought. The prototype now neared completion after four long months, three-quarters of a year. One more month and it would be ready for its maiden flight to the space station Celin.

As he waited in an anteroom outside the council chamber, Eiron remembered the last time he had been to see the council. A few tendays ago he had received a message that Fer-innyera Ezáitur wanted him to attend. It seemed another sighting of the new Orian space Falcon fighters had been reported, and the council wanted to reward him for the warning he'd brought back when he reappeared.

A promotion was the last thing Eiron had been expecting. Perhaps they had believed that they could buy him off with honors; perhaps that was what this interview was all about. Perhaps they had something in mind for him to do in order to live up to his end of the bargain.

Ten minutes later, a guard led Eiron into the chamber where he took the customary position and stepped behind the speaker's podium. Glancing around, he could see that most of the council was present, including Secretary Icolar Nortinn and Fer-innyera Ezáitur. They addressed him at once, before he could gain his bearings.

"We've heard some rumors about you," the Minister of Agriculture began, coming directly to the point, his deep bass dangerously quiet.

"Yes, we hear you've been talking to people," Security Chief Nals March added suggestively.

"Could you kindly explain yourself, and your misconduct, Miran Vaikyur-Erlenkov." Ezáitur concluded.

"I don't understand." Eiron moistened his lips; an observant aide shuffled over with a glass of water for him.

Secretary Nortinn responded by picking up an electronic page in front of him and adjusting his glasses to read it.

"We have innumerable accounts." Nortinn began. "Officer Jenaiun reports that on the third day of the month of Gorav, you spoke with him about the nature of the Sukúr prototype. Several other technicians have made reports as well," he said, laying down the electronic page heavily. However, it clattered too much for the gesture of solidarity to be very effective.

"Sir, of course I had to talk to them about it." Eiron protested. "They're a part of the project."

"Perhaps you should be more careful to stick to instructions, then, instead of wandering into unnecessary suppositions." Nortinn paused. "There is, of course, another matter. We have reports from Ekasi Kesney and Miran Maindaerik on your grandfather's staff, and conformation from the crew trainees," he said condescendingly.

"About what?" Eiron asked, overwhelmed. Nortinn had to admit that Eiron appeared genuinely confused, but that only made Nortinn enjoy the interrogation all the more.

"I am referring to your parley concerning political affairs out of your jurisdiction." Nortinn said as though the answer were obvious. "We know that you have been suggesting the possibility of negotiations with Orian to colleagues and subordinates, and that some are supporting your ideas. We would like to know directly what set you off on this idea and why you believe we should try to negotiate with a terrorist.

"And, if we decide that your argument is unmerited, you will be required to curtail further discussion on the subject." Nortinn cautioned.

"Get on with it," Ezáitur suddenly warned impatiently.

"Yes sir." Nortinn clipped, glancing nervously at the Fer-innyera. "So, Vaikyur-Erlenkov, speak your peace and we will consider what you have to say."

"I would like to know why your ship has been designed and built outside Aeronautic Association specifications and why it is costing us so much money." The Minister of Industry fired another question before Eiron could respond.

"Do hurry and say something Vaikyur-Erlenkov," Ezáitur advised.

Eiron paused a moment, collecting his thoughts, regaining his composure. "I just think," he began slowly, "that if we could negotiate with the Orian Leader, we might be able to ascertain what he's after and why. He hasn't been trying to destroy us, that much is obvious."

"Liar." The Minister of Defense interrupted.

"No, sir, I am not." Eiron said, and suddenly noticed Forren standing at a distance behind the Fer-innyera, his face studiously blank.

"Go on, Vaikyur-Erlenkov," the Fer-innyera said, amused.

"Yes sir. I was going to say that it's clear that he's not going to leave us alone, either." Eiron continued. "So, if we took the first step, we might be able to prevent a confrontation."

"If you feel that way, then why are you building such a formidable warship?" The Minister of Defense felt it was time to even the score.

Whispers broke out across the room.

"Well, Vaikyur-Erlenkov, what have you to say?" Ezáitur asked, effectively hushing the council.

"I was led to believe that you approved a project for a defense prototype," Eiron said, keeping his gaze steady on the Fer-innyera.

"Yes," Ezáitur said, unruffled, silencing him. "Well, now that you've presented your case, you may leave." He waved a hand in dismissal. "But do not speak again of negotiations. The consequences will be worse for you since we have given you a warning."

Another guard escorted Eiron from the room, and the council called a session to order.

"Shall we discuss Vaikyur-Erlenkov's actions?" Ezáitur began.

"Obviously he's trying to trick us," March announced. "We'll put all of our faith into his flying marvel, and he'll sabotage the project. I say he's trying to weaken our defenses just to scoff at us. Let my boys have a moment with him; he'll never do that again."

"Please, March." Ezáitur's brows wrinkled distastefully. "Anyone else?"

"Yes," the Minister of Commerce nodded. "I agree. But I think it's an Orian plot. I would bet they gave him false but believable plans to divert our energies while our other industries, including our own spaceship production, suffers. We'll be too weak to defend ourselves." The Minister of Commerce found support as she glanced around the room, until the Minister of Defense spoke again.

"No, no," he said, shaking his head. "He's obviously planning on selling out to the Orians. His negotiations jabber is just a cover."

"Anyone else care to speak?" Ezáitur interrupted with a patient sigh. "Well then, ladies and gentlemen, I suggest we consider what has been said."

Behind him, Forren suppressed a laugh. Ezáitur was in a hurry. No doubt, the lovely Karina was waiting.

* * * * *

The fresh night wind was deadly cold where a man leaned against the ground floor of a towering obsidian building, just on the edge of the barren waste beyond the city of Nayin. Even in the bare, moon-lit quiet, there was a separate arc of shadow beneath the towering building, and it was there, under its sheltering darkness, that Sargon chose to wait, his legs crossed at the ankles, his arms folded over the thin material of his shirt.

Sargon looked up some time later at the sound of the approaching noise. Buffoon, he thought to himself. Here comes the man making all kinds of noise, all dressed up in layers of fur and wool. It isn't that cold, he said to himself, letting the cold wind pass right through him and over his bare arm harmlessly.

Yet the frozen, bundled creature was confused and panting from the cold bite of the air filling his lungs. Sargon decided he wasn't going to waste energy by extracting the flustered spy's information. It was so much more entertaining to listen to what the man had to say. The man began to mumble in rasping breaths. "Tiah—huh—," he paused, "ah—senn—i—uhns... sh—sh—ship to uh—"

Oh Hell, Sargon thought better of it and allowed his thoughts to pick over the man's mind. The poor man wasn't used to Orian's cold, living on Tiasenne all the time.

Sargon listened to the scraps of the secret recordings this man had heard, but the man's memory of them was poor, and Sargon was obliged to reconstruct missing words that the man's subconscious had forgotten. But still it was enough. The information was worth all of the effort.

Sargon abruptly turned away and marched back towards the building, leaving his informant confused and staring, Sargon's own face an odd mixture of triumph and unease.

He had one person to talk to, one person he trusted, one person in all of Orian whose company he was still able to tolerate.

Meanwhile, inside Sargon's private conference room, one of his distant relatives was waiting, a great-grandson of his mother's sister, although the young man, Luciares Garen, didn't know he was at all related to the Great Leader. Garen had been summoned to Nayin for training a few years back, and shortly afterward, Sargon had unexpectedly promoted him to the advisory council.

Which was an honor Garen never allowed himself to forget.

"I've found her, Garen." Sargon said at last, passing the threshold of his private atrium and heading towards the open door of the conference room, where Garen was supposed to help him plan the next Tiasennian land campaign.

"Sir?" Garen asked, looking up from a schematic at the sound of Sargon's voice; the Great Leader treaded so softly that no one ever knew when he was coming if he didn't announce his presence, which was half of why his subordinates lived in constant terror of him.

"Yes, she's given herself away!" Sargon declared, with a ring of triumph, dropping his plain black boots within the door frame. Garen stared at them; no one else in all of Nayin was still wearing warm weather attire or could do so with complete disregard to the cold, or to possible loss of life or limb.

"The Tiasennians are building a ship with shifting hull plates, a space battleship that protects itself with shields." Sargon explained. "Ha! They want me to believe that one of them designed it. Not only that, but the man disappeared for three months last year. Half a year on Tiasenne." He added, in case Garen didn't know. "Then, when he reappeared, he suddenly came up with the blueprints they're using for the prototype."

"I don't understand the point, sir." The naive, noble-minded Garen said, shaking his head.

"Of course you don't, but she will." Sargon smiled in amusement. "That ambitious, industrious prodigal—did they think I wouldn't know? Well, we'll just have to bring him here." He declared, then gave a deep laugh.

Garen stepped back a little and watched uncertainly.

* * * * *

Sometimes Kesney missed his home in Ochnar.

Not last night, when he'd come home from a night out in the teeming city of Inen with several of his friends and their girlfriends, and with Ekasi Sherra Linfaln. They got on well, but there just wasn't a spark there. Though one thing in her favor was that she came from Inen and so knew all of the night spots, such as there were.

But this morning, as he lay in his barracks with a pulse-pounding headache, swearing he'd never again touch the foul devil spirits, he did miss home. Perhaps not the boredom that descended upon him out in the pastured fields, or the heat of the equatorial sun, but he deeply missed his little brother and mother who still lived in the small city of Ochnar, half a world away.

His father, Miran Ekar Kesney, had died eleven years ago in a terrorist raid when his ship Falinden had tried to defend their home. Kesney had gone to be trained soon after at the Academy in Inen, but he had only been home twice since his first year. His brother had to be about twelve now. Kesney had last seen him when he was seven.

They hadn't even come to the graduation ceremonies last year. Ochnar was a thousand nariars away, and civilian shuttles were expensive, class-exclusive vessels run by privately owned commercial companies. Kesney remembered only a little of what his mother had once taught him in his early life; her voice had been drowned out by years of discipline and education.

Now her words, her subtle skepticism about everything but the certainty of the next sunrise, were coming back. She had been careful not to show any disloyalty about the government, of course. But was she a secretly a dissenter, too? Kesney found himself wondering.

Vaikyur had set the wheels turning in his mind, had raised the protective film that had covered his eyes.

What was a dissenter anyway? The word had never meant much to him in the past, but now it seemed to take on a whole new and colossal significance. He'd started to pay a lot more attention to the world around him, taken an interest in reviewing what the official reports claimed, and tried to remember what they said when another came along.

For the first time, he saw that things didn't always add up, that consistency, efficiency, and simplicity weren't the first considerations in compiling the official government news reports.

At the same time, Vaikyur's predictions, whenever the Senkaya-Sukura confided them in his communications officer, nearly always, uncannily, came true. Kesney sometimes still argued with Vaikyur when given permission to speak freely because he enjoyed their debates, but even Vaikyur had to have noticed by now that Kesney had begun to argue without the empowering force of conviction.

Perhaps because Kesney now knew that his government was truly capable of deceit.

Kesney had made the discovery only recently. Despite his long-held reservations about Eiron's political views, Kesney had never found it within himself to denounce Vaikyur-Erlenkov; he hadn't even made mention of Eiron's dissentionist talk in a single report. However, just a short time ago, word had circulated around Command Central that one of the charges used against Vaikyur-Erlenkov in the Miran's interrogation had supposedly been filed by Ekasi Kesney of the Kirey Divison.

When Kesney heard the audio recordings of the accusations, digitally spliced together using his own words, though words he had never actively strung together, he knew that his accusation had been pieced together and doctored by someone for the sole purpose of destroying Vaikyur-Erlenkov's reputation. And he knew that, no matter how justified the government might have been in suspecting Eiron of subversive behavior against them, they had crossed over the line of proper and ethical conduct in their effort to punish him.

Because, if there was one thing that belonged to him, Kesney thought, it was his ability to decide his own views for himself, and that included the right to voice them and face the consequences, as well as the privilege to voice only what he believed or wished to have others believe of him, without being quoted out of context, no matter what purpose his words might or might not be used for. The government had no right to take the right of speech away from anyone, especially when the power of speech could determine the course of a man's fate or those involved with him.

Later, when Eiron had asked Kesney about the report after his interrogation, Kesney discovered that despite the recordings, Eiron didn't believe Kesney had denounced him; nevertheless, Kesney could hardly believe him that his trust remained firm, and so Kesney continued to try to convince Eiron that truly he hadn't denounced him. Eiron laughed and that put an end to Kesney's unease; Kesney, in turn, felt a spark of pride that Eiron had never lost faith in him, despite what he had heard Kesney say on the recordings with his own ears—as though Eiron wasn't at all surprised that someone in the government had arranged it all.

That was when Kesney decided to intervene on Eiron's behalf and went in to the Headquarters Building to formerly retract his accusations from the report against Vaikyur-Erlenkov before several prominent witnesses. Kesney wouldn't denounce Eiron for dissenter activities, he decided, not unless coerced to, and anyone who tried to pressure him to do so would have found the effort useless because Kesney was incapable of making a convincing deception of any kind to anyone.

After all, though Kesney and Eiron hadn't exactly become friends since his return to Inen from aico-seven, they had been heading in that direction; Kesney had even invited Eiron along on several of his off-duty excursions to Inen with his Academy friends. Eiron had gone with them once or twice, though he was technically a superior Ekasi; Kesney's other friends had a hard time refraining from calling Eiron "sir" even off-duty, but of course, they didn't know him very well.

However, as an ahkso, Kesney and his fellow Academy cadets had briefly trained under Ekasi Vaikyur-Erlenkov's guidance the year before Kesney's graduation, a fact which had made Eiron's disappearance and presumed death particularly difficult for Kesney. All of the cadets had admired Vaikyur-Erlenkov's flying back in the old days. Kesney remembered trying in all ways to become like Vaikyur-Erlenkov, who hadn't, of course, expressed any political views back then.

Despite Vaikyur's private talks with him, Kesney had still not been prepared to hear similar political views from Vaikyur's grandson, his hero. Eiron was almost an idealized older brother; and against Kesney's better sense, Vaikyur was growing into the father figure Kesney had never known.

Now, following in his grandfather's footsteps, Eiron had begun to sow seeds of dissension through Command Central. People found themselves won over by his strange blend of conviction and charisma. Eiron argued in a subtle way that gradually diffused arguments made against his point of view. Eiron merely turned arguments around until his opponents found themselves outmatched and out of breath.

Who had ever thought of negotiating? No one had entertained the idea for longer than a moment. But Eiron was causing them to question why they had always scoffed so easily at the suggestion. Why was it really such a bad idea? Had they come to the conclusion themselves or had someone else conditioned them to believe it?

Now, Kesney felt the weight of his confusion growing day by day. He knew his duty was to protect the civilians of Tiasenne, but he felt more and more inclined as the days passed to agree with Vaikyur and Vaikyur-Erlenkov that something was very wrong with the current state of affairs, and that the Tiasennian government was hiding something significant from the population at large, something about the secretive Orian enemy and its reasons for attacking their planet.

But what if Vaikyur and his grandson Eiron were wrong? Kesney wondered. What if they were trying to promote disunity just to weaken the Air Corps so that the Orians could conquer the planet and reward their secret Tiasennian allies?

No! He just couldn't believe that anymore.

Vaikyur had no reason to lie.

* * * * *

Wasting little time, the council relayed its decision to Eiron in less than a tenday.

Eiron was sitting in a deep, cushioned navy blue chair in his grandfather's quarters when the message arrived over the net. He got up and got a printed message, then settled back down in the chair.

He would no longer be permitted to build any more ships, they said. They were going to do it without him.

First, the council's engineers first had to review the work for signs of sabotage. You're a spy, aren't you? was the implication.

Presuming him already guilty, the government forbade Eiron to have anything further to do with his spaceship, Sukur.

In the end, the council didn't care if he'd been loyal or disloyal to the government. They had everything they needed to wage their own battle with the Orians. They would be the ones to decide if the ship Sukr would be used as a defensive, or if necessary offensive, precaution.

They had promoted Vaikyur-Erlenkov; now they expected him to take up a new assignment, the position as co-commander of the remote Wysteirchan air base.

Eiron read the print sheet aloud as Vaikyur listened, but kept his own opinions about it silent.

"So much for that." Eiron said at length, his disappointment coming through. He balled up the print sheet in his fist, squeezing it until his fingers burned from the lack of circulation. "I should have been more careful. I never expected they'd take away my project." He shook his head. "I thought that they needed me, but apparently, they don't."

Vaikyur was silent.

"I'm not going to Wysteirchan." Eiron announced suddenly. "That damned cretin Miran Lichesk is the senior commander."

"You'll be disobeying orders." Vaikyur said quietly but without surprise.

"It's been done before," Eiron returned, with a flicker of a smile.

"What will you do?" Vaikyur pursued.

"I don't know yet."

"I hate to see you give up."

"I'll do what I have to do. In an ideal situation, people who stand for what is right should prevail. But clearly I'm wasting my time here, and right won't win this time." He shrugged. "Don't do it," he warned. "Don't ask me to stay."

Vaikyur threw up his arms and watched as Eiron vigorously rubbed his face, his elbows resting on his knees, his back hunched forward. In a moment, Eiron stood, adjusted the sofa pillow, and straightened his uniform. Vaikyur realized he was leaving and shot him a questioning look.

"Look, I need to go. I'm sorry I can't say anything more."

Vaikyur responded with a serious face and nodded. "How will you be able to get out of all this?" He asked hoarsely, then cleared his throat. "They'll be watching you for any sign of attempted escape."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself." Eiron smiled and walked to the door, leaving without looking back. Vaikyur watched him sadly and with a sense of irony.

Those were the same last words his daughter had spoken to him.

* * * * *

Senka Giordainex Kalear was on duty as Vaikyur's relief officer when Eiron strode purposefully into the Command Center. However, Kalear had left for an officer's conference in the adjacent Headquarters building, leaving the ekasi and dvari and ahkso trainees subject to the orders of Miran Olevin and Miran Arnatei-na.

Ekasi Kesney was just taking a break and polishing his radar screen when he felt a tap on his shoulder and came to attention.

"Pick up your personal gear. You're coming with me. It's an order." Eiron said and waited a moment, his own gear stored in a black satchel in his left hand. Ekasi Kesney fumbled around nervously and took one last swig of his steaming drink before scurrying to catch up with the departing man.

A confused Kesney followed numbly as Eiron led him down the corridor to the comet fighter hanger. No one was allowed in the hanger except the Primary Guard, but Eiron walked up to the unsuspecting sentry and sprayed some kind of gas into his face. The surprised man slumped against his laser rifle, instantly asleep.

Kesney stumbled behind as Eiron approached one of the fighters and pulled down the landing ladder. After instructing his companion to follow him up the ladder, Eiron then began to climb.

At that moment, the warning alarms began screeching throughout the complex. Eiron took no heed of them and settled further into the pilot seat, Kesney watching from the shotgun. Kesney couldn't help but admire Eiron's more adept management of the fighter as they taxied smoothly to the runway and towards the landing strip, where the hatch was being lowered. Eiron sped up, and their space fighter narrowly missed being crushed.

They had clocked only a minute of airborne time before they received a video transmission from Headquarters.

"What do you think you're doing? Get your butt back down here!" Kalear was yelling.

"He's taken Ekasi Kesney hostage, sir," one of the ahkso ensigns reported loud enough for her to be heard over the videocom.

But Kalear wasn't paying any attention to her. Instead, he listened to another communication to the left of the panel.

"—What?" Kalear said, startled. "You want me to—" a moment of silence passed as he listened, his face horrified.

"Send out the Primary Guard with Erlenov's squadron. Bring that fighter down." Kalear repeated the order relayed to him. His hands fell to the table as though he had lost the ability to support himself. Eiron watched as Kalear's steeled his shoulders; his "uncle" from childhood turned a stony face up to him before terminating the video communication.

I'm not going to let Kesney down! Eiron thought, possibly for the tenth time. His jaw set in determination.

He hadn't made a decision after leaving his grandfather. He was supposed to take over for Arnatei-na in the Command Center in a couple of hours but had stopped by to pick up his routine orders for the day before heading back to his barracks. He'd read down the list over a light meal, then put it down and started packing.

With Vaikyur off duty, he'd been ordered to send Kesney to the interrogations office. One of March's boys would be coming to get him that afternoon; Eiron had been ordered not to tell anyone. Yes, he had understood at once. This was punishment of a different kind. Eiron knew that the council couldn't get him directly, so they'd decided to make his friend Kesney _disappear_.

And Eiron had decided that he wasn't going to let them do it. Not if he could do a damn thing to stop them!

Four minutes had passed when the comet fighters appeared on the radar, approaching from the northwest. At that moment Eiron looked down and saw that his fuel gauge was low, and his speed was dropping. He had seized upon the only opportunity he had to escape. He knew the schedule—the Primary Guard's maneuvers had only ended about an hour before, and refueling wasn't until the deck crew's shift later that evening.

Eiron could only hope that the pursuing squadron didn't have as much fuel as he did. However, it appeared after a moment that they did. His own squadron showed up on radar just as the comet fighters caught up to him.

Eiron dodged their laser volleys; only seven had been sent out—probably in planes that hadn't been used for maneuvers. Eiron listened over the radiocom as Command Central transmitted Fer-innyera Ezáitur's tirade to the comet fighters and their leader, Senka Forren. Being in a comet fighter had its advantages, Eiron reflected, especially since Ezáitur had no way of keeping his transmission from the unauthorized party.

"Can't you get him, you idiots? I want them ex-ter-min-a-ted!" Ezáitur shouted, nearing a frenzy.

"Yes, sir. But if you'll forgive me, it's not that easy." Forren answered. "We may have to drive him back if we can't hit him." Forren waited, but there was no reply. Ezáitur had never been a patient man!

Meanwhile, Eiron headed as fast as he could to the northernmost point of the Classified Zone aico-seven. This would lead him far out into the sea, where he hoped to plunge his ship as deep as the water pressure would allow. Before they could track him, he would have already reached the cliffs. He couldn't have tried it in any other fighter, but the comet fighters had been designed to function in all kinds of environments, from air, to water, to the void of space.

A missile grazed his starboard aileron and rocked the comet fighter a little, about one and a half minutes from the perimeter. Eiron's own squadron lagged far behind, he noticed, even when taking into account the fact that their ships were slower. But seven comet fighters were more than enough to keep him occupied—and on his toes.

Forren started to worry when he realized that they were heading towards the Classified Zone, and Eiron was still outmaneuvering his squad. His reflexes are amazing, Forren reflected, feeling more and more sympathetic to the rebellious man. It suddenly made him remember how idealistic he'd been at that age. He'd convinced himself that morals belonged only to the weak or stupid, or people like Vaikyur who had the luxury of political immunity.

Vaikyur-Erlenkov was none of these.

"Fall back," Forren ordered his team fifteen nariars from the Classified Zone. No one could enter a Classified Zone unless Ezáitur ordered it, and even then it would be like putting one nail in your own coffin. However, no orders would be coming this time. Ezáitur had cut off communications for some reason, possibly because he assumed Forren would keep following.

Still, Forren wasn't about to take any chances. Feigning incompetence had served him in the past, since in most cases he got his job done with panache. Forren knew Ezáitur would be temporarily angry that they had lost Vaikyur-Erlenkov, but he would recover; the Fer-innyera only needed Vaikyur-Erlenkov out of his hair, and driving him into the Classified Zone would do the job.

If Vaikyur-Erlenkov ever returned, he would be lucky if he were only demoted or discharged. More likely, he would be locked up, slated for execution somewhere down the line. This time he had no excuse. He had entered point aico-seven and thus a Classified Zone of his own free will.

Forren pulled up beside Eiron's plane just twenty meters outside the zone. Eiron couldn't see him, of course, but Forren mouthed the words "good luck" and saluted him before turning his plane around.

Two minutes later, Eiron's plane hit the water.

* * * * *

Kesney figured it was about time to start asking some questions.

"What the hell are we doing here?" He erupted angrily. "I can't go back home now—ever! My life is over!"

"Just calm down." Eiron said with supreme composure, adjusting the aquatic controls. Kesney judged Eiron's face and fought to stay angry.

"Why did you order me to come with you—and where in the world are we going, anyway?" Kesney burst out laughing, looking around with childish wonder at the underwater panorama.

"We're going up. Hold on." Eiron advised.

"I've got to admit, that was one fantastic ride!" Kesney said a minute later, recovering from a veritable surplus of adrenaline. Now that the experience had passed, he could look back on the past few moments, and he realized they had been the most exciting ones of his life. He'd also slowly begun to realize that Eiron wouldn't have ordered him along without a damned good reason.

A moment later they rose above the water and towards the cliffs. They landed beneath a small ledge that left hardly any room for them to get out. In the end, the roof hatch collided with the ledge, and they had to squeeze out sideways on their bellies.

Kesney narrowly missed landing on his head when they fell to the ground, landing on his shoulder instead. He stood and brushed the dust off of his knees and chest, coughing a little as the sand the plane had stirred up whirled about them. Eiron was standing still, watching the cliffs with his head leaned back a little so that he could see up the slope. It was as though he waited for something to happen.

That's odd, Kesney thought. They stood there that way for about ten more minutes, until Kesney's impatience flared. _He better not have brought me all the way out here for nothing._

Then a doorway appeared in the cliff-side, just before an enormous ledge on the otherwise sheer cliff face; Kesney realized that from the air, the ledge would appear to be a part of the shore below. There were few footholds up to the ledge, twenty micro-nariars up.

"Now we can go," Eiron announced, moving to the cliff and grabbing a hand-hold. Kesney shrugged his shoulders in disbelief but began to climb after Eiron, anyway. It was easier than he expected, he realized, as appropriate places to grip jutted out just where his hands and feet moved. He felt sure someone had created this ladder, which had appeared insignificant on the ledge from the ground.

When they reached the top, Eiron strode confidently through the opening as if he'd been there before. Kesney stopped to glance at the crumpled heap of a plane on the smaller ledge, thinking it was no wonder they'd had to land below. He decided to follow with a little more caution, edging into the cavern but keeping close to the exit until it was swallowed up behind him into the wall. He reached back a hand to feel for it and discovered to his alarm that it was no longer there.

It took a minute for their eyes to adjust to the dimness of the room. Kesney blinked, and his eyes came back into focus. They were standing in a large room with sandstone walls. Further inside, he could see several doorways on each side of the wall, but they had evidently entered the main area.

A woman sat on a chair, wrapped in a rich blue cloak held together by a strange clasp, like a flower with six petals set in a metallic circle. The hood of her cloak was pulled back.

"What are you doing up here?" Eiron asked.

"I've been waiting for you to get up here. What took you so long?"

Once the woman had reached them, she rushed towards Eiron's outstretched arms, and they hugged like old friends. Kesney had the discomforting sensation of an outsider in these situations.

"You know her?" Kesney wondered aloud, but Eiron wasn't listening.

"I didn't expect you back," the woman said. "Who is this?" she asked, turning to Kesney.

"Alessia, this is Ekasi Kesney," Eiron said.

Kesney's eyes darted from Eiron to the strange woman. He wasn't sure why, but his stomach had tightened into little knots when Eiron said her name. Alessia? Like Vaikyur's ghost?

"You're probably wondering why we're here." Eiron began. "Ezáitur's bunch rejected the idea to negotiate."

"I thought that might happen." Alessia interjected.

"That's not all," Eiron continued. "I never got a chance to finish building the first rescue ship. The council decided to transfer me to Wysteirchan. 'Seems they want to make my spaceship Sukúr into a war vessel."

"I see," Alessia said quietly.

"One of you had better tell me what's going on," Kesney insisted, aware that he had taken on his serious expression.

As Eiron explained what had happened with the Sukúr, Kesney listened. The pieces of the puzzle were at last coming together. This must have been where Eiron had been cloistered during his long absence, and this Alessia, well, he admitted she might have been related to the woman of legend, though she seemed a far cry from the alien ghost and conspirator he'd heard about.

Then Alessia told him about Selesta, how she'd hidden it below the surface. As she spoke, he noticed a gradual change in her appearance. By the time they were ready to leave for her ship, he knew what Vaikyur had been talking about. If he hadn't seen her with his own eyes, he'd never have believed it. She looked inhuman, like a ghost.

What bothered Kesney most about the whole situation was that now he'd never be able to talk toVaikyur again.

To thank him for everything, and to say one final good-bye.

Entre tard et trop tard, il y a, par la grace de Dieu, une distance oncommensurable. The difference between late and too late is, by God's mercy, immeasurable.

—Mme Swetchine
Chapter Nineteen

No one was home when they arrived. The leader of the group, a man named Ocver, had waited outside in an alley for the rest of them to show up; the two women had become civilians and were living a comfortable double life in Inen. The other man had managed to infiltrate the military at the age of twelve because of his pale skin color, spending his ahkso years and the past three years establishing his credibility, not that anyone suspected him.

Ocver and the two women waited until he had arrived before climbing the emergency stairs up to the second floor of the officer's barracks. For some reason, no guards were around, probably because of the warning bells that had sounded ten minutes before.

This was going to be easier than they thought. The scrambling device Ocver had brought dispatched the electric locks to the outer door easily, and they were inside in moments. After a preliminary search, they discovered that their target was no longer at home and decided to look over the apartment as they waited for him to return.

His living room was in order, as was the kitchen. A half-drunk glass of olenfruit juice, still cold to the touch, lay on the counter. So he hadn't left too long ago. In the bedroom, some personal effects appeared to be missing; in the closet, empty hangers swished back and forth with the force of the opening door. The only pair of shoes on the floor was his combat boots.

They waited a few more hours, during which time one of the women turned on the vidscreen in the living room to pass the time. He didn't mind; the Miran wouldn't hear anything until he opened his front door, and by then it would be too late.

Then an announcement came on the channel from Headquarters, an update for all military personnel that cut into the civilian stations.

Damn! Ocver thought to himself, hearing the announcement. _The bird has flown the coop..._

* * * * *

Kesney caught his breath as he turned the corner. After a moment he gave up talking and just stared at Selesta, Alessia's spaceship. In that stare was a mingled sense of awe and excitement, but also, the ship was so long and wide that he couldn't avoid looking at it. They had to walk all the way since the shuttle had been left at the other side of the cavern. The closer they got, the more Kesney realized just how large the spaceship was, taller than any of the buildings in the capital, even surpassing Headquarters. The length and width of it appeared ample to hold two capital cities put together.

As they approached the side of the ship, he noticed that it had sunk several micro-nariars into the rocky ground. It had to be immensely heavy, he imagined, and even more dense for its size than any ordinary vessel to do that. He wondered how her people had ever managed to get it off the ground.

The airlock opened on its own. Kesney found he wasn't really surprised by that, not after all that had happened. Alessia and Eiron vaulted down easily to the floor below. Kesney threw his satchel down first and then used his hands to steady himself as he jumped more carefully, landing with bent knees and his palms to the ground. Strange noises filled the chamber as the outer door closed. The incredible width, though a mere natural observation, did take him by surprise; he gauged it at about a hundred micro-nariars thick or more. They passed into another adjoining airlock before the ship opened up to a corridor.

"No one is here right now," Alessia explained as they followed her down the hallway. "The children are busy in the learning center, and the others are gathering rock and minerals on the other side with a loader to create a new playground for the children in one of the empty holds. Well, a few of them are doing the work with the loader. The others are just going along to get in the way." She added, with a hint of a smile.

Kesney wasn't expecting that there would be others, though he vaguely recalled her mentioning them. "You mean there are people down here? Are they from your planet?" He asked.

"No," Alessia answered. "They are people from your planet and from Orian, the descendants of scientists who came to live on Selesta years ago."

"Oh." His mouth dropped open.

"After you're settled in your rooms, I'll explain everything." Alessia said. "I'm taking you there now. We'll reach the crew quarters in a few minutes."

She stopped before an elevation device and pressed the panel to the eighty-fifth floor. The trip lasted only eight seconds. When they exited the shaft, Alessia walked to the left side of the moving corridor to go forward. A few minutes passed as they treaded the swiftly moving corridor in silence. Then in the section containing the crew's quarters, Alessia led Kesney down several corridors to an empty room. Alessia explained that it had never been used, like many of the rooms in this section.

Kesney dropped his black bag on the sleep panel and said good-bye to Alessia and Eiron. He figured he had about half of an hour to put away his things and explore his new quarters. He remembered that he had left behind his family pictures and clothing as he unpacked his few belongings: a liquid holder, a utility knife, a family portrait fifteen years old that he had kept in his drawer beneath his console, a holder that still contained his lunch, and his Outstanding Conduct medal.

After stowing these, he got up to shut the door when he noticed a bag that Eiron had left in the entranceway. It was heavy. Inside it, he found gear from his quarters: two sets of civilian clothing, his still album, a still capture-box, a painting he had done years before, and a faded still of his parents on their attachment day. Beneath these was a pile of his favorite printvolume cartridges and a mini-telescope. Various odds and ends had sunk to the bottom of the bag. How had Eiron managed to bring these? he thought with some affection and gratitude.

His spirits restored, Kesney decided to explore the unfamiliar panels in the room. He found a computer terminal, videocom, and chronometer built into one wall and a water room containing tools surprisingly similar to what he was used to: a sealed toothcleaner, a paste dispenser, a comb, soap.

A tiny alcove to the left of the water room left just enough room for a table and four chairs, as well as a food dispenser unit and guide. The device easily captured his interest. Evidently he had only to make a selection and touch in the corresponding number for his meal to be prepared. An option to create his own menu had also been included.

But as he glanced at the printed words and numbers of the guide, he grew more and more fascinated by them. Some of them were familiar, similar to the script he used every day, others unrecognizable. He could understand a few of the words, but not many. The corresponding pictures provided more clues.

The idea that people could speak a foreign language intrigued him. He had never before realized how special it was that most of Tiasenne spoke the same language, and from the video messages from Orian that had been intercepted, he had seen that the Orians spoke a language that was very similar.

The Tiasennian government had written off the coincidence with a statement from the biological sciences division. The biogeneticists later admitted that it was not a coincidence when the government decided that the Orians had of course adopted the Tiasennian language after their initial contact.

But still this foreign language wasn't too different from his own. How can that be? Kesney wondered. These people had come from another solar system, and no records on Tiasenne had ever mentioned previous contact with them. The alternative, that Alessia's people and his own could have developed a similar language by coincidence, seemed more than improbable; it was impossible.

But no more than anything else that's happened today, he thought.

* * * * *

Further along down the corridor, Eiron had returned to his old room. Alessia prepared to continue down the hall, but Eiron reached out his hand to stop her.

"I'd like to talk to you in private before we go back. Could you help me get settled in?" He asked. If she saw through his flimsy excuse, she didn't say anything about it.

As they unloaded his things, Alessia seemed interested in what he had taken with him, in particular his stills. Eiron had brought several stills, one of Vaikyur and himself taken when Eiron was only seven. Alessia smiled at it; Eiron had been making a face, and had tugged at one of his grandfather's medals just as the still was taken.

Another, older still had been placed carefully near the top. Eiron's mother and father sat on a picnic blanket somewhere in Inen's High Park, a toddler who had to be Eiron playing with the family pet that looked more interested in reaching the sweet Eiron had in his hand.

"Your mother, she's very beautiful," Alessia commented. Melain Vaikyur's hair shone gold in the sun, haloing her face. Eiron agreed; he had often pulled this still out when he remembered his mother, to feel close to her again. But when he was young, every time he looked at it, he was always surprised by the darker grey skin of his father. For a long time, he hated himself to admit it, he'd felt a little ashamed of the image there.

When he returned to Inen, he'd taken the still out again, and found himself looking at it almost for the first time. He saw himself in those eyes, in that face. He no longer saw the good and the bad, only who he was. With that realization, he'd brought out some of the memories that had been gathering dust in the dark recesses of his mind.

Alessia looked through the other stills taken on Eiron's graduation day, the day he had become an ahkso, a clipping from a civilian newsletter describing the hero of Wysteirchan, and a still of him at about eleven years of age playing on the beach when on holiday at the Kestrian Sea.

"I had to get him out of there," Eiron announced unexpectedly. "Kesney was slated for questioning."

"Why?"

Eiron shrugged. "Probably because they couldn't get to me." He said. "Though they wouldn't have to dig very hard to get anything on him, either. My grandfather was careless about their conversations, even though his intentions were good—but Kesney's the sort of person who can't discover what's going on because he'll give himself away. He hasn't learned when to keep his mouth shut because he's never had a reason to believe that it's necessary. Most of the young officers who question the status quo don't, until it's too late for them."

"I only hope he doesn't mind what he's sacrificed in coming here." Alessia said, as they finished unpacking Eiron's things. "So why did you come back?" She asked suddenly.

"There didn't seem to be anywhere else to go." Eiron shrugged as he adjusted the latch on his satchel, one knee on the ground. "But I've been thinking about you a lot since I left."

"You have?" She said, waiting. He stood up and turned towards her, lacing his hands behind his head.

"It's no good avoiding what I want to say." He laughed. "The truth is—I fell in love with you." He smiled at her self-consciously.

"In this spirit of confession..." she said after a moment.

"What?"

"When you left, I have to admit, I... began to regret that I had let you go, even though I knew the outer world was where you belonged. I think I must have thought of you above a dozen times each day, wondering where you were, wondering how you were, wishing I could leave here to follow you into your world and to make sure that you came to no harm. At one point, I finally realized what it all meant—"

"What?" He asked quietly.

"Well, that I love you! I missed you so much when you left."

He tried to keep the shock off his face, until he realized there were tears in the corners of her eyes; she was blinking them back furiously. Smiling, recomposed, he stepped forward and brought his thumb up to dry them.

"Don't cry," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You don't know how glad I am to hear it." She laughed.

* * * * *

They met Kesney in a lounge not far from Kesney's room; sofas, tables, chairs, game tables, and an image screen had been arranged to make the best use of the space. A few red-leafed plants grew in pots in the corners, fed by a water valve extending from the wall. A chronometer on the wall clicked the hours away as Alessia told her story and Eiron explained the reason why he had taken Kesney away from his post.

"Ezáitur thought I was a dissident?" Kesney asked. "Well, I suppose if what you've said is true, I really shouldn't wonder about it. I mean, I've heard about a lot of the crap that goes on in Headquarters from Vaikyur, but this mess takes it all," he shook his head in disgust, and got up to pace the room.

"So, we've been the big bad bullies all this time, have we?" he continued quietly, questioningly. "People have been losing their lives over nothing, and I've been helping all of that along." He said it without emotion, only a vacant expression in his bleary, tired eyes. The friendly face looked lost, betrayed, no longer very friendly.

He isn't taking the news well, Eiron thought. Though Eiron had expected such a reaction. It wasn't easy to learn that you'd wasted your entire life fighting for a cause you didn't believe in any more.

"Why haven't you done anything?" Kesney turned to Alessia with predictable anger. "People believe the government stands up for their freedom and their families' protection!"

"Just think about it." Eiron said, interrupting. "What good would it do for Alessia to interfere in our politics? People would see her as an insurrectionist or dictator."

"They'll support her once they know what's going on," Kesney argued.

"Maybe they would, but they've got to listen first, which I doubt they'd do. Remember, they don't realize what the Fer-innyera is, and they don't really want to change. No one wants to believe that someone has fooled them for so many years, you know. They'd rather pretend that they still don't know what's going on."

"They certainly won't change if you don't even try," Kesney countered.

"You saw how the people at Headquarters reacted to the idea of negotiation." Eiron said. "They all remember how peace talks failed in Alton's day."

"But you and Vaikyur were reaching some of us," Kesney insisted. "Not only me, but other officers."

"My grandfather will do what he can." Eiron bit his lower lip thoughtfully, then continued. "But until something shakes them up, the people just won't believe anything we say. It's hard, but we'll just have to wait. Only frightened people embrace new alternatives."

"Maybe." Kesney said, relenting. "But I still think you've waited too long already."

"He might be right," Alessia interrupted in a distracted, serious tone.

"I might?" Kesney echoed.

She nodded. "There's a bigger problem than any of this, though I only realized the gravity of it quite recently. Since then I've been trying to work out what to do to about it."

Eiron and Kesney turned to listen.

"You know Orian's magma core is becoming more active, approaching an eruption that will re-shape the surface."

"I'll take your word on it." Kesney agreed.

"Orian's surface crust thins periodically," Alessia said, pausing, "but this time it's serious."

"How serious?" Kesney asked.

"The radioactive elements are colliding at the core at a faster rate than ever before, causing those earthquakes we see from Tiasenne. I think the planet-forming processes are finally breaking down," she said.

"You don't mean—Orian isn't a natural environment?" Eiron asked, surprised.

Alessia nodded. "Exactly. My people made the atmosphere breathable several thousand years ago to establish a temporary base on Orian which we used as—" she hesitated. "A stopping point in our exploration."

"Why choose Orian?" Kesney wondered.

"You mean, instead of Tiasenne?" Alessia shook her head. "Well, because of the high concentration of rare and radioactive elements on Orian, and because of Orian's abundance of surface metals. The volcanism brings the heavier ones back to the surface and makes them easier to mine. We knew this volcanism would eventually undo our work, that the world could only remain viable for humans for a short period of time, but we never intended to stay very long."

"Wait a minute. Why didn't your people warn the Orians about this years ago?" Kesney wondered.

"The Orians weren't there yet." Alessia said.

"But—" Kesney said.

"The Orian ancestors, I should say. They weren't there because they came from my world later. They were Hinev's followers on board the ship Narae, but they didn't know that their descendants might face extinction when their ship lost contact with the other ship Hernendor and collided with Orian instead of Tiasenne. Since that time only three thousand Tiasennian years have passed in this system. Orian was nearing destruction even then, during the early rise of the Orian and Tiasennian civilizations."

"So what happens when this planet-forming process fails?" Eiron wondered.

"When the core erupts, Orian could be thrown off its course a few degrees." Alessia said.

"You think that could happen?" Eiron asked with a sinking feeling. If that happened, the strong changes in the gravitational fields that bound the two planets would surely cause climatic upheaval on Tiasenne as well.

"It's every bit as bad as you think." Alessia agreed. "Even here on Tiasenne, some of the oceans will be vaporized, and a significant amount of the atmosphere could be blown off into space."

"You mean that if Orian goes, she'll drag Tiasenne down with her?" Kesney asked, horrified.

"We'll try to keep it from happening, but yes, something like this happens every fifteen thousand years or so—which is why there are so few native species on Tiasenne. The ones left are the only ones who can survive this kind of climactic cycle." Alessia said. "With hope, though, Selesta can hold Tiasenne in its electromagnetic field and keep it stationary, but there'll still be a lot of serious damage. Inen could be eradicated by tidal waves, and Mt. Jarus could erupt. There's just no way of knowing how bad it could be."

"If Mt. Jarus erupts, the ash will drop the surface temperature." Eiron said, calculating. "We could be in for a long winter. A generation or more."

"Wait a minute." Kesney interrupted, with a trace of panic. "How much warning will we have before all this happens?"

"About a year," Alessia said. "If we're lucky. Sometimes there's another eruption, a precursor to the big one. Though we might not know it's coming at all until it's too late."

"This is looking pretty bleak," Kesney said, shaking his head. "I'm beginning to think we should all just go to Bayria like you said."

"We'd have to get the Orians to cooperate first." Eiron reminded him.

"Forgive me for how this sounds, but why?" Kesney said, shaking his head. "If they won't come with us, it's not our fault."

"Don't tell me you're not willing to give them a chance?" Eiron sighed. "After all that fuss about Alessia not doing anything, not letting the people of Tiasenne know what's going on?"

Kesney shut his mouth, chagrined.

"Well, I'm not giving up," Alessia said decisively. "I made a commitment to both these planets when I came here to check on Hinev's colonists. I have to admit things are worse than I expected, but that isn't a good enough excuse for me to abandon Hinev's colonists."

"'Hinev's colonists'?" Kesney echoed.

"Of course," Alessia said, nodding. "Did you think the Tiasennians owned this system first? They also came here from the planet Seynorynael, from my home world."

"But—the Orians don't look like us," Kesney blinked in surprise.

Then he remembered the food guide.

"Haven't you noticed that your people share a common culture, language—the same humanoid form?" Alessia asked.

"Yes—except for the common culture part, I guess so." Kesney admitted.

Alessia suppressed a smile. "There are differences, but for the most part, your peoples are virtually identical genetically. I suppose such a phenomenon might seem normal to those who have had no reason to question it. But consider—Orian's rotational period is thirty of your hours, while Tiasenne's is only eleven, and yet the average sleep period of both worlds is nine hours. Implication–both peoples follow the natural sleep cycle ingrained through eons of evolution on another world–Seynorynael."

"But we aren't the same." Kesney insisted. "Just look at us."

"Yes, I know," Alessia conceded. "And that's because there was more than one type of humanoid living on Seynorynael," she continued. "The Federation called the natives of our planet type A; we were a pale, gray-skinned people because our lungs don't absorb as much oxygen from our atmosphere or with the same hemoglobin as other humanoid races. And because of our blue-white star, Valeria—we developed a genetic trait to deflect most of the harmful gamma and X-rays that our sun gave off. And so, in intense blue light, all humanoids of type A glow with reflected light, which also explains why your people are like us, even though you wouldn't need reflective skin to survive in the Rigell system."

"But Eiron and I don't reflect light like you." Kesney insisted.

"You would if you'd lived on Seynorynael, though your aura wouldn't be as strong, it's true. There's probably some type R32vg humanoid in you, Kesney. They came from a planet called Feiar, in a galaxy far from Seynorynael."

"What were they like?" Kesney said, inviting her to elaborate, feigning less curiosity than he felt.

"Well, the Feiari had nearly colorless, translucent white skin and various shades of clear grey eyes."

"Had? Something happened to them?" Kesney asked.

"An asteroid collision destroyed Feiar," Alessia replied, "and the only survivors were those who had been forced to immigrate to Seynorynael in order to keep their planet under the imperial thumb. Am I boring you?" She asked suddenly.

"No, go on." Kesney said, with a wave. Could this be true? Could he have been descended from creatures who had come from different planets, who had traveled across the galaxies?!!

"It was the Elders' common practice," Alessia continued, "to strip a planet of its aristocracy or political rulers and send our own governors to rule in their place, much to the shame of every Seynorynaelian explorer who learned of our cruelty, even though we were under the same yoke and the pawns of our Elders. In time these Feiari refugees established a colony called Celestian on Seynorynael and reverted to a simpler existence, segregating themselves and keeping their affairs private."

"But—they weren't all Fay-ar-ee were they?" Kesney guessed.

"No." Alessia replied. "Many of our own people who were tired of their lives in Arialsynai joined them in their isolation, as did a few people from Kayria and Tulor, the oldest constituents of the Empire that had preserved a degree of sovereignty; most of the Kayrians and Tulorians had returned to their native worlds by that point in time, but those that had remained on Seynorynael finally joined Celestian."

"Kayrians?" Kesney echoed. First Feiari, now these Kayrians, whatever they were, and Tulorians were also involved?"

Alessia nodded. "Our greatest scientist Fynals Hinev was himself half-Seynorynaelian and half-Kayrian. The first members of our vanished Federation, Kayrians, were type b humanoids. Highly rational, intuitive, too, and resourceful. Kayrians had white skin, dark hair, and blue, purple, or amethyst eyes the same color as milea stones."

"Senka Forren has dark hair," Eiron interrupted, remembering. "It's the first thing you notice about him. His eyes are blue, though."

Alessia nodded thoughtfully. "In the Celestian colony, there was some intermingling of the races which had been genetically altered for life on Seynorynael, and the reflective blue eyes and gray skin that we have became dominant to protect against our star's radiation."

"Interesting." Eiron said thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Kesney turned to him.

"Well, now that I think about it, I've seen more than a few dark-haired people." Eiron said, nodding.

"Where did we get amber eyes from, then?" Kesney asked.

"The Tulorians." Alessia replied. "They belonged to the humanoid type C category, because they were the second humanoid race we discovered in our early explorations. Tulorians were productive, hard-working, energetic and emotional, often to excess, and all had different shades of tan skin, light brown hair, and honey-amber eyes."

"I don't know." Kesney said, after a moment. "All these humanoids really formed our race?" Kesney asked, a bit skeptical about the idea that his own people were descended from so many distant cultures.

"There was also a very small number of type L2ij—the most diverse group, the yellow-star people." Alessia said.

"L2ij?" Kesney echoed.

"Yes, it took a long time for us to discover any humanoids like them. And only two worlds harboring type L2ij humanoids existed in our galactic empire, but we found another in our travels." Alessia said, remembering Kiel3. "Their people showed great genetic variety and adaptability. Their skin absorbed light to varying degrees, and so their skin tones were different hues of earth tones, from pale reddish sand to the color of dark tree bark."

"People with brown-colored skin? Interesting." Kesney said, suppressing a laugh. A fine crease forming between his brows as he leaned back dismissively and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well just imagine what you would look like to them!" Alessia cried.

"How?" Kesney wondered, sitting up again. "I think I look pretty normal."

"They might think that we look like dead people, or something worse."

"Worse?"

"Who knows?"

Kesney laughed, not considering how she knew this. "Imagine that. Well, it's not likely I'm going to ever meet one, anyway, so why should I worry how I look to them?" he laughed.

"No, you're right."

"But if Tiasenne and Orian are both descended from the same people, why are the Orians darker than us?" Kesney wondered.

"I don't have any evidence to give you," Alessia admitted, "but I know a lot about the Celestian colony where Hinev's colonists came from. The descendants of the lost planet Feiar, the type R32vg humanoids, were completely assimilated in Celestian along with the few Kayrians and Tulorians. Eventually, they became half-Seynorynaelian, although some remained more typically Feiari and some truly became half-race.

"The newest arrivals to Celestian, about a hundred years or so before the colony decided to escape the empire, were primarily Seynorynaelian. There were three times as many of them as the original Celestian colonists, so when the Celestian settlement divided on board the Narae and Hernendor, those who boarded Narae must have been the new Seynorynaelian arrivals. The remaining new arrivals and most of the older colonist stock must have boarded the Hernendor, and eventually became the Tiasennians."

"Wait a minute." Kesney put up a hand in protest.

"You have a question?" Alessia paused.

"How is it possible that so many different peoples could be genetically compatible enough to have children? The chances of humanoid life developing on so many worlds seems impossible to me." Kesney shook his head. He had been remembering how strange he had considered the fact that Tiasennians and Orians could become attached and have children.

"You hit the real issue," Alessia smiled, remembering the Great Debate between proponents of the First Race Theory and Marankeil's biogeneticists. "Some of us believed all human life, and indeed all living species genetically related to us, to have evolved from a single race of humanoid progenitors and the plants and creatures they brought with them. The idea explained why a few races were virtually identical."

"You mean, some 'first race' dispersed to other worlds, bringing all they needed to live with them. Animals and plants from some home world?"

"Exactly." Alessia nodded, privately marveling at Eiron's choice of words. "Still, Kesney was right about genetic compatibility being a problem. Many races did have to undergo chemical and genetic restructuring by the Empire physicians in order to assimilate themselves on Seynorynael." Alessia said.

"I knew there had to be something else involved." Kesney declared in triumph, folding his arms across his chest.

"As for children, intermingling of the races shouldn't have been possible." Alessia continued. "Except that our biogeneticists found Seynorynaelian chromosomes highly adaptable."

"Adaptable?" Eiron echoed.

"Yes, more than you might think, and more than they are today even on Orian. Our individual chromosomes could create copies of themselves or be lost in order to combine with other humanoid DNA. That was why only Seynorynaelians of all the humanoid species were able to reproduce viable offspring with other types of humanoids, though Kayrians were also able to combine with their close genetic relations, type L2ij humanoids.

"Anyway, though it may seem strange to you, Tiasennians are also mostly Seynorynaelian." Alessia concluded.

"But if we also belonged to some great galactic empire—how could we have forgotten?" Eiron wondered. "What I mean to say is, it seems like we've let ourselves fall into a dark age."

"This is true," she spoke regretfully, cryptically, eyeing the computer terminal in the room.

Just then, an alarm sounded, letting out a low, continuous drone.

"Sounds like the construction crew is back." Alessia said, brightening. "They'll be expecting us."

"Are you up to any more?" Eiron whispered to Kesney as they stood. Kesney shrugged.

"How much more is there going to be?" he laughed uneasily.

* * * * *

Korten II tossed the last sandbag to the floor and stepped back to admire the workers' handiwork. They'd been working more than an hour but just now finished loading the supplies for construction into the hold. Pain shot through his muscles as he straightened the crook in his back, but he dismissed it cheerfully.

"Don't tell me we've just started." One of the others said.

"All right I won't." Korten II clapped him on the back. "But I will tell you to pick up a shovel. We've got a foundation to pour."

The door swished open as they worked, and several of the others watched, offering advice.

"Hey, Vaikyur-Erlenkov has returned from top-side." Korten II said, looking up. "Looking worse for wear," he added, noticing Eiron's sand-crusted flightsuit.

"Speak for yourself." Eiron said with a laugh. Korten's work clothes had holes in it.

"Who's the stranger?" one of the others, a short man wondered, noticing Kesney.

"This is my friend Kesney. He's come to stay for good, so you'd better not talk his ear off today." Eiron said, as a group gathered around.

"We couldn't now even if we had the time," Korten II said with a grin.

"Hey, Eiron, next time you come back bring me a new girlfriend, okay?" one of the others, a cheerful youth said, drawing laughter.

"There's a shortage of women here?" Kesney wondered, with rising alarm.

"No, that's just Eliazer talking." Korten II laughed at the fearful expression on Kesney's face.

"So, how long will the construction take?" Kesney asked, making small talk.

"It'll take about a day." Korten said. "The more hands we have, the faster the work goes."

"Need any help?" Kesney offered casually. But the others took his offer as a sign of interest and bustled him into their group.

"You know anything about building?" A tall woman asked him.

"No," Kesney admitted. But I know a little about structural engineering, he almost said, but thought better of it. He doubted his limited expertise would impress her.

"Well, then stick around me and you'll learn something." She told him.

"All right." Kesney said agreeably. "And you're—"

"The name's Klimyata. Klimyata Fulten-Mira." She said, thrusting a hand out to shake his. Then she picked up a shovel and tossed it to him.

"I'll help you spread the foundation." Eiron offered, but Korten stopped his arm.

"Just go ahead, Eiron. We've got things taken care of around here. It's a small job. The bigger problem is going to be putting the playground equipment together, and we don't have to do that right away."

"But—"

"No buts. Just get out of here." He paused, drawing Eiron aside. "Do you think I'm blind?" He asked in a furtive whisper. "Alessia was upset after you left, Eiron. I thought she was only worried about you and dwelling on her concerns for Orian more than usual. But I'll tell you, she seemed a lot brighter when I spoke to her a little while ago. Can't imagine whose reappearance might have been responsible for that," he laughed. "So, you'd better make her happy, or—" he drew his hand in a swift stroke against his neck. Then with a grin, he turned back to his work.

Eiron sighed. Kesney was already busy working. Alessia sat beside him, watching the progress.

She probably knows everything Korten said, Eiron thought with a laugh. But at least it saves me from being subtle on the subject.

He laughed aloud.

"Come on," he said, taking her arm.

* * * * *

"You can't ignore me, computer. I will remain here on Tiasenne with Eiron for as long as I wish."

"On Tiasenne," the computer repeated.

"And don't speak a word to me about Kiel3," Alessia cautioned. "I think I deserve some happiness and a free life."

"So you'd rather dally here than stop Marankeil murdering billions of lives across the universe?" The computer retaliated as she was about to leave. "Don't forget what you were made for. For God's sake, you aren't even human any more, you damned fool."

Alessia disregarded its objection.

"I want to be free, to live an ordinary life." She said tiredly. "Eiron will help me save Hinev's colonists, and when our work is finished here, then we can speak of making the journey to Kiel3 together. I can't handle this mission all alone."

"So, you're content to sacrifice the Empire's subjects and their future for a moment of happiness here, just for yourself," the computer challenged.

"Should I sacrifice billions of our own people here instead? What if we leave, and they end up annihilated by the lai-nen empire in our absence?"

"And what have you accomplished so far, but to create another adversary in defying Hinev's ban against using the serum ever again? Sargon is an immortal now, and he will pose a threat to us." The computer responded.

"Enough!" Alessia cried. Why was this inanimate thing torturing her? "You don't how much I regret what I've done!"

"No, how can I know? I am only a computer."

Alessia glared at the computer terminal, knowing that the little entity could see her in its own way.

"Exactly why you can't understand the human heart. You are nothing more than fake emotions, and an unlived life that has no real existance, because you have no living body."

"I understand that you have betrayed the others. You have betrayed Hinev's explorers." The computer said, this time with more venom.

The comment visibly stung her.

"They would have gone on, no matter what the cost." The computer said. "That was the cause that united all of Hinev's explorers. 'The price of immortality is eternal responsibility.' Isn't that what Kiel said?"

"I've paid the price enough already, and you know it." Alessia countered. "Hinev's serum was not a gift. It was a curse! Your damned council never saw that. The Elder Council only thought that if Hinev could only unlock the secret to an everlasting physical life that they would control everyone in the universe for all eternity, but they couldn't achieve that animal immortality for themselves. They gave that gift to us, his experimental subjects, _by mistake_. We have paid for it. I am free, shall be free, now."

"Alessia, your suffering is regrettable, but it is not enough to exonerate your debt for what you were given. You have still your mission to fulfill."

"I didn't ask to be made immortal!" Alessia shouted. "Nothing ever ends for me. Nothing! Everything else, everyone else, slips through my fingers, while I live on into new futures upon new futures I don't even recognize! And am I happy? No. I feel nothing, and I become less and less human as the years go by.

"At times I do feel like a ghost, a shadow passing through the real world!

"Yet Hinev found a way to die—and the immortals, the anti-serum finally killed them, but not me. You don't even understand—I spend my days fighting—fighting temptation. The ghosts' souls stored in my mind urging me to abandon my old self and do precisely as I wish for a change!! Why not? 'I could control the universe!' they tell me. I could rule the universe myself! Why give a good God damn about any other life?! And they will not be silenced! I fight them, but the struggle feels as though it tears my mind apart. And yet, what peace, what end will there ever be to this battle of will? Isn't this sacrifice enough for you?"

"This is all immaterial." The computer said. "Your feelings alter nothing. You must decide quickly what to do about Celestian and make your journey to Kiel3."

"What an injustice, to be incapable of pity." Alessia remarked, her voice falling. "What decisions would you have Alessia the all-powerful make for the people of Celestian then, oh voice of reason?" She asked.

"Poor child, you deceive yourself." The computer said. "You must do as you are told. You know it as well as I do. You cannot live with yourself otherwise."

"You're right, of course," Alessia agreed. "I lost my soul, but I still have a conscience! Hinev chose us well, didn't he? I won't let the Empire go on forever, will I? But, I chose to come here, didn't I? Well, that might have been Hinev's soul commanding me, and not even mine!"

"He didn't tell you to come here." The computer insisted.

"No, not exactly... but he did will it."

"I disagree."

"I don't care." _I reject your gift, Hinev_. I reject the responsibility of it. I will be myself again, and I will live for myself.

"You can't do that," the computer rebuked her, hearing her unguarded thoughts.

"I will be human again, computer. Now stay out of my way."

_Fata viam intervenit._ Fate will find a way.

—Virgil
Chapter Twenty

By the day of Eiron and Alessia's attachment ceremony, an air of excitement had seized the ship. Afterward, Eiron couldn't remember a single thing about the ceremony afterwards.

The ceremony which took place deep in the Seynorynaelian forest just past the little bridge and by the river. The couple made vows to each other and declared their attachment to each other in the traditional Seynorynaelian manner, then kissed and embraced, while the others looked on, cheering and laughing. The couple's duplicate images in the water merged into one shadow.

Only one unwilling spectator wished them secret harm.

* * * * *

"This is the life," Kesney sighed.

A few days had passed since the attachment ceremony between Eiron and Alessia, and Kesney, Alessia, Eiron, and Klimyata were relaxing in the Seynorynaelian forest where the attachment ceremony had taken place. A few footprints remained beside him, where the assembled company had recently danced on the bank, though most of the footprints had already been consumed by the waters.

"Kesney, when was the last time you had a vacation?" Eiron asked suddenly, unclasping the sun shield he had made of his hands and folding them under his head. He was lying down, gazing up at the sky; above him, clouds had just rolled over, muting the sun.

"I don't remember," Kesney said, sitting up and stretching lazily. "I couldn't ever afford a pass out of Inen." He laughed, now watching Klimyata with interest. She and Alessia were swimming in the small lake where the river widened. "You'd better hurry," he called. "It's almost fifth-hour."

Klimyata looked up at the sky. A shower threatened, and she clambered on the bank to dry. Under the shining trees, an artificial wind was rising, the bright "sun" high above softened by the cloud cover. She knew that at the fifth-hour, when the sun began to set above, the cycle of rain would come.

Warm and soothing rain soaked them as they made their way back along the water, on the soft, mossy bank; scattered drops rippled in the clear stream beside them. Eiron watched the patterns in the water in silent admiration; they reminded him of Alessia's eyes.

"What is it?" Alessia asked Eiron, sensing his underlying dark mood.

"I just feel a little restless," he admitted. "Maybe even guilty. We still haven't figured out what to do about what's going on up there."

"Eiron, you aren't single-handedly responsible for the world. Besides, you should have a little faith in your grandfather."

"I do, but I really shouldn't have abandoned him like I did."

"He didn't see it that way, I'm sure."

"He never would have said so, you're right." Eiron admitted, reconsidering. "Still, I can't help thinking that he might need my help more than I thought. And what about the preparations for Orian? Someone has to get them started."

"Remember what you said to Kesney? Well, we can't do anything until people are willing to listen to us," Alessia whispered as Kesney slowed ahead, perhaps hearing his name. "What you said was true. We don't know when the volcanic eruption will happen, and you can't put your entire life on hold in the meantime. You deserve some time to enjoy yourself. When the proper time comes, Eiron, you'll do what has to be done. We all will," she said.

"All right, all right," Eiron acquiesced, shaking his head at her. "I can't argue with you, my dear." He said, smiling, then grabbed her about the waist and planted a kiss on her cheek.

But later that evening, the guilty feeling returned, only this time, it wouldn't go away.

* * * * *

The march of time pushed them forward, and still there was no news. Nearly a year had passed since Eiron and Kesney arrived. Eiron and Alessia had planned a picnic in the Seynorynaelian forest with Kesney and Klimyata, something they hadn't done in ages, but the other couple had yet to appear. For several months now, they had all been working on a design to thwart the displacement of Tiasenne in the event of a climactic disaster, but Kesney had called for a break in the event of Klimyata's upcoming birthday.

"Time," Eiron called out to the computer and waited. A moment passed before the synthesized voice responded, "third hour sleep period two".

"They're late," Eiron said, wondering why the computer never answered him as promptly as it did everyone else. If he didn't know any better, he would have sworn that the damned thing didn't like him. He began to regret having asked. The computer's presence disrupted the illusion of their isolation. "You'd think after all this time, he wouldn't keep getting lost." He shook his head.

Eiron sat down again on the ground and began to spread a blanket around when he noticed a vexed expression on Alessia's face; he wondered if the computer's interruption had anything to do with it. Alessia was looking above the line of trees to the false horizon, where the artificial sunlight was fading.

"There was a forest near my childhood home," she said suddenly. "Just like this one. I knew my way everywhere around it, and sometimes I used to collect the wild sherin fruit that grew in the river-valley. My mother was always so mad that I kept getting dirty. 'Lake Firien water isn't good enough for little girls to bathe in' she always said, but eventually she gave up trying to keep me clean."

"Would you like me to get you some of that stuff?" Eiron asked, wondering how to look sherin up in the food guide. He was getting fairly good at reading Seynorynaelian, which he and Kesney practiced every day using the copious computer educational files. It was the only way to figure out anything on the ship. The computer couldn't, or more likely wouldn't, translate very well, and he felt embarrassed about always asking one of the others.

"You'd have to go a long way for it," she said, laughing now. "To Seynorynael—in the past. The wild sherin trees died out while we explorers were on our second mission. A blight destroyed them all, all except a few, but now they're extinct."

"It was just a thought." He shrugged affectionately.

"Which I appreciate." She said, picking up her electronic printvolume again.

"I thought we came here to get away from it all," he said and pulled it away from her. "Don't tell me you're still working on analyzing those seismic anomalies." He laughed, looking down at the text. "'Allariya Kaleena'?" He read slowly. "Friend of youth?"

"Friend of the morning makes a more poetic translation." She said. "And it's also the literal meaning. Youth is 'kalyna'. But there is a double entendre."

"Anyway, what are you doing with one of the children's books?" He teased.

"My father used to read this to me." Alessia said, blushing. "You'd be surprised how old some of the stories in the computer are, though. Eiron turned back to the forest path.

"Where do you suppose they are?" Eiron wondered again a minute later, but she didn't answer. He heard a soft thud and turned around. The printvolume had fallen onto the grass.

Alessia lay curled up on the blanket, sound asleep.

* * * * *

His surface thoughts were easy to find. It was the hidden that was hardest to reach. And beneath the hidden lay the subconscious mind, memories, and so many things she had never been able to see—

Hinev had helped her somehow into his thoughts, but now she was floating free, unable to find anything at all. Hinev's surface thoughts and mind were nowhere to be found, and so was everything else. Where was she? A part of her still remained in her own mind, connected to her own mind, yet part of her was trapped now in Hinev's mind, searching. And was she going to have to summon every part of her thought and disconnect herself from her own physical form to reach ahead and into the well of Hinev's memory?

She saw an image ahead, a picture of a dark-headed woman beloved to him, a figure that represented a deep and eternal love, but with that love came a sense of despair, fear, and horrible, lingering melancholy.

Back in the laboratory, Hinev met her sympathetic, plaintive stare, but his eyes didn't really see her.

Mother, Undina—Reneja—

She saw him retreating into the memories already, and he was trying to bring her with him. She could sense his pain and fought to keep her conscious from drowning in the waves of emotion that his anguished mind was projecting.

I am Alessia, she said. Not Hinev.

Hinev seemed immobilized by his unlocking memory; he seemed to lose contact with present reality. He was literally living now in his own past.

What could she do? She had to help him. After a moment, her strong, calm wave of reassurance assaulted his will, and he was once again able to view his memories with detachment. Alessia's body had taken his hand and gripped it fiercely. Strength flowed into him at her touch, and he blinked, staring into her young, bright face with recognition and admiration.

In a moment, all thought would be revealed.

Alessia could hear all of her questions, past and present, echoing in her mind. The second stretched as though it contained infinity.

The second passed.

Now she had passed beyond those questions.

Out of the darkness of Hinev's mind, the part no human ever touched except in dreams, a swirling cloud of oscillating nightmare faces grew larger as they approached her from a point of light ahead; whether they were phantoms of the past or visions of the future, she did not know. As they neared they leered at her, some exploding suddenly like bursting soap bubbles, others imploding like the universe at the point of collapse—only to reform into still more grotesque caricatures. What did these horrific faces know about her Fate that she did not? she wondered. And what were they?

Behind them came a shining light grid with a background of colored stars that drove the cloud of faces away. No, she thought, she had been the one moving towards them. The faces and the light had not moved at all.

What the light grid was or what it meant she didn't know. She had formed no expectations of what she would find here in this realm of non-space, and she accepted all she saw as part of the reality of a dream.

In one cell of the grid, a surreal, three-dimensional image appeared, that of a young boy sitting under a tree. Her free conscious, presently unburdened by memories, stared at the movement of him, the colors of him, and myriad diversity of the bizarre reality it observed.

She had forgotten her own memories. Free and unattached, she could now only recall this place between worlds, this light her sightless eyes had once perceived before the constrainment. For now, there was no universal thought or action unknown—the universe was no mystery to her. The only mystery was this world that faced her, and with it, the puzzle of the physical burden, the only journey she had not yet made, the journey of physical life.

In her present state, the stark scene before her aroused a terrifying, nagging recognition in her as she approached it. It reeked of the physical world, all of its confining sights and smells. It made her doubt that she was still a light being. The images disturbed her, mostly because they were familiar. Mostly because she knew she was deceiving herself, that she didn't belong here in the light, not any more.

Haven't you left the light already? the images ahead seemed to ask her.

Left the light? For the constrainment that was physical life, life trapped in a physical vessel that knew only itself and its own confining space? No, she hadn't left the light! The unaware part of her conscious rebelled in fear at the sight of the physical world. Why was it familiar? Had she been there? Did she want to go back to that? No, and yet she was being drawn to it nonetheless. She felt herself dragged closer to the image as the soundless voices she recognized in this, the edge of the tapestry of light, retreated.

The unwilling part of her soul that felt home here in the light finally succumbed to the inevitable journey of life.

At once the window descended rapidly, climaxing in a shattering collision of consciousness as her thought merged with that of the young boy, and she could see the world around clearly and wholly real through his eyes, feel his emotions, remember his memories, hear his thoughts.

It was a maddening shock.

I am Alessia! she repeated, now unsure how she even knew her own name. I can't forget who I am here, or my soul will truly be lost. As she entered the child's mind, her own identity began to come back. She remembered her own childhood, the face of her father and her mother Nerena.

At the same time, a distant part of her mind, almost independent, faded in her memory. Why had she never sensed its regret before? Yet she felt she had, long ago, back when she was a child. A curious child, a child that knew nothing of life yet. She had gradually forgotten, and with that, lost her sense of delight in this new world, lost it to the mundane.

She had forgotten this part of her that had existed in the tapestry of light, but it had never forgotten that dimension.

It was her soul.

Now, aware that as she had once been free, she knew she would never again be reunited with it. It had fled back into the void, the tapestry of light and the darkness, a world of solace and blissful oblivion.

It had abandoned her for the light when the serum took her body...

—Where was she?!! She forgot what had been such a recent cause of fear and regret. She had come here for a reason, and now she remembered what that was. This was the mindlink. Of course. For a while, she would be Hinev, the Hinev of the past, Alessia thought. The chirping of cukao birds grew louder in his and her ears. As long as she could remember herself, she would tolerate the separate reality.

For the moment, she would become Fynals Hinev.

And hope that she didn't lose her own identity for good...

* * * * *

She awoke with a disconcerting feeling. What was she forgetting?

Hinev, she had been thinking of Hinev—dreaming, yes—she had been able to sleep! Creator above, was it possible? To really dream again after more than thirty thousand Seynorynaelian years?! She could have stayed in a dream forever, if she didn't know that Eiron would be there waiting for her when she woke. Living with him had been the best of all dreams.

The transceiver on the wall flashed off and on, pounding out a staccato, high-pitched whine. Eiron stirred with a groan. "Relay message," he croaked, half asleep.

"Message to Miran Vaikyur-Erlenkov." Senka Kalear's voice entered the room. "Ship Sukúr project experiencing delays. Orian attack on Wysteirchan destroyed city two days ago. Collateral damage and casualties, 42,000 lives, two million aileks. Senka Vaikyur charged with deliberate sabotage, failure to alert defenses. Charges dropped upon return of Miran Vaikyur-Erlenkov to build defense ships. Will possibly consider negotiations."

Eiron's hand found his forehead, and he began to knead it unconsciously. He turned to face Alessia and realized she'd been listening. He was glad; he wouldn't have liked to have to repeat the news. She was weighing a decision by her expression, and he remembered that last night she had said that she was planning to tell him something. In the end she had decided it could wait until the morning, since he had returned exhausted from helping Korten II to repair a broken conduit in the weather circulation system.

Suddenly she got out of bed and sat on the edge cross-legged, looking bright and optimistic.

"Are you ready to go back?" she asked, for all the world as though she were unconcerned.

"I can't just let them take my grandfather." He shook his head. "I've go to find out what's going on."

"Of course," She agreed. "You'd better go tell Kesney that you're leaving." She said. "He'll want to hear news about his family."

"I won't be gone long, a few months at the most." Eiron assured her, sounding more cheerful than he actually felt. "Don't worry; if I have to swim the ocean to get back, I will." He said and gave a half-smile.

Alessia watched as he slipped into his uniform.

"All right, I'm just going to tell Kesney what's happened, but I'll be back in about an hour to collect some things," he said. "It's going to be a little hard to get the fighter out, though. Kesney and I went back up to cover her up a while ago. I never thought I'd need her so soon." He shook his head, then came to himself. He kissed her and turned to grab his wrist chronometer from the bedside panel.

A moment later, he was gone. Alessia stood and turned the lights brighter. She pushed a button to make the sleep panel retract into the wall. The room seemed suddenly very hollow and empty.

The computer decided it was time to break the silence.

"I knew it wouldn't last." Its synthesized voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Who asked you?" She snapped, sitting down on the chair in front of the reflection panel. The image there seemed to surprise her, as it always did, and she turned away from it in a bitter mood. "I thought I turned off your terminal."

"Eiron turned it back on yesterday for a status report on the sea probe I detected." The computer informed her.

She sighed, annoyed, reclining in the chair until it tapped against the reflection panel, her mood thoughtful and silent. The computer, though, had no intention of letting her off so easily.

"Weren't you going to tell him about your child? When you told him you had something to say last night, it sounded as though you were going to, I must say."

"Maybe I was." She admitted. "I don't know now."

"I know I didn't believe you when you told me your suspicions—Hinev said that it was impossible for his Immortals to have children. I could never imagine it. After all this time—" The computer continued.

"It looks like Hinev was wrong." She cut it off. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"So you aren't going to tell him before he leaves?"

"I'm thinking about it." Alessia said.

"You're afraid."

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"But you don't have much time." The computer informed her. Alessia sighed, wishing for once that it was possible to turn the whole computer off, not just its terminals.

"Well then I guess I shouldn't tell him now." She said. "Anyway, he's already got enough to worry about."

"It's your decision, of course." The computer said quietly. So quietly she could not hear the note of triumph in its voice.

* * * * *

I've got to stay focused. Easier said than done.

The ride up to the cliffs was far too short. It had been a long time since anyone had come up here, and the ashes of their last fire still lay under the hearth. He visited the other rooms briefly and remembered the weeks after his accident, almost two years before.

The plant he had taken care of that first time sat where he left it by the water-pool, swaying vigorously when he walked into the room, as if thrilled to see the one that had once taken care of it. He walked towards it and adjusted it a little closer to the water, nestling its woven pot further into the soil. Strangely, he felt like the plant appreciated it. Next to it, an old imprint he had drawn into the sand had only partially faded.

The climb out proved harder than the climb in had been, but he managed to make it within a few minutes. With effort, he pulled away the sand-colored metallic plate that he and Kesney had created in Selesta's metal recycling center to camouflage the comet fighter, breaking into a sweat as he worked. Once he had cleared the fighter plane, he stopped for a moment to rest and took one look out at the sea. Then, he crawled into the comet fighter's cockpit and fired up the engines, glad that he had remembered to refuel the plane when they had come back to cover it up.

Just outside the Classified Zone, he received a communication from Headquarters, telling him to head for the Command Center as soon as possible. In his hand, Eiron clutched a tiny star-shaped button. If the council had tricked him back, Alessia would know soon—provided he discovered their plan within the next few days, before the power supply of his emergency signalling device ran out.

* * * * *

Two long months had passed without word from Eiron.

Alessia was watching Kesney and Klimyata pruning the fruit trees in the botanical garden; Kesney turned to bestow a smile on the sad-eyed, single woman sitting gracefully by the lane despite her condition.

Alessia was clearly carrying a child. Kesney continued to register that fact daily with no small sense of awe. She seemed unburdened by the weight of it, unlike any woman he had known, possibly because she was no real woman; her physical strength alone set her apart from everyone.

Was she really a human? he sometimes still wondered. Even though she claimed to be of the same people as the Tiasennians and Orians, he still wondered. Alessia had changed, seemed more human since she became attached to Eiron—but was that merely an illusion? And was there some secret ghost face lurking beneath the many illusions she chose to wear?

He didn't know, but he surprised himself that he didn't care. If she had been a ghost, why should she bother to help them all? She didn't need anyone, or anything from anyone in return, or so he thought.

"Kesney!" Alessia called suddenly, a note of panic in her voice. He heard a scrambling sound as she dropped a metallic instrument to the ground.

"What is it?" Kesney turned to her, but something instinctive in him read the signs as Alessia struggled to her feet in the middle of the lane, clutching herself where the baby hung low.

"What is it?" Klimyata echoed, coming closer, but she stopped, nodding understanding. "I'll call Doctor Nara," she said.

Dinia Nara, the woman who had become the ship's unofficial child delivery specialist joined Alessia, Kesney, and Klimyata a few minutes later in the ship's delivery room where Alessia had been taken, and Kesney and Klimyata left to send word to their friends.

The labor of Alessia's child was short and the delivery uncannily quick; Doctor Nara soon noticed that many things about this birth were entirely wrong, but she kept her face studiously blank. How could it be that none of the drugs she used seemed to have any affect on Alessia's body? What made it worse was that Alessia herself had warned Nara that this might happen. Alessia had told Nara a few tendays ago that none of the original Seynorynaelian explorer crew had ever been able to have children after they had been given an experimental serum, and that none of them had been able to feel physical pain longer than a moment. That left Nara little to go on.

Alessia began screaming obscenities some time later. That went on for a while, then suddenly it seemed the pain was gone. Nara shook her head a moment in confusion, then stared in shock at something outside Alessia's vision.

Impossible, Nara protested. There had been no blood, no amniotic fluid—nothing resembling human birth when Alessia's child came into the world. The baby emerged impossibly quickly, surrounded in a cocoon of bright light that made the doctor flinch. To Nara, it almost appeared as though the tiny creature had not been born of living matter but from energy itself.

Was she, Nara, the only one who had witnessed this? Would anyone else believe her if she told them what she had seen?

Nara reached forward to extract the infant. To all appearances, the baby was normal now—almost normal, anyway. It was a girl, Nara noticed, though that seemed trivial after what she'd already seen. She slapped the baby to make her cry, but the child only let out a plaintive whine in protest.

There was nothing to cut, no umbilical cord. Had the energy dissolved it? Nara wondered. It was too much to think about.

The baby was uncannily warm. Was the child even human? Nara couldn't help but wonder.

Nara wrapped the girl in a blanket and hurriedly passed the infant to Alessia, who was insisting on holding her child.

Alessia took notice of nothing unusual and regarded her baby with a mother's adoration, blind to imperfections and abnormalities. Alessia marveled at the tiny hands and features. The undersized girl was premature, as much as half of a Tiasennian month, a long time considering that there were 134 days in each of the six months.

The baby stared into her mother's face with wide, wondering eyes like a dark sea.

"She has your eyes," Doctor Nara remarked, trying to find something pleasant to say. The child was beautiful, but the eyes were unsettling.

How much truth was in Nara's assessment, though, Alessia couldn't be sure. It was still too early to distinguish features, but her daughter seemed pure Seynorynaelian.

Alessia held her breath as the child stared serenely into her mother's eyes.

"What's wrong?" Nara asked, trying to read the strange expression on Alessia's face.

"It's nothing." Alessia smiled down at the baby. "She just reminded me of someone I haven't thought about in a long time."

The memories came back so easily now! As a child, Alessia had met the woman Selerael one day in the forest around Lake Firien. Alessia had thought she saw someone in the shadow of a large tree watching her, and had turned her head to stare at the intruder. Whoever it was hid among the trees at first but returned soon after. Alessia remembered calling out to her, asking if the stranger wanted to share her sherin fruit.

The woman had agreed to share it and sat down beside her on the fallen tree-trunk. For more than five years, Selerael had been her friend until Alessia met Hinev and was taken by force away to be his assistant in Ariyalsynai.

"What are you going to name her?" Nara asked.

"You know what, I was going to call her Nerena, after my mother."

"But?"

"Now I think I'll name her Selerael." Alessia said.

"Suh-lair-ay-ehl? That's an unusual name." Nara glanced down at the little girl and began to speak pretty but incoherent words to her. "But you know," she said after a moment, "it's not bad. I think it suits her. Erael—doesn't that mean 'angel' in ancient Orian?"

Alessia nodded. "What do you think, Selerael?" Alessia asked.

Selerael just stared at her mother with eyes that suddenly seemed far too old to belong in the face of an infant.

They were just like Alessia's eyes, and not human at all.

Turning away a moment and breathing hard, Alessia blinked several times, denying what she thought she had seen and grasping her baby tighter with a surge of fiercely protective, unconditional love. When, seconds later and with her pulse racing, she dared to look again at Selerael, she only saw an ordinary but not unremarkable infant. With a sense of elated relief, Alessia grudgingly surrendered Selerael to Nara, who took the child away to be weighed.

* * * * *

Sargon smiled in exultation when the communiqué ended. About time, his expression said. It had been five months, almost a year on Tiasenne, since the raid on Wysteirchan had gotten out of hand. Wysteirchan, the town Orashean had come from. Oh well, it hadn't been too great a loss.

Five months? He realized suddenly that he still thought of time in Tiasennian terms, even after all these years.

Vaikyur-Erlenkov had re-appeared shortly after the city's demise, only this time, the Tiasennians had been watching him so carefully that the spies couldn't get close to him. His quarters had been moved inside the Headquarters building itself, quite an honor.

Sargon forced away the image of the twenty-second floor, quick recollections of the dining table, the worn spot on the floor where he sat to read his printvolumes, the airplane his mother had given him, his father's boots lying on the floor...

I can't let myself get sentimental, he told himself. But I do miss you, father. He had to stop, or in a moment she would become a part of his recollections, and he had no desire to lose self-control today.

Over the past five months, Vaikyur-Erlenkov had been building nine additional rescue ships, at least that was what the Tiasennian propaganda specialists were calling them, and it seemed they finally neared completion. Sargon had contemplated this information for the past two tendays, waiting for something interesting to be related to him.

And then he received a message that Ocver had finally succeeded somehow. Apparently, they were bringing Vaikyur-Erlenkov on board a cargo freighter that would be arriving in a few hours.

It took him only an hour to set up the interrogation room. The rest of the time he paced impatiently around Command Central, until Garen contacted him over the intercom to report that the cargo ship was docking in bay 1. Sargon didn't wait to acknowledge him before he headed in that direction.

Ocver and his colleague supported the drugged man, who flopped along like a limp doll, by draping his arms about their shoulders.

He looks Orian, Sargon realized. It almost made him reconsider the interrogation procedure. Almost.

Eiron tried to blink away the fatigue from his eyes. "Who—" he let the question die, but his face betrayed his surprise as he came face to face with the Orian Great Leader—and a trace of recognition. Eiron had seen him before, in stills Alessia kept in a cubicle in her former chambers, but this man was no longer that human.

They gave Eiron another drug to counteract the sedatives. He was fully awake by the time he was taken to the interrogation room and conscious of the hostility of his environment. He rubbed the bruise on his head, a large, untreated gash where someone had clubbed him from behind as he was leaving Headquarters for a brief trip into the city.

How long had he been out? he wondered, but he had no way of knowing.

They threw him roughly into a chair, the hard-faced man with unflinching green eyes who looked more Tiasennian than Orian except for his darker skin, and his subordinate, a pale-skinned man with cream-colored hair who could pass for Tiasennian even better. Eiron wouldn't have given them a second glance in Inen. That was, of course, what made them such effective spies.

"Well done, Ocver," the Great Leader said, as the wiry, flint hard, green-eyed man strapped Eiron into the chair.

"Thank you sir," he acknowledged stiffly, then withdrew to the wall and stood at attention.

Sargon gave Eiron no warning that the interrogation was about to begin. All of a sudden, Eiron felt like a hammer had fallen on his head, shattering his thoughts into fragments. He shivered with nausea, a pain so intense that he grew numb to the world. There was only pain. He thought he would steel himself against it, that somehow it would abate enough for him to reach out to the world again. Relief descended only when the force itself decided to retreat a little, acknowledging overkill.

The pain was still there, though, immobilizing him. Helplessly, Eiron sensed someone rifling through the broken images of his memory. He struggled in vain for several moments to push back the interloper, but his defeat was complete. His control simply snapped, now exposing the deepest recesses of his memory.

Sargon searched and searched, observing Eiron's childhood, feeling Eiron's isolation, remembering Eiron's parents, living Eiron's struggles within Tiasennian society.

He pulled away a moment to verify his own identity, trying hard not to be moved to pity. What he was doing was dangerous, he knew, even as he did it. There was a possibility that he wouldn't be able to shake Eiron's memories ever again, that another, false entity could gain some hold over his mind. But his will was strong against any other. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but see the similarity between himself and his captive.

It made him hate Eiron more. He didn't want to identify with Eiron, to feel guilty for this violation.

So, Alessia had been hiding in the Northwestern Sea. Why hadn't he thought of that? That explained what those confounded Classified Zones were all about. Dimly, Sargon knew that he was smiling somewhere in the present. He absorbed the story Alessia told Eiron, vexed. He remembered their shared past a little differently. For one thing, Orashean had deserved what he had coming to him! However, he was intrigued by Alessia's dislike of Beren. So, his uncle had been a bad apple? he thought. Well, it was just as well that Sargon had kept the doctor from him when Beren's breathing slowed...

Then suddenly there it was, the secret he had been hoping for, the secret that would give him the ultimate power he deserved. Kiel3 meant nothing to him, but the real singularity, Selesta's great power, did. The plans were here, the plans he'd been denied. The artificial string, cosmic hole-creating engine plans. Alessia had given that knowledge to Eiron to build his defense ships, but Eiron had refused to use it. What an idiot, Sargon avowed in ugly triumph. What kind of fool would turn down a chance of obtaining absolute power?

Now he sifted for Alessia's declaration of love for him. Instead, he came face to face with a horrific discovery.

So she loved Vaikyur-Erlenkov—this, this insignificant thing? Alessia had become attached to him?

He couldn't bear it and withdrew from the pool of memories, his physical body also staggering back. Eiron's face twisted in delirious pain. Then, as Sargon stared down at his rival, a horrible idea came to him.

This man had fulfilled his own dreams, had usurped his place, had stolen what rightfully belonged to him. In all his fantasies, Sargon had planned to forgive Alessia's mistakes the day she came back to him, to forgive her for condemning him to an eternity as an undead creature. But now it seemed she could never be his, no—she loved this man instead! He couldn't fathom the reality of it. She loved Eiron, and even if Eiron were to die, her love for him would survive on to eternity. It was more than unfair. It was incomprehensible. And it left him no other choice.

He fully intended to punish them both. But first—oh the depravity of it! There was something else he wanted more than anything, something his soul craved, and he knew he could have it. Yes, he could have her; he could attain what he wanted more than anything—vicariously.

She thought she had won? He laughed, anticipating his own conquest of Eiron's mind. She thought she could reject him, escape him and get away with it? She thought she could keep herself from him forever when only the two of them would be there at the end of time?

He took a slight breath, then surrendered to the mindlink.

Retreating into his mind, only the power of his thoughts reaching out to Vaikyur-Erlenkov's mind, Sargon forced away his own identity, and forced Eiron's mind back, back under his advance. He was going to take Eiron's place in those memories, to succumb to the full oblivion of a mindlink, to relive Eiron's memories as if they were his own.

It was a dangerous thing to do, he knew, but he didn't care. A small part of him protested, recalling stories Alessia had told him as a child about a man who had forgotten his own identity and lived a farce of multiple personalities, but from that Sargon had known it was possible—to completely absorb himself into another identity. It would be traumatic to return from those memories and discover that they were not really his. But he had to do it.

When the mindlink was over, Sargon's own life and memory returned to him, pushing the other memories away, back into the recesses of his mind where they could only haunt him and bring no comfort or pleasure.

As he returned to the reality of his own life, a howl escaped his lips, a horrendous inhuman howl that echoed in the bare room. Ocver and his subordinate bristled under it, arms twitching at their sides.

What had suddenly happened? Only a second ago, the Great Leader had seemed triumphant, contemplative—and now... why was he in pain?

Meanwhile, Sargon looked down on his captive with new fury and suddenly knew what he wanted to do, what he would do. He wouldn't kill Eiron. He didn't know that the real reason he couldn't was that Eiron's memories had affected him more than he realized. They were there, lingering, still in his mind, gathering hold on him. To uproot them would have destroyed him—was this why that strange man Alessia had once spoken of had been tormented? Why he had developed a multi-personality effect?

Sargon forced Eiron's invasive memories back, forced them down. No, he couldn't kill Vaikyur-Erlenkov now. That wouldn't solve or change anything. Yet he had something else in mind, something he hoped was worse. Something so simple. Deny his captive the same thing that had been denied him; yes, there was one way to kill Eiron's love. He had only to erase Eiron's memory. All of it. And then he could use Erlenkov against her.

Could there be any more just punishment than this?

"Come in here, Garen." Sargon said in a level voice to the aide waiting outside the door. Garen trooped in proudly, a young, gangly man with long legs and a mismatched cherub face.

"Your orders, sir?" Garen said, eager-eyed, then waited.

"At ease, Garen. Wait a moment and you can escort Erlenkov to barracks."

"Yes, sir." Garen chirped, nodding, looking to the prisoner. If Garen wondered at the unorthodox orders, he gave no sign of it. The Great Leader was often as cryptic, but Garen was sure he knew what he was doing. Nevertheless, an unsettled expression fell over Garen's face; a moment later he shrugged it off.

As usual, it had been easy to extract the necessary information from his unknowing aide, Sargon thought complacently. Then he turned to Eiron and began to reassemble the shards of broken memory into a new whole, before instructing Ocver to unbind the prisoner. A moment later Eiron came to, but he seemed still in a trance as, eyes closed, a low monotone escaped his lips.

"I am Orian. I serve the cause of the Great Leader Sargon because Tiasenne has abandoned us to die. I will do anything to serve him and save us, kill, and risk being killed for our people and their freedom..."

It took only a moment for the memory of Vaikyur-Erlenkov to die.

Even god cannot change the past.

—Aristotle
Chapter Twenty-One

Vaikyur was worried. What had happened to Eiron? One day he was busy at work, and the next, he was gone. Headquarters assumed that he had something to do with Kesney's disappearance; Vaikyur considered the idea that Eiron had gone back for a brief visit to Selesta. However, even if he had gone back to the Classified Zone, the council wouldn't dare punish him now.

Public opinion of Ezáitur and the council had dropped sharply after the attack on Wysteirchan, mostly because the council had once ridiculed the actions of Miran Eiron, Wysteirchan's hero, and his "defense ship" and negotiation ideas over the civilian channels. Though Vaikyur thought no one had seemed too concerned at the time that Eiron was ridiculed, the attack had changed people's opinions. They now saw the bare facts. The man who had tried to help them, their former hero Vaikyur-Erlenkov, had been driven into exile by Ezáitur, and they weren't going to forgive the Fer-innyera that easily for it.

Eiron hadn't been the only benefactor of public concern; the week of Eiron's and Kesney's disappearance, Vaikyur had also issued an unauthorized message over civilian channels, urging the civilians to protect themselves by building shelters and practicing emergency escape procedures. The public had been alarmed by his unorthodox action, because they had always looked to Vaikyur as the nation's defender, and they revered and trusted him, but also because they knew he wouldn't risk his reputation or position unless he believed it was necessary.

As a result, and to assure everyone that things were under control, one of the nosier public information bureaus delved into the story. Deciding that Vaikyur was only acting to spite the council that had vilified his grandson's name, they printed Vaikyur-Erlenkov's ideas in a newsletter, questioning the prudence of his radical suggestions and leaning towards taking the government's view, even if they believed its retaliation a bit harsh.

Of course it was ludicrous to believe that the Orians would eventually tire of small raids. Even if they decided to increase the intensity of these, they would never get that far before being pushed back as usual.

And so, the attack on Wysteirchan that had seemed to start as a small isolated raid came as a shock to those who had ridiculed the views of Vaikyur and Vaikyur-Erlenkov. The Orian space fighters had dropped in unexpectedly, in unprecedented numbers, faster than the air base could send messages to the Inen Command Center for reinforcements.

Their first target had been the Wysteirchan air base, which was destroyed before a single ship lifted off the ground. The civilians watched the sky, abandoning their homes and gathering in the streets when the fires broke out. It seemed the terrorists were looking for something beneath the surface, dropping missiles every hundred micro-nariars that rent holes deep in the ground. Nothing was left where they fell, and the explosions destroyed most of the buildings between the missile targets.

Less than a third of the city's population survived, and many of those who did had been severely injured. Their blame fell hard and swiftly on Ezáitur. The Fer-innyera could not deny the attack this time, they knew. Somehow, the same news coverage team that had aired and denounced Vaikyur-Erlenkov's views before had managed to arrive on the scene towards the end, and their unedited and graphic broadcast was sent across the planet to a horrified audience. Within two hours the message had been censored, but not before it had done its damage.

When the council blamed Vaikyur for the disaster, small protests against the government began in cities and communities across Tiasenne. Gradually, even the more established members of society doubted the government's allegations, and the government decided to transmit a message to Miran Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov, to try to make amends.

The initial purpose of the charges against Vaikyur—to regain control by eliminating the opposition—had failed; Vaikyur was innocent in the public's eyes, and the only open option remained to secure national support by bringing them back their hero, Vaikyur-Erlenkov. The council had realized that the people would be looking for a scapegoat and would blame Ezáitur, and they needed to reinstate the defense program to win back the public's trust.

If they had to weaken it still more for the time being in order to bring Vaikyur-Erlenkov back from a Classified Zone with immunity, it didn't matter. Things couldn't have gotten much worse than they already had.

In the end, Ezáitur released a statement claiming to have overturned the council's decision to punish the Marshall of the Defense, trying to exonerate himself from blame in the matter, hoping to put the past behind him. Vaikyur was released and put back on duty. Ezáitur also announced that he had made a deal with Miran Vaikyur-Erlenkov to build a fleet of ten rescue ships within the year, and that Vaikyur-Erlenkov would be promoted to Senka and the commander of the flagship Sukúr.

Some people reverted to their former trust, though most remained wary, their faith in Ezáitur forever shattered.

But now, two tendays after Vaikyur-Erlenkov had disappeared for the second time, dissension had broken out in the council as to what to do about it, whether to be honest and tell the public that he had gone missing, or to pretend that the Sukúr would soon be patrolling the skies under Vaikyur-Erlenkov's leadership.

Vaikyur had heard the news that morning, that the High Command had decided to keep it quiet and hope that there were no further attacks. The typical Orian pattern indicated that the next one was likely to be seven months from now, just over a year away. Until then, the council was going to have to find someone who could finish Vaikyur-Erlenkov's project, possibly the head engineer who had been working with him on the other ships.

Meanwhile, Ezáitur himself had summoned Vaikyur to another interview in a last, desperate attempt to wheedle some information about Orian's strength out of him, as though seeking approval for an offensive against the planet. Vaikyur had arrived dutifully at the Fer-innyera's office but refused to answer any of his questions.

"You think I don't know what's going on? What you're planning to do with the new fleet?" Vaikyur said, addressing March, who was also present, as much as Ezáitur. The two men exchanged innocent glances, but Vaikyur refused to let them feign ignorance.

"Foolish idiots!"

"Vaikyur!" March tried to protest, but Vaikyur's glare silenced him.

"I can hardly believe so many people have trusted you—who gave you the right to risk so many lives without considering other options?"

"The people themselves." The Fer-innyera countered, completely unaffected.

"The people never forfeited their rights to survive. They didn't support you so that you could gamble away their future." Vaikyur said, his voice dangerously quiet. Uncontrolled anger was of no threat to anyone except those who happened to be in the way, but Vaikyur's was patient, directed.

"Even if what you say is true, and I'm not saying that it is, it is the people who allowed it." The Fer-innyera insisted. "We'll win the war, Vaikyur, as long as you and your subordinates don't give up on it."

Vaikyur laughed hard. "Win this war? We never needed to be fighting it in the first place."

"May I remind you, Vaikyur, that the Orians attacked us—"

"With just cause." Vaikyur interrupted. "Don't think you can simply ignore issues that are unpleasant without facing any consequences. And none of us can forsake our fellow man without accepting the consequences."

"Our 'fellow men'? Come, Vaikyur. I'm only trying to protect our people." The Fer-innyera shrugged, spreading his palms wide.

"Yes, I know," Vaikyur rejoined. "But don't you understand? If you refuse to negotiate, if you insist on fighting with Sukúr instead of cutting a retreat for the lives of our people—you've damned us all!"

The Fer-innyera sighed. "Yes, yes I see your point. But it really is too late to stop things now. Moreover, you really shouldn't underestimate our forces—"

"Isn't the Headquarters Building heavily fortified?" March interrupted.

Vaikyur stalked off in disgust.

* * * * *

Selerael reached her scrawny arms around Kesney's neck as he submerged under the lake. He was teaching her to swim, only a few days after her first birthday, nearly eight long months after Eiron had left them. She had grown quite tall for her age, unnaturally quickly. At the age of one, he thought she looked more like a three year-old child. Though she was slight-boned, almost frail-looking, the arms latched around his neck held on with uncanny strength.

Selerael knew he wasn't her father. Alessia had often shown Selerael the likeness of her father in the holographic room, where she could simulate Eiron's image. Alessia had told the child that her real father was coming home soon, but Selerael seemed to think of him as an imaginary creation. Nevertheless, Selerael had imprinted the image on her memory, Kesney knew. "Daddy" was one of her first words when she began to speak about a month and a half ago, when she reached forward to hug the leg of the artificial person that had substance only in the holographic room. But she never called him that. Alas for the cruelty of youth, Kesney often thought.

Kesney tried to help take care of the child for the sake of his friend, and later because he genuinely cared for her. She was just as stubborn as her father, too, Kesney often thought, and she had him wrapped around her tiny finger. She called him Uncle Kesney, and made him give her his favorite still of him, her father, and Alessia, even though he'd already given her a birthday present.

Today Klimyata had made a special dinner of Orian otassa and a frozen cream cake for dessert for Selerael when she and Alessia dropped by. There was nothing Selerael wouldn't eat, it seemed, since she had cut her first teeth within in a month of being born. After a while, he thought her increased maturation rate had slowed to normal, at least he hoped so. Eiron had already missed the first part of his daughter's childhood. But, he thought, if she suffered for his absence, at least she was the star around the scientists' descendants. Everyone loved her, played with her and tickled her, teased her, and let her get away with almost anything—even the confirmed old bachelor Ctarin, who otherwise maintained that he had no time for children.

"Time to go," Alessia called from the bank where she and Klimyata were watching. Kesney let Selerael go to swim by herself to the bank, and she paddled easily to shore.

Why? Why is she growing up so fast? Alessia didn't say anything about it, but she hoped Selerael's growth had gone back to normal. The others had assumed her growth rate to have been normal for Alessia's people, but they were wrong. Alessia herself couldn't understand the abnormality, except that it reminded her too much of a disease that had killed so many Seynorynaelians in ancient times. Yet the disease had only very rarely affected children, and it had been caused by the radiation of faraway Valeria.

Maybe the serum in our blood has something to do with it, she thought again, and tried to convince herself that there was nothing to worry about now.

Because recently the girl's growth gland seemed to have resumed some natural control over her; the last bioscans showed no trace of disease, or that there had ever been a malignancy at work.

To all appearances, Selerael was a normal, healthy child of three, but with a mind more than twice as developed as it should have been even for a child as old as she appeared.

As though she were not a human child at all.

* * * * *

Eiron awakened in his barracks. Were they his? They seemed familiar, and there was a still of him in his maroon and grey uniform by the sleeping panel, a still taken on graduation day. Oh yes, now he remembered! He had lived in Nayin for so long that the training academy in Destria was a distant memory, a memory best kept at a distance!

It was too bad his mother and father hadn't been there to see him; they had died of starvation—two more deaths that the Tiasennians could have prevented, if they had understood the meaning of honoring a treaty, if they had understood the meaning of human decency, of showing compassion to the misfortunate. He stopped this thought.

Eiron clambered out of the sleeping panel and went to the closet to put on his uniform. It hung just as he had left it, slightly askew, leaning against the far back panel, where he had put it—only yesterday? How long had he been asleep?

I've got to remember to get some rest before I collapse for thirty hours. What a waste of the day off, he thought darkly.

Ekasi Eiron Erlenkov hurried into his uniform and tore into the corridor outside, racing down the halls to the docking bay where he was to join his unit.

His friends and wing mates Corraika, a stout, strong man and Fierdan, a tall, long-armed giant of a man with a wry sense of humor, appeared momentarily confused when he raced to a halt and greeted them, nonchalant, just inside the docking bay.

For a second, they just stared at him. Who was this man who seemed so familiar?

Then the moment's hesitation disappeared; a reminiscent expression appeared on their faces, and they smiled and made jokes at him. Of course! This was Erlenkov, their friend since the early days of training in Nayin, long ago! Why had they hesitated to head towards him?

"Looks like we've got to pick up the shipment from the dome," Corraika informed them with an indifferent shrug of his massive shoulders. "Last one to his plane has to drive the loader." He said and bolted quickly, surprisingly fast for a man his size.

"Just you try to catch me." Eiron laughed, racing past him as fast as he could. Then, as Eiron ran, an unwanted recollection distracted his thoughts.

In his mind's eye, he saw the image of a broken pipe dangling high above within a network of pipes and conduits and suspended from an arced ceiling. Water flooded from the pipe until, strained under the force of the weight, it began to break away from the ceiling. A section of the pipe tore away abruptly, then plummeted downward...

Eiron stopped mid-stride, his head throbbing worse than any urbin spirits hangover.

Corraika and Fierdan sailed past him and reached the transport.

"Hey, Erlenkov! You run like an old lady!" Corraika jeered mirthfully from the transport ahead. "Who gets to drive the loader, now?"

Eiron shook off the momentary memory assaulting him, and as it retreated, his headache vanished.

"Laugh all you want, but I'm the one who's got the shuttle key." Eiron said with a triumphant smile, dangling the keychain.

"Fierdan—I thought you had it." Corraika said, turning to his friend. Fierdan shrugged.

"Hey, don't ask me how Erlenkov ended up with it. I thought you were the last one to fly the shuttle."

"I was." Corraika said, momentarily confused, then he turned to Erlenkov. "You're a real pain in the ass sometimes, you know that?" he said in amusement, relinquishing the pilot seat to Eiron.

"I know, but what would you fellas do without me?" Eiron said, laughing along with Fierdan at the grimace on Corraika's face as he strapped himself into the loader.

* * * * *

It was amazing how quickly a spaceship could be built if its construction crew had been properly motivated, Sargon often thought.

And so it was that Enlil was born in just one year.

Sargon's engineers had been hard at work on the new vessel he had designed since just after the last attack had been carried out on Wysteirchan. By that point, they had already finished refining the rare metals and alloys into smooth plates for the first hull, hull "skin" and rotary hull, plates so bright that he could see his reflection in them.

After the attack on Wysteirchan, the technicians began working on creating the dense rotating "quasi-singularity"–a ludicrous name, but Dr. Linskin's idea–that would provide a negative pressure field around the ship. This negative pressure field would allow the ship to pass through centipede gates. Thanks to Erlenkov, Sargon now knew Alessia's people had pioneered such centipede gates across the galaxies. Without this negative pressure, Enlil could not pass through the cosmic holes, and he would be stuck here forever.

Sargon helped to create the dense, "quasi-singularity" by using his telekinetic power to compress energy within the electromagnetic field. Then he and Linskin worked to shave off exotic particles, creating a massive substance contained in the field. This exotic matter was going to be the engine's main power source, and the entire engine apparatus was soon transported to the heart of the vessel.

Then Sargon moved on to his second, more risky project: the creation of two adjoining engines to the singularity engine drive. He began to set about isolating the string components of one hydrogen electron, string being the smallest known component of atomic particles. The containment fields and heavy, dense walls of the containment facility contained the destructive energy release as the electron was sundered into its individual, vibrating component strings.

At the same time, they began to generate tachiyons, the tachiyon engine energy source. The tachiyon engine was in many ways dangerous, but the least limiting method of space travel, hypothetically speaking. The tachiyon engines allowed a ship to jump across space, with the cosmic holes or without.

The separate tachiyon absorption and containment fields began to register tachiyon activity appearance, several seconds before the positron stream hit the gamma radiation to create it. That should have been impossible. It was like having a ball bounce back before you had even thrown it. But this happened with tachiyons because they were in fact positrons traveling backward in time, that accelerated into the past as they lost energy.

You could drive yourself crazy wondering what might happen if you changed your mind about generating the energy after it had appeared, Sargon often thought. It was like one of those hypothetical time-travel questions. What would happen if you returned to the past and accidentally killed your own mother before you were born? Sargon felt sure the universe would not permit mere mortals to thwart it, that it would tie up these loose ends somehow. Anyway, he was not going to do anything so foolish as to try and test the laws of the universe.

He was busy enough already. He watched as the tachiyon particles created from the electron stream disappeared to reappear as positrons in future time when left exposed to the gamma energy as they were in the testing facility. Then only the disrupted string energy could be channeled into near light-speed motion out the ship's thrusters, launching the ship forward.

But he knew that with a single orchestrated charge between the gamma energy of the forward motion string engine and a containment field in the tachiyon engine that kept out the gamma radiation, the appearance of millions of tachiyons in the ship-hugging containment field would carry anything in their field of influence with them, including the energy-feeding current of positrons and the gamma radiation source.

This was, in technical terms, how the space "jump" operated. Caught in this exotic energy field, Enlil could essentially jump across space.

But, as the particles "jumped" over the light-speed barrier, carrying their energy source and the matter of the ship enclosed within the fields, the strings in the particles of the matter contained within the fields would begin to vibrate and add their collective energies, and the entire field of influence would begin to move backward in time despite the string engine's forward motion.

This was a problem. Ships could not travel backward in time without consequences. It was another example of testing the universe. The universe didn't allow time to flow backward, except in the case of the wayward tachiyon.

Yet, gradually feeding on the infinite energy of the string reactor as the tachiyons turned back into positrons, each tachiyon would slow down, approaching the light-speed barrier once again, then jump over it, and begin to move rapidly forward in time. The time lapse of such a journey would be infinite as well as seeming that no time at all had passed, the ship caught within the field appearing to instantly pass from one space to another. This meant that a ship's passengers would feel as though they had jumped instantaneously across space, even though they hadn't exactly done that.

The problem was that the matter of any living creatures within the ship would be affected during this kind of journey, maybe even destroyed. But long ago Alessia had said that Hinev's fighter-explorers could use their telekinetic powers to help any passengers or objects reform atomically as identical matter that had no memory of the jump or the transformation.

And, despite the dangers, the space jump was ideal. Between such induced charges, the ship could travel unhindered by friction throughout space at relativistic rates approaching light-speed without losing any energy beyond the initial burst required to set the ship's speed and reserves for course re-direction losses. The only unfortunate circumstance was that during the space "jump", they could not accurately control the energy levels and thus the distance traveled and time traveled backwards.

Another problem was that the ship could not exist as matter in two places at the same time, as it would if it traveled backward in time. So, until the ship caught up to the moment it had jumped, it would remain moving energy or else tear into another universe, time, or dimension like a visiting ghost caught between two worlds. There was also a remote possibility that passengers would be caught in a time loop on board the original ship that ran between the time traveled backward and the moment of departure.

In either case, it was likely those aboard might materialize partially in the alternate state, in backward time, as an anti-person, an identical but negatively charged being, created from the near-infinite energy of the sundered string engine and energy burst of the accelerating tachiyons. The "anti-beings" would have no memory whatsoever and once caught up to their initial departure time, would likely remember nothing of their alternate but brief "anti-person" existence. Hopefully, they would still have at least some remaining memories once the journey was over.

Sargon knew that if Alessia's explorers had once survived the matter-altering space jump, then his own identifying energy would most likely also live through it. But he wondered if he would be able to risk the lives of the other Orians on board. The matter-alteration might cause the lives, memories, or even bodies of ordinary beings to cease to exist. Well, he might not ever need the tachiyon space-tearing engine, though at least it was his if he ever did need it. It would be far better to stick to using the "quasi-singularity" powered engines, he decided.

In her interview with Eiron, Alessia had explained that there had been some negative effects of the first jump on some of the matter on board, and that even Hinev's explorers rarely used the device. Because of the serum, the lapse of time meant very little to them, and they hadn't really needed the tachiyon space-tearing engine.

Alessia's people had discovered another way to travel to far corners of the universe by tearing and enlarging existing microscopic "centipedes" in the space fabric and emerging at another point in the universe; cosmic holes were holes in space-time itself, pathways to far distant corners of the universe and other universes, long held to be untraversable. But the artificial "quasi-singularity" that would allow Sargon's ship to pass through these existing cosmic holes could not create new ones.

He lacked one thing to create his own: the cosmic string.

It seemed that long ago, the creators of Selesta had contained a tiny strand of cosmic string, a remnant of the original energy of the universe upon which galaxies formed. Cosmic strings were closed loops in space-time, leftover when the universe formed into uneven domains separated by incredibly small areas of negative pressure, or tubes of cosmic string.

Unlike a tangible, elastic string whose tension would drive the material to come together once it had been stretched, cosmic string exerted pressure to keep stretching. This "negative pressure" it exerted would be enough to force open and widen particle holes in the fabric of space-time without the resulting cosmic holes closing. In other words, a people capable of using cosmic strings could perhaps tear holes in space-time anywhere, rather than having to locate natural, traversable cosmic holes.

Since cosmic holes theoretically closed with the approach of gravitational fields produced by accelerating objects, for example a speeding space vessel, ordinarily encountering such bridges in space-time would prove useless if a ship was unable to exert the negative pressure necessary to keep them open like a channel. The "quasi-singularity" could do that as exotic matter, but unlike cosmic strings, he did not think the "quasi-singularity" could create new cosmic holes in the fabric of space-time.

But how had Alessia's people contained the cosmic string? It was impossible, Sargon's mind told him. Though infinitesimally thin, cosmic string was dense stuff, enough to distort the properties of the matter around it! So dense, in fact, that it could not even be drawn into the clutches of any black hole whose original stellar material had less mass.

If used properly, then, it could theoretically open rotating black hole gates, channels that terminated in past singularity white holes, leading to other universes, other galaxies, even other times! Orian science considered it impossible for a ship to actually travel backward to times where it, or the people inside, had not existed. But by using the cosmic string to pass through the natural time machine mechanisms inside a rotating black hole, anyone could, however, travel forwards in time, even millions or billions of years.

Sargon didn't know how Alessia's people had learned to master centipede gate travel, or what star charts they had made or where the cosmic holes they had made or mapped led; that was yet another reason why he had to find Alessia. It was going to drive him mad not knowing where to go with Enlil, even if he could ever leave the Rigell system behind.

Alone and adrift in the universe, he knew that if he passed through any cosmic hole, called a centipede, without knowing where it went, he might emerge into some unknown territory of space, and if he couldn't pass back through the centipede for some unknown, unpredictable reason, he would be stuck somewhere in the vast unknown, and would never be able to find his way home to Rigell.

He tried hard not to think about this; he would persuade Alessia to surrender soon enough, he thought, once he turned Enlil loose on Tiasenne.

Now, with the Enlil's engines completed, there was still another matter to be taken care of; supervising the work that would make his final assault on Tiasenne possible. Sargon had already designed the artillery of weapons to be integrated onto Enlil's hull, but work in that area had been going on for several months and would likely continue for some time.

Of course, Enlil was only a temporary substitute until he could have the real thing: he wanted Selesta almost as much as he wanted to find Alessia. He would use his spaceship against Tiasenne to force Alessia to come back and relinquish her ship to him. Then perhaps Enlil could join his fleet, but he and Alessia would lead the Orians to another world in Selesta; if Alessia returned, he wouldn't need to stay here and force Tiasenne to surrender also, would he?

Or did he really want to see that planet suffer? That planet that had rejected his people for so long. Did he really think he could just leave without punishing the Tiasennians for what they had–or rather, hadn't done for his people?

* * * * *

A month before Selerael's second birthday, Alessia began to experience flashes of premonitory visions: fires, screams, and burning asteroid rain in a scarlet evening sky. Yet she had no idea where the scene was. Nothing like anything she had seen before came close to it. And, unpleasant as they were, she couldn't force the visions away. Then, without really knowing why, she began to prepare for Selesta's departure from the cliffs, and transported all of the objects from the cave down to the ship.

What was it all about? She didn't know. But she had that disconcerting premonition that something was about to happen.

She knew well enough by now to trust her instincts.

_Ventum seminbunt et turbinem metent._ They shall sow the wind and reap the whirlwind.

—Ovid
Chapter Twenty-Two

Somber, dark, glittering faces fashioned of the strongest alloys ever forged on Seynorynael glared at her from all around the circle.

The ring of mechanized Elders sat on high seats in the secret council room, their unified mindspeech echoing in her mind, filling it with poisoned words and anticipating her unformed subconscious protests in order to smother her thoughts and ensure her subordination. For hours now they had been debating something she hadn't understood at first.

That morning, Captain Eadric Ungarn had asked her to report to the council building, but no one had been asked to report there in years. When she questioned the order, he had merely replied that the order had come down from the highest authority and he was only relaying it.

There had been no guards outside to greet her, nor anyone inside, but the doors opened for her automatically, closing behind her and sealing her within. The only sounds she had heard were the loud, echoing steps of her own feet amidst the vague whining sounds of a cooling system in operation as she reached the heart of the complex.

Inside the council room, the ancient council greeted her, inhuman misers that cheated fate and death and lived for the most part alone and isolated from their subordinate subjects, monitoring the people's actions, establishing laws, and giving the Martial Scientific Force its orders from afar.

She hadn't understood allusions they made to her until the humanroid guards brought the helmet for her to wear. She had only put it on for a second when a painful energy net shocked her head. Since that moment their purpose had gradually become clear.

Now at the end of the debate, she had at last remembered it all. Kicking the discarded helmet further away with her toes, she stared up again defiantly at the oldest Elder, Marankeil.

"Alessia, child, sweet sweet little girl," Marankeil said in a disturbingly mocking tone. "Do you think there's anything you can do to us? We control your destiny. Fight us all you want. Believe that your choices are your own, it doesn't matter. You will not really deviate from the path we have assigned you. Resistance is futile. But go ahead and waste your energy."

Did she protest? She hardly had time to form a thought—

"You think you can will yourself to remember this meeting and change your future? Ah, but my dear, you will forget that this ever took place, even as you have no present recollection of our past interviews. What? Is that confusion on your face? Oh yes, there have been many. You would see to it that our entire race never existed in the time-loop just to destroy me, wouldn't you? You would have our glorious society vanish, and erase our glorious future?

"What does it matter how many times you try to stop me? I am here, am I not? Isn't that proof enough that your plans failed and will for all eternity? There is no breaking the cycle. We exist, and you yourself will someday voluntarily assure the survival of our past."

"If you're right, then why are you so afraid of me?" She asked. "Did you summon me here just to gloat? How can you be sure that you'll live to see this glorious future as you call it?"

Marankeil was silent a moment; she wondered why.

"By first ensuring our existence. Then we will preserve ourselves, as we have, and we shall continue until the universe ends and begins again."

"Until the universe ends?" Alessia echoed. "That's impossible for you, and you know it. Only Hinev's serum would save you, and you can't have Hinev's serum. It won't give you eternal life with an unlimited creative mind. You're already stuck with the mechanized bodies you fashioned for yourselves. You can't see the future, and you know it."

"Not like you can? Or Hinev?" the mechanical voice laughed with sinister self-composure. "Ah, the homonoia of Hinev's children!" he laughed again, derisively.

"I don't understand that."

"I didn't expect you to." Marankeil said dismissively, patronisingly. "You think I don't understand the significance of your metamorphosis? That I don't understand the significance of your parentage and what powers it gives you?" Marankeil's sibillant voice echoed loudly. "I know it as well as Hinev did. Foolish child that you are, you don't even begin to know what it means yourself, but what does that matter to me? I know what you are. That is why I have assured that our destiny shall be fulfilled through you and your actions."

"But you can't see the future." Alessia protested, tried to protest. Marankeil paid her little attention.

"Can't I? But even if I couldn't that would be inconsequential. I can control it by initiating actions I want and predicting what is beyond my control. I will remain in power. And you're going to help me."

"I won't—"

"You think you won't." He said. "But I'm going to survive until the end of the universe, and then I shall escape the end and pass into another universe, as the Enorians did before me."

"Until the end? How can there be an ending if you're going to survive it all?"

"Mock me, Alessia, but it will do you no good." The voice warned, no more than a whisper. "You'll never defeat me."

For the first time, she began to believe him.

* * * * *

Alessia awoke in her chamber, breathing hard, sweat on her brow.

Selerael was asleep beside her, her breathing soft and steady. Memory of her dream was fading fast, as some part of her mind that she had never been quite able to control, alien but a part of the collective sentience of her atoms, blacked out; in those few seconds the realization dawned that this was not the first time she had experienced this agonizing feeling, like a tidal wave in her mind asserting control over her memory and action.

The next moment she glanced at the chronometer on the wall. Another blank, she thought to herself. What was it about? The last one had been years before, when Kiel and Gerryls had come in to calm her down. They had said she was screaming, blindly, horribly screaming in pure, abject terror. But she never screamed like that—she wasn't afraid of anything, was she? It wasn't in her nature!

Yet there it had been, clear in their memories: an image of herself screaming worse than any wounded wild animal before they woke her. So she could no longer doubt, but still she couldn't imagine what had caused her dreaming mind such pain.

She felt closer to the secret this time. The incidence had disturbed her, not completely dissipated like a gust of wind. This time she could recall that whatever it was that lived in her dreams had been horrifying.

Alessia stroked her daughter's arm reassuringly, convincing herself all the while that whatever dreams she had, they couldn't be transmitted to Selerael. And she would do anything to prevent that from happening.

The girl kept breathing sonorously. Alessia watched, comforted in some way by her daughter's uninterrupted peace.

A peace Alessia had never been able to find.

* * * * *

"Long before Marankeil became the leader of the Seynorynaelian Elder Council, before he became the head of the Federation Council," the record-keeper began, "before Hinev and the first group of explorers had even returned to Seynorynael from their journey, Marankeil had studied the geography and history of our own world and found relics he believed had been part of a glorious ancient Seynorynaelian civilization." The speaker paused gravely.

Could it be that there was no punishment for breaking an oath of silence?

"But," the record-keeper ventured cautiously, "it wasn't until he and his closest friend Ornenkai discovered the ruins of the Enorian havens that Marankeil conceived the idea for the rebirth of an even greater empire, a Seynorynaelian Empire as the legitimate heir to Enor's faded glory.

"Marankeil won a seat on the Seynorynaelian Council, and it was he who suggested sending out another major explorer mission, an army armed against the unknown. But even after the return of Hinev and his crew with findings that all of the humanoid races were descended from one, Marankeil would never admit that the first race existed, claiming instead that the Seynorynaelians alone were the descendants of the ancient supreme galactic civilization, Enor.

"Marankeil watched as scientists such as Hinev searched for proof that the humanoid races were descended from one in order to create a brotherhood of harmony. At most, Marankeil was willing to admit to me that the independent evolution of the galaxies might once have been guided by the Enorians, to attain greater perfection among the lesser species. That their 'life cultures' had spread life from one world to another, and that these cultures had developed into more primitive, inferior human forms.

"Marankeil's interest in Hinev increased when he recognized Hinev's genius as an experimental scientist in life-preservation. Though his interest in these areas had always been great, they were fields in which Marankeil himself knew relatively little. He was no biologist. But Marankeil's unparalleled creative ability in the field of bioengineering had changed our lives years before Hinev's return.

"Few remember that Marankeil had once been a scientific engineer and artificial intelligence research scientist, that he had created the first viable mechanized unit capable of emotion, memory, and thought transfer. Perhaps I am the only one who knows that he was the leader of The Memory Project that revolutionized technology and nanotechnology and created computers capable of thought transfer, holding sense memories, and limited higher reasoning abilities independent of humans.

"Then, shortly after his discovery of the Enorian havens, before his election to the Federation Council, Marankeil had discovered a way to transfer the entire mind and memory of a human being into a new form of mechanized unit, an armored humanroid that imitated humanity in every aspect. I found it ironic that a man so convinced of his species' physical superiority could estrange himself from his own body and the reason for his supposed "superiority", but the temptation of any form of immortality was too great to deny.

"So it was that Marankeil traded his own humanity for the body of a machine and gave up his human soul in exchange for a computerized mind and body that might live forever. Thus he was able to survive, to control the destiny of our world and realize his dreams of creating an empire. In no time, Marankeil bought the young and foolish Ornenkai's soul with this promise of immortality and made him his second.

"Marankeil in part came to disdain the human form and its limits, but I knew he was only waiting until Hinev could unlock the key to physical supremacy through physical immortality, attaining perfect preservation of the human body from the Enorian clues that remained on our world alone. Marankeil knew the ingredients of eternal life were to be found on our world, in the innovations of the creatures that inhabited Seynorynael and the miraculous survival of our race itself.

"Secretly he still wished to live as he imagined the Enorians had, to preserve his own existence in an immortal human body that could never age, and never die.

"The hundred thousand year life span of Valeria, Seynorynael's blue star, had just passed its half-way mark when the Empire under the Council of Elders was born. None of the Federation scientists had been able to reconcile the facts that Valeria was only a young star of 50,000 years, while the genetic evidence dated the original intergalactic humanoid race at three million years old and the variant of the Seynorynaelian form at one million years of independent evolution. Finding no other viable explanation for how our race even existed, our people provisionally accepted Hinev's First Race Theory.

"Then, shortly after the Seynorynaelian Empire had been created, the Empire's scientists were instructed to denounce the First Race Theory on the grounds that Hinev's 'first race' had no determined origin and no one could actually prove it beyond a shadow of doubt, even though no other present theory could explain Seynorynaelian evolution. Despite Marankeil's own private knowledge of Enorian legends and science, he would not let his people believe that those they had subjugated across the galaxy were their brother creatures, even though he knew, as I did, that Hinev was right.

"Hinev never found out what he needed to know about Enor or the Enorians. Marankeil had destroyed the information that he deemed a threat to his own motives. Then at last, Empire scientists finally discovered crude remains of early humanoid forms frozen in an ice glacier. The ancient creatures were very hairy and small with heavy-lidded eyes and leathery skin that had protected them from the ultraviolet light.

"Could these hairy men be our early humanoid ancestors? Many scientists wondered. It had been confirmed that they were genetically related to the Seynorynaelian animal families, and if radiation from the new blue star Valeria had caused Seynorynaelians to lose most of their body hair, they could have been our ancestors. When, just after the Empire was formed, Fynals Hinev suggested that both theories might be possible, that these hairy creatures had been genetically altered by the first race, the comet riders, who were possibly Enorian, that Seynorynaelian was one of many races that the first race had so created but was possibly its closest heir, he had finally come close to the truth."

A truth he would never really know.

* * * * *

Ezáitur is insane! Forren thought. The Sukúr and her sister ships were finished, but the Fer-innyera had sent orders canceling the test run. Instead the Fer-innyera ordered the crews to get ready for an offensive against Orian herself. He was an impatient man, Forren knew. In a neurotic fit, he'd decided to purge the system of Orian filth. Yes, "Orian filth" was what Ezáitur had called them, Forren recalled with some sense of horror at his lack of self-composure.

Forren only wished he had the nerve to say something about this, but that was not in his character. As much as he wanted not to, he did as he was told and relayed the message to Vaikyur in the Command Center to send the squadrons over to board the new space fleet for a major offensive.

Moments later, he monitored the conversation between Vaikyur and the Fer-innyera, hoping against the odds that Vaikyur could do something to save them.

* * * * *

This is all happening too fast, Vaikyur thought. Could it be that Ezáitur thought he could catch the Orians by surprise?

"You have to recall the order, Ezáitur," Vaikyur said once he had been patched into the Fer-innyera's office. "Don't you know that if we attack Orian we run the risk of accelerating the volcanic eruptions? Don't you know that if that happens, the gravity that binds our planets will be disturbed and could hurtle _us_ off into space?"

"That may be, but I'm giving the order just the same." In the view screen, the Fer-innyera waved a hand dismissively. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll call up the individual squadron leaders myself if I have to."

"Understood. I'll give the order." Vaikyur responded tightly, opening the comline to relay the message.

I'm sending us all to hell, he thought. Minutes later, as he watched the ship Sukur take off, Headquarters and the Command Center received a direct and sudden communication from a vessel now traveling between the planets. One of the ensigns patched the message through to the video screen.

The Orian Great Leader's face filled the screen, his strange unblinking eyes tearing deep into their consciousness and exposing a weak vein of fear to the open air. Even Vaikyur felt the invisible hand of mind-exposing terror pulling at his soul and searching for his weaknesses; suddenly, unexplainable cries of panic sounded over the Command Center around him, as though each ekasi felt he had been singularly targeted as a victim. Several Tiasennian planes crashed inexplicably in that moment, punctuating the sudden rise of fear in the atmosphere with a flurry of grating buzzing sounds coming in from radar.

"So good to see you, Senka Vaikyur, and you, Fer-innyera Ezáitur." The Great Leader said menacingly, finding them on the relay. "You may be wondering how I know your faces so well—but it's quite simple. Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov's mind is a soft little treasure-box."

That was enough to animate Vaikyur. Vaikyur's eyes flashed as he suppressed a desire to hurl insults at the Orian creature and self-proclaimed leader, knowing it would do no good, yet rage filled him, allowing no fear, spilling over into the expression on his face.

"I must say I admire you, Vaikyur." Sargon said, despite Vaikyur's hostility. "You seem to be the only one around Headquarters with any sense. It's a pity you couldn't get Alton to rectify the damage your world has done to us before it had to come to this.

"As for you, Ezáitur," he glared at the image of the Fer-innyera, though Vaikyur could also see the Fer-innyera on the monitor, "you really are more of a fool than I thought. We never helped your precious Vaikyur-Erlenkov as you suspected—Alessia did." Sargon paused, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, so her name rings a bell? It should. Now that I know where she has been hiding, I no longer have to consider you in any of this." Sargon said, dismissing the Fer-innyera with a slight wave of his hand.

"Expect to be annihilated." He said, his eyes glaring at them. Even shielded by his ire, Vaikyur felt himself immersed in ice by that gaze; several of those around him were violently shivering, ready to agree to anything that this creature had to say or offer and stunned by his words.

As the communication cut out, the image changed to a gigantic spaceship, dark navy with royal blue bands of color, a multi-tiered display of various short and long barreled laser batteries and cannons staggered over the strata of upper decks. The ensign ahkso who had taken over for Kesney meekly reported it at eight nariars long, two nariars wide, and one-third of a nariar high.

Ezáitur's face on the other videocom stared unblinking. He was mindlessly sucking on the end of his smoke roll.

A sense of normal feeling gradually returned to the room; Vaikyur opened his personal transceiver to the left of his chair and began to transmit a message on a high frequency channel, hoping that Alessia would receive it.

"Vaikyur calling the Selesta for assistance. Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov made a prisoner by Orian leader. Orians preparing to assault Tiasenne..." He repeated the message over and over until his voice cracked.

* * * * *

Almost immediately after the Great Leader's message ended, the assault on the planet began. Missiles fell heavily on the cliffs in an attempt to expose the ship Selesta lying far beneath. As the Orian space fighters patrolled the Classified Zone of aico-seven, they found a cave that had been exposed on the cliff side, found that it led to a great cavern deep in the cliff-side, but there was no sign of any space ship. Alessia and her crew had disappeared.

Sargon went into a frenzy when he heard the report. She must have been warned by the Tiasennians! he was certain. They would pay for that mistake. But that meant she had to be watching somewhere, ready to thwart his plans. Well then, he would give her something to see.

"Send the fighter squadron Arenal to the surface to engage the enemy planes before they reach us." He ordered, never minding that the surface was going to be engulfed in a laser barrage in a matter of moments.

* * * * *

Alessia had received Vaikyur's message. Within the hour Selesta took off, tearing free from its underground tomb, wrapped in an artificial magnetic field and radar-invisible and anti-gravitational shields as it reached the upper atmosphere. In the long abandoned bridge, Alessia stood with Kesney at the sensor screen, her closest friends operating the positions she had once taught them in preparation for this moment.

She had been planning to intercept the Orian flagship when Kesney monitored a communication from the Sukúr to Headquarters. The ship had reached Orian undetected and, as ordered, had exhausted its firepower on the Northeastern Ridge where Nayin and several other cities were located. Only then did they realize that the planet had been abandoned.

"Where do you think they all are?" Kesney asked.

Alessia stared out the forward observation window. That was how he had planned on immobilizing her. Of course, the Orians were all aboard the huge Orian vessel.

"We can't attack the lead ship." Alessia said, her voice a farce of composure.

"Are you serious?" Efim Fulten-Mira asked from his console. He was a tall, lanky blond man, and Kesney's new father-in-law. "We have to stop them at any cost. All Tiasenne is at stake."

Alessia turned to him as if about to speak; she had only a moment to make him understand that the entire Orian population was also at stake.

"God help us." Kesney interrupted. "Tiasenne's assault deteriorated the surface crust over Orian's Northeastern Ridge."

"They couldn't have picked a worse place, could they?" Efim said, his deep voice betraying a note of panic. It was disturbing to hear it; Efim's voice was usually unhurried and calm.

Kesney shook his head. "You're right. It doesn't look good. I'm registering volcanic eruptions and seismic waves outside our monitor range."

"That means—means—" someone cried out, breaking off into panicked silence.

Kesney nodded soberly. "Estimates give two hours and sixteen minutes before the surface erupts."

Images flashed in quick succession in Alessia's mind; the purple buildings of Destria and Sargon during their stay at the OSRD building, the kind and sympathetic face of Ai-derian, the agricultural dome, the verdant green of the Northern plateau, the view of the dark red soil and small seas of Orian from the transport that first time, the faces of the gaunt and lifeless children of Nayin in the long, terribly long nights in the city towers.

What could she do? She wondered. Her oath bound her to save Orian's population. But would Sargon spare the Tiasennians? That wouldn't matter as much if the planet was knocked out of its orbit by Orian. So that had to be her first concern. But what could she do to stop the Orian ship? Sargon would probably be waiting to see what she would do.

Suddenly, an idea came to her.

"Prepare the Sesylendae."

"What?" Kesney said.

"I want everyone to transfer to Sesylendae." Alessia explained.

"But what about Selesta? Wouldn't we be safer on board this ship?" Ulyanitsa protested, a line forming between her brows.

"If we don't keep Tiasenne protected from the shock waves, there won't be anyone left alive." Alessia explained. "Sesylendae may be small, but her field generators are enough to stabilize the planet. As for Selesta—I have other plans for this ship. It won't be safe to remain on board. I'm going to divert the Orians from Tiasenne to buy time. Lead them off perhaps, to another planet where they can live, and leave Tiasenne in peace. From Sesylendae you can return to the surface unmolested once this is all over."

"Won't you be coming back?" Kesney asked, not really considering that she wouldn't.

However, Alessia didn't answer. "The bridge of Sesylendae is twenty decks above us. I suggest we go there now." She said, gesturing to the elevation device. "The electromagnetic field will take about two hours to envelop the entire planet. I don't need to tell you that this doesn't leave us much time."

They hesitated only a moment, then headed to the doorway.

* * * * *

"So," the low voice of the record-keeper spoke carefully in a language that was not his own, "I have nearly come to the end of my tale, but how much does this, our history mean to you, to your planet?

"Soon now, after millennia of freedom, Kiel3 will be returned to the Seynorynaelian Empire, and under the will of the immortal Emperor, Marankeil. There will be nothing you or I can do to prevent this. However, there is one hope for your world, and for the thousands of other provinces across the galaxies who would keep their freedom. The Immortals would not accept this fate; they would not allow Marankeil and his Empire to control the rest of time. Their final mission, their exile, became a desperate search to somehow alter history and the future. Before taking up their cause, I was able to recall my former self, the man who had once dedicated his early life to the preservation and study of ancient lore.

"So it came to pass that on the morning of their final departure I broke my vow of silence and gave them hope that an Enorian singularity would come from your planet Kiel3, and this singularity was fated to help them destroy the Council of Elders, to stop their poison from spreading across the universe. How long I had kept that regrettable vow of silence and what difficulties it lay upon me I cannot tell you—yet in that one moment I was at last able to break it.

"I had given up my humanity long ago, but in that moment, I also sacrificed my second chance for a human life and body again in order to protect Alessia and the generations on board Selesta, to become the mechanical heart of the ship itself, the record-keeper, the living memory that inhabits Selesta. I am Selesta now.

"I cannot convey what this sacrifice cost me, but for my own sacrifice and for the sake of those whom I now protect—as long as any power remains to me, in this mission to your world I hereby swear I shall not fail, nor let any power come between me and my chosen destiny.

"I shall not rest until I know that the Seynorynaelian Emperor is dead."

* * * * *

Selerael had been playing in the 84th botanical gardens with Klimyata's younger brother Yorzei until Klimyata returned from the neighboring Kronos laboratory. Oblivious to Selesta's recent takeoff, the pair had been occupied in a game of tag around the vegetation. After a while, Yorzei had finally sued for peace, exhausted from running, and they had stopped to share a piece of olenfruit.

"Are you both all right? Selesta has taken off." Klimyata was nearly out of breath, stepping up behind them as though she had run over with the news. "No signs of motion sickness?"

"No, we didn't feel anything," Yorzei answered. "Right, Selerael?" Klimyata regarded the young girl, but she didn't respond.

"Well then, if you're both fine, it's time we got going. I'm taking Selerael back now for her nap in her mother's quarters—"

"I'm not tired." Selerael said stonily.

"No, child, you never are, but I have to take you there." Klimyata laughed slightly. "God knows if Alessia has gone there to find you there already. I'm sorry I got so preoccupied. Yorzei, could you watch over things here for a while?"

The boy nodded.

"Good. Say good-bye to Selerael then."

Yorzei offered a casual good-bye, but Selerael appeared reluctant to leave. Showing uncharacteristic affection, she reached up and circled her arms around Yorzei's waist, squeezing him tightly and pressing her face into his chest.

Yorzei looked to his sister with a surprised expression. Moving towards them softly, Klimyata stopped and then pulled Selerael away.

"Don't worry, Selerael, you'll see him soon."

But as they left, Klimyata found herself wondering what had caused the little girl such distress. Any other child and Klimyata would have dismissed such behavior. Selerael had an uncanny expression in her eyes, and when she got upset, it was usually in premonition of something unusual about to happen.

Once they reached Alessia's quarters, however, Selerael seemed calmer, and Klimyata left her to go to sleep. Selerael opened her eyes as the door closed and glanced around the silent room, sensitive to another call and a presence she had often heard around her mother.

"Yes, Selerael, you sense that I am here." The synthesized voice of the computer terminal resounded through the room. "Don't be alarmed. I want you to think of me as a friend, as I once was a friend of your mother's."

"How did you find me here?"

"I've watched you since you were born, my dear."

"Oh."

"Don't you recall that I was present at your birth? Your memory should go back that far, if you look, for you are a child born with Hinev's serum in your body, even if you haven't undergone the metamorphosis. I know you can find that memory if you look."

"I don't remember anything." She disagreed. "But—you know who I am?" She asked, a little frightened.

"I have long known how special you are," the computer replied. "What your special destiny must be, yes, from the moment you were born. I was glad, you know, glad you were born a girl and not a boy."

"Why?"

"Because a little girl will not rebel. A little girl can be controlled. Yes, a little girl is keenly aware of her duty and can be tamed, even a wild-hearted girl such as your mother once was."

"You knew my mother when she was a little girl?"

"Oh yes," the computer replied. "It was a very long time ago, but I remember how she was then."

"But why do you want to be my friend?"

"Why? Because I want to see you fulfill the role that you were born to play. I hadn't anticipated that you would be born, but now I see that you are going to play an important part in the success of our mission. Though I love your mother and would never fault her, she doesn't recognize you for who you are. You will find the singularity for me. You will bring it back for her to fulfill her destiny."

"What do you mean?" Selerael's small, confused voice echoed in the room.

"I don't expect you to understand yet, but don't be afraid. I'll take care of you, and someday I will reveal to you what must be done." The computer reassured her patiently.

"We're going somewhere?" Selerael asked.

"Yes." The computer replied. "We're going to Kiel3." The voice paused, then lowered, sounding apologetic. "I'm truly sorry that you won't remember the journey. But that can not be helped."

"Why won't I remember?"

"Why? Because many years of suspension—well, it never fails but to rob the young ones of their memories." The computer paused again, then continued in an even tone. "But, memories are an impediment you shall not require to fulfill this mission."

"What mission?"

"Your mission, Selerael. Someday, once we've traveled across the old territories of Seynorynael, I will revive you from suspension sleep and call upon your destiny to take its course."

"I don't feel like sleeping," she insisted, making a face. "I told Klimyata so already."

"You don't have to." The computer said. "Not until your mother comes."

"She's coming along?" Selerael brightened.

"No. Not this time."

"Why not?"

"Because, child, I foolishly swore never to take your mother or any of the explorers to Kiel3 against their will, and she may try to use the ship for her own ends. I must have it all to myself. She believes she is fulfilling Hinev's dream here, but we must find the singularity since she will not."

"Why?" Selerael asked.

The computer was silent a moment.

"Because long ago I helped build an Empire, and now I must pay the price."

Usque adeone mori miserum est? Is it so hard a thing to die?

—Virgil
Chapter Twenty-Three

Eiron's fighter unit had landed on Tiasenne, where they had come face-to-face with a squadron of Tiasennian comet fighters. The streets were already awash with burning buildings and blackened rubble, pieces of fighters, and zigzagging enemy planes as well as friends. It was becoming harder to tell who to fire upon, and more dangerous for friend and foe alike when reflexes took over.

Looking down at the landscape, Eiron saw a park in the city, the tips of the trees smoldering, many of them burned to charred twigs. For a second, he was paralyzed. He was sure he recognized the place, and felt a hollow in his heart as he watched it burn. Something he had loved had been attached to it—no, surely not. How could that be?

A moment's lapse was enough for the fighter approaching him. Eiron only saw it coming when the missiles were released. He dodged quickly but took a hit to his engines.

With relief he noted that the armor had absorbed most of the damage, and he was able to maintain enough control to crash land in the park. Nothing was broken, but he felt an odd pang shooting across his abdomen. He hurried to clear the plane before the enemy fighter made another pass, and he slunk into the shadows of the trees until it was nariars away.

Staggering away on his feet, he headed towards the center of the city which he hoped might already be under Orian control. He hadn't gotten far before he was lost in the residential areas.

Despite his feelings against the Tiasennians, he was appalled by the number of dead people lying around in the streets, many of them children who had fled burning buildings. Nothing was moving around him; this particular area had been hit hard by the bombing. Then he saw something moving in the left field of his vision. As the object came closer, he was able to identify it.

It was a little girl, running hysterically through the rubbled streets, her face streaked with ash and dirt, her torn clothes filthy with dried blood and soot. She saw him on the street and ran wildly towards him with huge, terrified eyes, not understanding that he wasn't one of her people.

Her bedraggled blond hair covered up the dried blood on her head where she had been injured by some falling debris. Just as she reached him, he could hear her soft, mumbled cries. He turned her face up to hear her better. Long lines on her tear-streaked face had traced a clean path from her eyes to her chin.

"Daddy, daddy's dying, he's dying..." her voice faded, and she ceased crying until her face contorted with a new memory. "Oh, Mommy, Mommy's hurt! She can't move!" she cried and grabbed him by the hand, tugging him hard and pulling him through the streets to a collapsed building not far off. She pulled him through a sunken entranceway not two micro-nariars high and into a dark rubble-filled room.

On the floor a man lay sprawled where a great section of brick wall had crushed him. His lifeless eyes stared back, fixed in death. A great pool of blood lay slick on the ground on the other side of the room, but the roof had collapsed even further and covered half of it.

The girl stared uncomprehending for a moment before she began to scream hysterically and beat the debris with her tiny fists. "Mommy!" She cried over and over again.

He dragged her away, but she didn't want to leave, so he picked her up and carried her away, back out into the chaos and destruction that was once a fair city called Inen.

* * * * *

High above the Celestian planets, now aboard the smaller attached spaceship Sesylendae, Alessia and her crew watched as the fighting continued, waiting helplessly for the electromagnetic field to charge. There was no one trained to fly the Valerian space fighters in Tiasenne's defense. Alessia briefly considered telepathically implanting the skills into a number of the young people on board—but immediately realized that it wouldn't do much to save anyone.

Alessia abruptly left the crew for a moment and went into the adjoining room; it was time to act. As she entered, the computer outlet in that room greeted her in a voice that she knew from Selesta.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"Alessia, we must go now, while Sargon is distracted," it said urgently, delivering what sounded like an ultimatum in the dark, masculine voice.

"No—why would I take the ship away now in the middle of a battle?" Alessia protested. "I'm not leaving. I'm going back to Selesta in a moment. The others can survive on Sesylendae until I return, and there are enough supplies on board the Sesylendae to rebuild the planet Tiasenne, even without my help, if we should be separated. And you—I expect you to transfer entirely to this ship and see to the reconstruction. I'm entrusting you with the responsibility of the crew's survival."

"Oh? And what are you going to do?"

"I have other plans. I don't know exactly yet, but I may even try to relocate the Orians to another star system if they would follow me. And assist the citizens who got left behind on Orian somehow..."

"You're mistaken, Alessia, if you think I can leave Selesta. The ship is your home and mine, as much as Seynorynael ever was, but I must take it to Kiel3 with or without you."

"What?" This response came as a shock. "You wouldn't leave me here. You can't."

"But I can't allow Sargon to trick you into relinquishing Selesta, and I can't allow you to go somewhere else with a handful or even billions of refugees on board this ship. We haven't come this far to allow another Emperor to threaten our future. If Sargon captures Selesta and searches for the singularity, if he claims its power for himself—"

"He doesn't care about the Enorian singularity," Alessia protested. "He only wants Selesta."

The computer kept silent a moment, as though hesitating to disagree.

"Perhaps, but he would use the ship for himself, and we would never then go to fulfill what we have sworn to do. And remember that Sargon doesn't know about Selerael's existence yet."

"I don't understand your point."

"Can't you see? There's only one way you can protect her from him. Her blood shows no signs of the serum, no trace of post-metamorphosis cells. She is mortal, and you know it."

"She might not be entirely human. There are abnormal lyra-chloroplasts in her cells. Dormant, but—"

"Would you be willing to risk Selerael's life in Sargon's hands? He might try to kill her on an irrational whim. Or risk him destroying Selesta somehow if he attempts to take over while you are in flight to another system—"

"He couldn't." She disagreed, but she sounded uncertain.

"He might try to destroy us. He can't kill you of course, but how much damage can he do to our cause with his interference? Who knows what kinds of weapons he's been developing to use against us all of these years? He is an immortal now, and to be feared. And then, if he does destroy the ship, Selerael and I will die. Your energy will remain, formless for a short while, and then you will be re-born as Lierva once was. Alessia, you will be alone. And with no way of returning to civilization. Eiron—is probably already dead, and in your heart you know it."

"I—I'm not going to let anyone have Selesta." She protested, with a note of iron will he had never heard before. "If necessary, I'll destroy it."

"You aren't going to destroy Selesta." He said.

"Why not? If I have to, I'll take Sargon with me the only way possible. Ram into his ship and destroy them both. You can take Sesylendae once the inhabitants are safe on the planet and try to make the journey to Kiel3 yourself."

"You know Sesylendae can never make it there now, with all of the closed and collapsed centipede gates. It's too many years away otherwise, halfway across the damned universe!" The computer said. "And do you think you can choose to end your own life, as Hinev did? Hinev was nearly immortal, but he hadn't perfected the serum yet when he gave himself the injections. Face the truth, Alessia! You can't kill Sargon any more than you can kill yourself. You'll end up stuck here with nothing, and this mess isn't worth it! Get away with me now."

"I'm not the same person I used to be. I'm tired of fighting. Tired of running."

"You would abandon your child to this nightmare? What if I can't protect her until you return? What if she ends up killed? You can't expect anything right to come of what you're doing."

"What else can I do? I made a vow to save the lives of my people, and I shall."

"Stop fooling yourself, you fool! You can't destroy the ship and all the people of Orian. You can't abandon Selerael, and if you'd only listen to me, you wouldn't have to. We are the only beings who can prevent Emperor Marankeil's escape into the future—we must ensure the Council's demise so that the entire universe isn't enslaved forever to an evil dictator! Remember you took a solemn vow to ensure his destruction—how can you stop now?" he broke off only a moment, recalling the day long ago when he had seen Alessia in the Seynorynaelian Arboretum and had known her secret destiny. Would she recognize his words? Would she now know who he was?

"I grant you, if you destroy Selesta, perhaps this future will endure, perhaps these people will survive." The computer continued. "Perhaps this would create a new future outside our Empire—outside the time-loop that you know already exists in our past, and you might escape your destiny. But Alessia, you can't alter what was meant to be, or there will be repercussions upon us all—"

"If that's true, if I am bound by my fate, then whatever I decide will be the right choice. I'm alive now. So—whatever I have chosen now will be the right action. The universe is not going to end simply because I change my mind. It's odd, though." She said, with a little laugh.

"What?"

"I thought you didn't believe in fate, Ornenkai."

She knew?! She knew who he was?! The computer was silent. How long had she known?!

"How did you find out?" Ornenkai said, very quietly.

"You aren't denying that you really are Ornenkai?" She laughed in disbelief.

"No."

"How did I find out," she echoed. "I remembered a dream I had a long time ago, a dream I thought was just a fabrication of my own imagination, the dream I had just before we left Seynorynael for the last time."

"The day I transferred my mind and soul and memories entirely into Selesta."

"Yes. I never saw what you were doing in that dream, but I finally figured it out. You gave your identity away over time, piece by piece, only I never could believe my suspicions. I suppose I thought it was impossible for you to sacrifice all that you had on Seynorynael to come with us—"

"I had nothing on Seynorynael but eternal emptiness."

"But you were the Vice-Emperor. And I never thought you would actually transfer your existence into the Selesta. To become the ship, a living vessel of power, with no free will...."

"I was a mechanized unit long enough to figure out how my own mechanical functions operated—enough to figure out how to transfer my mind force and memories. Enough talk. I had my reasons for making the sacrifice."

"I don't believe all your talk about time-loops, Ornenkai, not anymore." Alessia said, shaking her head. "If there had been a way to return to the past, we explorers would have found it when we first visited Kiel3. Why believe in nonsense? There is really only one way to be sure that Marankeil's Empire dies forever, whether or not he himself comes to reclaim Selesta, or another new Emperor takes his place."

"What is that?"

"Destroy Selesta, as I said. And hope that no other ship of the Imperial Grand Fleet remains."

"You love this ship too much to do that."

"I love my child and the people of this world more, and it is my duty to protect them and let them live in peace."

"Why do you insist on absolute foolishness?"

"Because. If I destroy the ship, even the circle, the time-loop you speak of will be broken, if it ever really existed. As for Selerael, she is safe with the Tiasennians. If we truly break the circle, she and everyone here would escape into the tangent future we create. I believe that, and not what you said about necessary actions and the ultimate destiny of our people. You aren't infallible, Ornenkai. When you told us all that nonsense in our moment of grief, just after our world died, you were speaking of legend, not truth. The only truth is the living flesh of these our people, and my vow to assist and protect them."

"If I could make you remember what you should never have forgotten, you wouldn't do this." He warned.

"Since you can't, I'll just have to follow my own judgment. You gave up your life to try to make amends, I see that, and I appreciate the sacrifice you made, but it has nothing to do with me and my decisions."

"As much as you protest ignorance, Alessia, I know you will come to believe in the time-loop!" The voice shrilled, as close to a shout as the computer could come. In it was a note of confusion, as though he really did have reason to believe what he was saying, as though he had not consciously deceived her.

"Oh, and how do you know that?"

"I know." He said. "You are a part of it." I know it. You were there!, when I was a youth. You had already come to the past to set me on a path towards my soul's redemption.

She sighed, making light of his frustration.

"Tell me," Ornenkai said, "would you be content to let our civilization vanish?"

"What are you saying?"

"You know that they are part-Seynorynaelian, all of them, these Celestian peoples. Are you willing to change fate? Don't you understand the consequences of doing that? What about Selerael? The Council may have found a way to escape into some other future somehow, as the Enorians once did, perhaps even through the centipede gates. They may have another plan to ensure their existence, to corrupt another universe, and the rest of us will cease to exist in this one. Everything will just cease to exist."

After all that I have endured for you, Alessia, I will not allow you to destroy my plans, he thought.

"Everything does, Ornenkai, in the end. This is my decision and there's nothing you can do to stop me." Alessia said after a moment. "There—you see? We're both still alive." She said in a mocking voice. "We haven't vanished all of a sudden. So, my decision changed nothing. You know I can destroy the ship with my power, and I fully intend to. You can transfer your soul to the Sesylendae and survive there, Selerael will live, and I'll escape. I'll deal with Sargon however I can. There—you see? I knew you were wrong. I knew there was no such thing as a time-loop or certain destinies, aberrant paths in time. If there were, I would have gone back and saved the other Immortals if I could. I wouldn't have had to watch the others die! I wouldn't be here—"

"And then Selerael wouldn't have been here, either."

"Yes." She admitted.

"I see—you can't believe in the time-loop, can you? Or else you'd have to choose between saving Kiel and the existence of your own child. But your logic doesn't follow. The time-loop can't be controlled or guided by anyone—anyone except the One. And no one can use it for their own purposes. Time and Space won't let you—They are vengeful to those who try to change their own fate—"

"And if, as you believe, I am 'the One', then either I end up guarding the past, changing it and damning us all, or else I might obliterate us all out of existence."

"I don't know. There might be another alternative, but we can only discover it when we find the Enorian singularity."

"Enough, Ornenkai. Your words won't change my mind."

* * * * *

Alessia returned to the bridge of Sesylendae some time later and told the crew that she was going to check on Selerael. Hurrying down Selesta's corridors and elevation shafts, she reached her quarters where Selerael was still asleep, her soft breathing uninterrupted by the chaos on the planets below.

Soon she realized that the computer would not leave her alone.

Alessia spared a moment's thought on Ornenkai, intrigued that he had made such a sacrifice, wondering why he had done it. Who could have guessed that his ancient spirit had resided in the ship all this time? The main computer itself wasn't obviously the controlling force behind the ship, and yet it was essential to all ship functions. How could the Elder allow himself to become Selesta's guide and living vessel, the main computer the brain of the ship and the ship his own body? It was not like the proud Ornenkai at all. The mere sight of the computer's minor terminals did not fill an onlooker with awe, though it had been many years since anyone visited its main installation, located far below and to the stern of the engine room; its position had been chosen to appear unobtrusive and insignificant as a security precaution.

The main computer's brain mirrored that of a humanoid in many ways; in its sensory receptors, chemical synapses, and electrical impulses. Another feature which distinguished it, though this fact remained unknown to the explorers or its present crew, was the computer's ability to feel, or more accurately, its memory of feeling.

When had she really suspected, then, that the ship was Ornenkai? Even an ordinary computer would know all about her life and mission, and argue as it had been programmed, even seem to feel human emotions. How had he at last given himself away? She didn't even know the answer. And she still didn't understand why Ornenkai, who had once been Vice-Emperor and had helped to create the Seynorynaelian Empire, should want so badly to see it destroyed. Or why he should want to see the end of Ilikan Marankeil so desperately. What did he have to gain by it? He had betrayed the Emperor to Hinev's immortals so many years ago, on the day of their last departure from Seynorynael, and given up absolute power and mobility—

"So what are you doing now?" Ornenkai asked, almost impatiently, at last interrupting her.

"I told you to escape on Sesylendae and look for the singularity yourself." She told him. "You know what I'm doing."

"And I told you I'm not going anywhere."

"I have to get rid of Selesta. Then no one, neither Marankeil nor Sargon—nor you, will be able to retrieve the singularity. And then let Marankeil come here to Rigell. If there's nothing here for him to gain, I believe he'll leave this system in peace."

"You believe that, but hope accomplishes nothing. I know Marankeil better than you."

She ignored him. She was singing softly to Selerael, who was sleeping, sleeping strangely soundly.

"Alessia, tell me you're coming with me." He said. "I'm giving you one last chance to change your mind."

"The electromagnetic field is almost finished charging on Sesylendae." She said, defiantly. "Hurry up and escape now while you can."

Because of that, Ornenkai didn't hesitate. It was there, his secret weapon, his last weapon, and he would use it. She had left him no choice, other than to use it. And so he reached back across time and summoned the specially modulated signal frequency.

The signal made no sound any mortal ears could hear, but Alessia stopped and reached a hand up to the side of her head, and she was immediately his.

That sound—she felt a sense of horror wash through her. She knew it! She knew that sound! And this signal permeated agony throughout her system, galvanizing the smallest sub-atomic part of her. So, it was the source of the pain, the delirium...

Now she and Ornenkai both knew that she had been right all these years to suspect that her actions and destiny were not entirely her own choice. The Council had placed a microscopic, undetectable nano-agent control chip in her mind–before Hinev had given her the serum. The serum that had metamorphosed her body had transformed but never taken notice of what appeared to be a native cell—a mind overriding cell containing a nano-implant chip, hidden in Alessia's memory, made sentient and indestructible by the serum, a cell programmed and controlled only by the power of the Council's activating signal. Of all the Elders, Ornenkai had never intended to use it to control her.

But in the end he had no remorse in doing it at all.

Now, lost memories of her secret meetings in the Main Terminus in the Council Building came flooding back, and Alessia recalled the hideous visage of Marankeil in his many forms: the great computer at Ariyalsynai, his mobile robotic form, his many attempted clone embodiments, and his final rebirth back in mechanized form, awaiting the transfer to the supreme immortal human body. His sessions with her, in which he had learned information about her Enorian father, but nothing of the other Enorians he wanted so desperately to find.

"And now you will do what I tell you," Ornenkai informed her.

She flinched, paralyzed; his own soul was nearly paralyzed with her. Oh yes, he still had a soul, he thought, voluntarily enveloping himself in darkness. And he regretted using force—how he regretted it, for it meant he would have to do everything alone! But the only way he could act was through her. He had no control in the physical world; how he hated and yes, despised his powerlessness! How he wished, wished so very much, that he didn't have to do what he was doing. She would never know how difficult his decision had been. Nothing was going as he had wanted it! In the end, that disappointment was more unsatisfying than he was willing to put up with.

"Come here." He said, stonily.

Alessia winced, fought, staggered, and then her self-control snapped. She was moving against her will, entirely against her will.

As she moved to obey, she used the last of her own will to reach down and hurriedly kiss her daughter's forehead; it was more of a smear on her lips. Forgive me, Selerael, but I can't fight him, her thoughts went out to Selerael, but Ornenkai also heard them.

"Perhaps Hinev was right." Ornenkai said suddenly, thinking that Hinev had long known what Ornenkai had only recently discovered. "It was never your destiny to return to Kiel3. Selerael and I will make the journey in your place."

"Galaxy group seven of the Kane Cluster was the most recently discovered before the Destruction." Alessia said suddenly, unwillingly assisting him with her memories. "You don't have enough information about the surviving cosmic holes and the failed centipede throat monitors to plan a course from here."

Ornenkai would have smiled if he could; he had to admit he admired Alessia's ability to protest, even under mind control.

"I'll plot our route inside the Great Cluster and the connecting centipede passages, away from the Ephor and Goeur systems." He drew up the star charts in the computer holo-sphere for her to observe his route. "I'm going to pass through the natural centipede hole discovered linking galaxy group two and seven, the one where your explorers deliberately failed to enlarge a permanent cosmic hole. Where you tried to keep Marankeil's vessels from reaching Kiel3's galaxy."

"You knew?"

"Yes, of course I knew! Kiel wanted to protect galaxy group seven from us." He said. "Anyway, Selerael will be safe in the suspended animation capsule."

"Safe? Can you swear to that? She may be dead by the time you get there, otherwise, and who will help you then?"

"Alessia, I will never allow harm to come to her. You see, I have already thought of everything."

"Oh? Did you think that it wouldn't destroy me to have her taken away from me forever?"

"She'll survive in hypersleep. Even if our journey takes thousands of years, Selerael will survive, and I'll bring her back to you. Alive. I promise."

"But you put her life at risk bringing her to such an unfamiliar, inhospitable place. She could be killed there. Kiel3 was a wild, uncivilized planet when we left it—"

"Stop stalling. Now, I want you to use your telekinetic power and Hinev's mixtures to disguise Selerael's physical make-up for me. No temporary veils, no illusions, either. You will have to re-arrange her biochemical composition, her cell and organ structures, and Hinev's mixtures will help alter her skin tones. Do your best. If Selerael can't fool the creatures of Kiel3, they may kill her."

Alessia glared at the computer.

"The alteration won't last. Hinev's mixtures will break down before you make it past Lysciena."

"Why, Alessia, you seem to want my plan to fail." He laughed dryly. "Well, perhaps the mixture would decompose in time, but not if Selerael remains in suspension."

"You can't control Selesta without me."

"I have been in charge of this ship for centuries," he corrected her. "And I have some access to the navigational computers and engines. As your daughter, Selerael will also be able to control the ship's internal systems." He paused. "Such a shame I couldn't override the explorers' program and implement the automatic system that day when the anti-serum took Kiel—"

"I know why." Alessia said viciously. "You didn't want to save them."

"I couldn't save them." Ornenkai insisted, as though offended by her accusation. "You know that Kiel deactivated the computer control system so that the automatic system would activate only when there was no helm control, and Kilran was there on the bridge when the anti-serum was released. I could do nothing."

"Couldn't you? Couldn't you have stopped the vapors from spreading?"

"No. You know I would have saved Kiel and the others if I could have. I knew Kiel, Kellar, Lierva, Celekar, and Gerryls before you did, did you know that? They helped me to rebuild Selesta. They were a part of The Firien Project for years. I knew them well. You can't think it gave me pleasure to watch them die!"

"I don't know what you're capable of anymore. I never did."

He stopped, stung by this comment, but he would never let her know that.

"Stop trying to dissuade me, Alessia! I don't want to leave you, but you know I can't break my oath and force you to go, that I won't do. Besides, you would only get in the way in your present state of mind. And I can't take you with me now that I know you would destroy Selesta if you could— I just can't believe you could truly carry out that threat. I can't take you with me now that I know you've rejected your mission. But when I find the singularity—yes, when I bring it back to you, you'll change your mind; you'd better. Then you'll fulfill your mission, I am certain. I shall restore your faith in me."

"What about Sargon?"

Ornenkai hesitated. "You created him. You'll have to deal with him however you can. Just keep him here, and make sure that he doesn't interfere with our mission."

"Because you can't control him, Ornenkai? Do you fear him?"

Ornenkai refused to answer; deep in his mechanical memory, a fire of anger blazed.

Yes, he feared Sargon—and damn her for giving Sargon power over him! He flinched at that thought. He hadn't meant it—no, he hadn't meant to condemn her, and he understood Sargon, understood Sargon better than even she did, but he detested the man, too! And how Ornenkai resented Sargon's presumption that he, an ignorant provincial child, could win Alessia and Selesta for himself and make himself some kind of ruler! Yes, he hated Sargon almost as much as he had hated Eiron.

And how could she fail to see why he had made so many sacrifices all these years? That she was the light that had appeared in his life when he thought he had no more soul to lose, the light that he had followed, searching for a way to atone for all that he had done? How could she still misunderstand him? How could she still not know him after so long?

Didn't she understand that separating himself from her, abandoning her, was yet another hard sacrifice he had to make?

"Now, Alessia, do as I requested," he said, and he again used the only weapon he had against her.

Following the computer's telepathic prompting, Alessia returned to her daughter and picked Selerael off the sleep panel, then carried her down to the laboratory. She gave Selerael a sleeping drug before injecting a thick brown emulsion into her wrist, using her telekinetic power to rearrange the cellular and biochemical composition at the same time. Selerael's forehead broke into a sweat after a moment, but it had even taken those who had undergone the serum injections years to fight and destroy Hinev's mixtures unless given the antidote, and the mixture had yet to percolate through the child's system.

"That's one of the last vials for producing humanoid type L2ij." Alessia said, dropping the useless vial to the floor when Ornenkai's hold kept her from reaching the nearest panel.

"We almost ran out of them on Kiel3 the last time we were there in overstaying our welcome as it were, but we saved several to try to duplicate the mixtures if we ever could." She replied, defensively on the offensive. "Ornenkai, you won't be able to save her again if the mixture fades. You can't get at them yourself."

Ornenkai said nothing; Alessia turned at the sound of her daughter's gasping breath and instinctively thought to reach for her—

Then found she couldn't move. Meanwhile, Hinev's mixture was beginning to take effect. Alessia watched as Selerael convulsed, cried out in delirium, and then stilled at last; Alessia watched in silence, her feral heart pounding—she wanted to scream and seize her child, to stop what was happening, but there was nothing she could do. Her arms were held to her sides as though held there by iron vices.

Selerael's skin tone was gradually changing from its normal hue to an odd, striking, impossible color somewhere between sand and the pale pink of a flower petal, one of the many earthen complexions common to the Kiel3 humans; Selerael's blond hair also dulled to ordinary, unreflective blond that would seem unable to protect her from ultraviolet radiation. Her eyes were wider than some Kiel3 natives, her ears smaller and more pointed perhaps, her limbs a bit longer and her hair stronger, her bones thinner, denser. Nevertheless, Selerael could pass for a Kiel3 native, an unusual-looking Kiel3 native, even under close scrutiny, until the mixture disintegrated.

Staring at her alien-looking daughter, Alessia's mind was drawn back to the past, back to the precious years she had lived on Kiel3 with Hinev's immortals, back to the bittersweet recollections of faces she had known long ago on the Great Isle, in Kemet, in Ki-engi, Clas Myrddin, and other countless lives. For a moment, she forgot where she was, what she was, and what she was doing. Reality for her had become surreal.

Alessia felt Ornenkai's hold go slack.

"Make your farewells, Alessia." He said, in a low, deliberately steady voice.

She barely acknowledged him but picked up her sleeping child and placed her in the suspension capsule she had brought from Seynorynael, one of the last of its kind, then leaned over quickly to kiss Selerael good-bye as Ornenkai pulled her away. As soon as she pushed down the clear dome roof, a hazy blue cloud of gas filled the capsule, condensing into a gelatinous liquid once it had filled the space within. Selerael's breathing stopped, but her life signs were normal.

"Don't forget to make peace with Sargon, even if it means giving him everything he wants for a while." Ornenkai said, drawing Alessia's attention. "He can't be allowed to endanger our mission to thwart the Council. He can't be allowed to follow me. And don't even think of trying to destroy yourself. There is still your destiny to fulfill, the destiny I believe in, even if you do not."

"Do you believe I will forgive you for this?" Alessia asked, but he chose to ignore her.

She did not know how her words lashed at him, until he chose not to feel a thing. Still, he could not stop now. It was far too late for that.

"And now there are a few more things you must do," he said calmly. "But this is what you'll tell the others: you sent the ship away on your own to keep it safe from Sargon's hands."

Alessia's head nodded acknowledgment.

"You will make certain that she returns to me, Ornenkai?" Alessia asked again; the totally helpless expression in her eyes reached the bottom of his soul. Yes, he could see it, even though his sight had never been the same since he sacrificed his humanity. He doubted he would ever be able to forget the impression of her face at this moment. She was broken, forever.

"Yes, Alessia, I will." He told her, a little more kindly. Now he knew she was safe. Even if she had found Hinev's secret that had granted him his death, she would not end her own life. She would wait and linger on the hope of being with her daughter again. "Go," he told her, and he watched her to the last.

Alessia left the laboratory and followed the path set for her to rejoin the others on Sesylendae. Gradually, however, Ornenkai's mind control over her diminished, and though she could not divert from his final program, the memories of the meetings she had been subjected to in the Elder Council Chamber at Ariyalsynai remained. She had broken free at last.

She remembered them all.

Why had Marankeil feared her so? she wondered.

She no longer saw that person in her own reflection.

* * * * *

Vaikyur woke up in Command Central, his arm pinned beneath some collapsed part of the ceiling. Whatever had caused the large bruise on his head had kept him out for perhaps an hour. There was little light in the room, but most of the vidscreens were still working.

To the left on the vidscreen linking them to Headquarters, he could see a still figure lying across a desk in a pool of his own blood, crushed by the weight of the ceiling. The Fer-innyera had appeared during the final battle to enforce his orders; apparently, Ezáitur hadn't been as lucky as Vaikyur.

Not many people were alive. Vaikyur gazed around sadly at the ahksos under his command, all equally motionless. The room was rife with electrical shorts, lethal doses of current sparking from live wires that had been broken, performing an eerie and triumphant dance, buoyed by their own energy release. Isolated fires broke out but fizzled out everywhere as they ran out of combustible materials in the metallic complex.

His good friend Senka Kalear was dead beside him. Vaikyur leaned forward to check his pulse, but there was none. He tried to push a large piece of the fallen ceiling off his own arm, but only a little would move, and it was too heavy for his loose hand.

He had no choice but to yank it, scraping away the surface skin in the process, his arm awash with dark blood. He tried to raise it of his own accord and realized that his shoulder was dislocated, and that his arm was fractured in several places with shards of bone broken through his uniform.

Remarkably, he felt no pain, only a strange surreal delirium.

After bidding Kalear a farewell and stopping to give a solemn salute despite the circumstances and his arm's condition, Vaikyur then headed down the stair to inspect the bodies for survivors. Miran Olevin was still alive but dying. Vaikyur stopped to comfort him, and Olevin's fingers flickered with life, reaching out to touch him. Vaikyur sat down for a moment beside him, grasping his hand until the grip went slack.

Then he heard a shuffling noise and turned to see one of his ahksos moving about on the dusty floor, trying to get to his feet. Vaikyur headed in his direction. The ahkso, Kilder, was panicking and near-hysteria when he saw his friends around him. Vaikyur grasped his shoulder and gave him a stern glance before holding his chin even to look into his face.

"We're going." He said forcefully, and the Ahkso nodded. It was a difficult process, weaving through the rubble-strewn and blocked corridors to the outside world, and it took them twenty minutes.

Kilder slumped to the ground, in deep shock, unable to care whether he lived or died once they were sitting on the steps to the Command Center. Vaikyur found a large piece of metal that had been blown off the building and instructed Kilder to come to the side and lie still. He did so reluctantly, and Vaikyur gave him the metal sheet to hold over himself in order to stay hidden until the nightmare was over.

A few others were coming out now, but they didn't want to stay around and headed for safer ground. From his vantage point, Vaikyur could see a company of Orian soldiers on foot making their way towards them. There was someone familiar among them, a blond man trying to catch up.

* * * * *

Eiron stared up at the ash-filled sky, blinking at a break in the clouds where the sun filtering through shone bright. He had left the little girl somewhere on the outskirts of the bombed area with another family in hopes that she would be safe, though she had wanted to come with him. He explained that he had to go back to his ship if he could but that he would try to stop them from destroying the city.

Not far from the Headquarters building, he stopped in his tracks. He thought it looked familiar to him, but memory told him that was impossible. He felt a sharp pain in his head and reached his hand up to knead his forehead. Light beams cascading though holes in the smoke canopy up above showed fast-moving particles in the air. Something in the scene made him remember, a hole in the roof somewhere, and cool, cascading water, far from the deadly fires breaking over Inen.

The pain grew sharper, and he nearly fell. It didn't subside, but after a moment, he became more or less accustomed to it. It was then that he saw Corraika and a few others. They informed him that the main party was somewhere nearby and that they were going to regroup, maybe escape once the fighting was over. Eiron lagged behind a little, clutching his abdomen.

Now the Headquarters building was so close that he could see people sitting on the steps outside. A wiry old man stood there, squinting in the gloom, it looked like in his direction. Eiron felt his feet plant themselves into the ground, as he had the sinking feeling that he should know that figure.

A thousand images were flashing through his mind. "Grandfather?" he asked tentatively, taking a step forward. He felt enough answering pain in his mind to push the thoughts back for a moment. But he couldn't stop it, or the flood of memories that were returning to him; some pressure blocked out certain recollections, though. Someone, something was missing. His mother and father were there, and his grandfather.

But who was he? Where had he lived? What had happened in his recent life? A haunting, ghostlike face flashed before his eyes, haloed by the sun, shining leaves caught in her hair, replaced by the image of rippling water.

Someone called to him from up ahead; a few of his wing mates had gathered together in the shadow of the building. Eiron remembered them, not caring if they were not included in his hazy distant past; they were his friends.

They were not the dreaded enemy, but men he had suffered with, men whose lives had never been free from the unending responsibility of protecting and serving the people. Yet his grandfather came first. If necessary, Eiron would stay behind and see to it that when the Orian rescue ships finally came, Vaikyur would be on one of them.

* * * * *

By the time Alessia returned to Sesylendae, the entire crew had been relocated to the smaller ship. She joined them on the observation deck, making sure that they were all aboard. Then, with cold tears stinging her eyes, she gazed across Sesylendae's observation window to the surface of Selesta.

She had never seen Selesta leave without her.

That sight alone would have been enough to strike her to the heart, but now the ship held her daughter in it, a daughter she might never come to know. The sensor-shield failed to cover the disengaging vessels, exposing them both for nearly ten minutes, until the circuitry could reroute itself. Then, when they were safely past the separation, Selesta's thrusters engaged, glowing like a distant star.

The ship shot away; she watched Selesta slip away as though it was the last life boat of a sinking ship leaving her behind.

Then suddenly, the Sesylendae adjusted course, sending her tumbling to the floor. As the ship's artificial gravity adjusted, she got up and hurried to the bridge, where Kesney searched his console, his fingers flying adeptly over the access panels.

"A status report, please," she called, swallowing the lump in her throat, then came to stand behind Kesney.

"The flagship from Orian missed us," Kesney said. "It looks as if they were planning on taking us out in one shot."

"Good maneuvering, whoever saved us just now." Alessia said woodenly.

"Actually, luck may have had more to do with it," Kesney admitted, not knowing what had happened to Selerael or why Alessia was so unhappy, when she claimed to have sent Selesta away for everyone's protection. "We were engaging the main engines, and the blast just missed us." He explained.

"Wait a minute," Efim interrupted. "The Orian flagship is changing trajectory. I think... they're going to fire on Tiasenne!"

"Calm down," Ulyanitsa urged him.

"But they're just sitting out there," Kesney said after a moment. "They've got all the time in the world, so why are they waiting?"

"Because he doesn't want to destroy Tiasenne," Alessia said. She sensed that as much as he despised its people, Sargon was consumed by the idea of conquering, not destroying, Tiasenne, the world which had condemned his people, even though he now had the ability to find a new home. He wanted the Tiasennians to know who had conquered them; he wanted to prolong their suffering so that he could savor it. And, if any chance arose, to take over the planet for himself. Orian was soon to be unlivable.

"Sargon, what are you planning?" She thought to herself. If only she knew.

She left the thoughts unfinished, and glanced at the video monitor. The monitor sifted through hundreds of images relayed from the surface of Tiasenne. After several minutes, one in particular caught her attention.

"Stop," she called. "Back two," she told it, and the image of a young man in a Orian uniform ran to catch up to a handful of Orian pilots that had survived their planes crashing. They were near the Tiasennian Headquarters building.

In a moment, an explosion shook the ground, dropping the soldiers. Many never got back on their feet. As the young man Alessia had been watching staggered a few steps, she saw that the old wound across his abdomen had been rent anew. A steady stream of dark blood dripped through his fingers, running down his uniform. In the distance, the Tiasennian comet fighters could be seen swarming in preparation for another assault on the intruders in defense of their home.

In the monitor room, a flashing yellow alarm beacon signaled the movement of the Orian flagship. The visual display showed it preparing to fire its main laser batteries at the troublesome area far below.

The young man wandering alone on the rubble-lined street staggered, weak from loss of blood. Another figure was coming towards him; Ristalv Vaikyur had survived the destruction of the Command Center, Kesney saw with some relief. He thought Vaikyur appeared worn-out. Vaikyur cradled one injured, ineffectual arm with the other, but grit kept him going. Eiron, on the other hand, looked like he was in far more danger. The blood flowing from his old injury pooled on the ground.

Kesney swallowed his own pain and turned to see how Alessia was taking the situation. There was a look on her face he could not and did not want to describe. She knew it was over.

Kesney turned away from her, and saw that Vaikyur had reached Eiron. Somehow, he managed to sling Eiron over his shoulder, and hurried to get him to safety. He couldn't have been too soon. Vaikyur had gone no more than fifty steps, stopping in the sheltering doorway of the Aerospace Museum, when beacons of laser light began to rain on the city below.

Alessia watched mutely, sensing that Eiron's hold on life was fading. His mind was breaking free of the artificial reality Sargon had superimposed. Even from the distance, she could feel his pain, see the racing memories that were an infinite joy to him, and the desperate sadness that soon they all would be over.

"Alessia, where is she?" Eiron croaked, as Vaikyur tried to support his head.

"Don't try to move, Eiron, dear boy." Vaikyur said gently. "That's an order, now. Hold on. Help is coming," he insisted, but even Vaikyur didn't believe it.

"Find her." Eiron said softly. Eiron knew he was dying, yes—there was nothing to stop it. He was afraid, but he knew his fear meant nothing. He wanted the one thing that mattered to him to be remembered—his love for Alessia was to be his memorial. "Tell her—I loved her. I never meant to forget that. Good-bye, grandfather."

Vaikyur nodded, for once letting the emotion through to his face. Eiron saw his pain and gave him a strained smile. Vaikyur had so much more to say, but there wasn't time.

Kesney couldn't hear Eiron's final words, or the unanswered questions and muted grief of Vaikyur as he held on to the lifeless body of his grandson. But he did hear Alessia's cry, a small despairing sound that was not loud, yet it echoed with a chilling power over Sesylendae's bridge. This small, despairing cry touched him deeply.

Suddenly, Kesney realized that she was weeping. Kesney got up to comfort her. She appeared merely a vulnerable young woman, and for once she seemed utterly lost and forlorn. Taking her shoulder, Kesney drew her to him and let the cold tears fall against his chest.

Meanwhile, the image in the monitor changed, bringing the surface of Orian before them. A bright swath of fire erupted and spread, dying into an ominous silence in space as the crust and surface mantle shattered from internal pressures. Geysers of boiling magma gushed into the atmosphere with such force that showers of radioactive meteors escaped the surface gravity, raining into space and some onto Tiasenne. As Kesney tried to calm Alessia, Sesylendae was buffeted by the asteroid missiles.

"How is the field holding?" Alessia said, looking up—recovering, or at least remembering what had yet to be done for the good of Tiasenne's equally suffering population, yet she seemed weaker by magnitudes, so much weaker in his arms. Kesney released her and returned to his station, still feeling the cold dampness of her tears on his chest.

"The electromagnetic field is deflecting some of the asteroids," Efim said. "Tiasenne's orbit appears stable."

"The Orian flagship is leaving!" Ulyanitsa said suddenly.

"What?" Kesney and the others reacted in one voice.

Alessia stared at the image in the monitor, struggling to comprehend, Kesney thought, or else all too familiar with what the Orian ship's departure meant.

"Where is he going?!" Alessia cried, realizing then what Ornenkai had miscalculated. Of course, she thought. Sargon had tried to destroy their ship earlier because he didn't know that she was on board Sesylendae. He thought she was trying to escape him, and he wasn't going to let her or Selesta get away, to let her find reinforcements to use against him!

Now there was nothing she could do to bring him back. Would he ever discover that she had remained behind on Sesylendae? She wondered, watching the monitor as Enlil disappeared with alarming speed. She knew Enlil was following Selesta, following Selesta to a class L2ij humanoid planet in galaxy group seven, to Kiel3, the last paradise once claimed but untouched by the Seynorynaelian Empire, a small blue-white world revolving around a yellow star.

The planet Hinev's immortals had almost decided to make their own long ago, rebelling against their mission instruction. The planet she now knew she would never see again.

But on Tiasenne, the worst had yet to come. As the monitor's image shifted, high seas rose and washed away the fringes of Inen, and the long extinct Mount Jarus erupted, spitting more poison into the beautiful deep blue skies of Tiasenne.

Kesney watched the chaos on his home world, the friendly face no longer round-eyed but steel hard. His jaw set in determination, not in grim acceptance. His ideals were still there, a foundation of hope for a new world, but stripped to bare essentials, to the things that really mattered most. As he thought of what had to be done to rebuild his home, he felt somehow that Eiron's death had put a new responsibility of leadership upon his shoulders, one he would not turn away from.

I'll find you, Vaikyur, he vowed. Together, we will rebuild this world, through the long winter to come.

As they stood together on the bridge, the beautiful bluish-white star Rigell rose over Tiasenne's horizon on the other side of Inen, turning the superheated air into a hazy debris-filled cloud encompassing all, solidifying the new reality to a handful of survivors who had awakened to a nightmare world, a world that had narrowly escaped apocalyptic fire. But Kesney knew that back in Inen, where the sun was setting, Vaikyur would be gathering those survivors together, Tiasennian and Orian alike.

With hidden difficulty, Alessia ordered Sesylendae to the surface, to the place where Selesta had landed so long ago on the fields outside the capital; realizing that she could not follow the two great ships on their journey across the stars, she decided to commit herself to the planet below and to the reconstruction that had to be done.

She knew she couldn't avert the coming future, but her thoughts nevertheless went out to Selesta.

If Sargon finds the singularity and can learn to control it, what will he do? she wonderered as the stars faded into the blue light of the planet below. And what can Ornenkai do? He can't leave Selesta. Selesta, his creation, is now his eternal tomb.

Remember your promise, Ornenkai. You promised to return Selerael to me, Alessia thought, tried to make herself believe that he could, that he would keep his vow.

But an age would pass before his return.

Glossary of Military and Political Terms

Ahkso is the Tiasennian word for a cadet entering military service. When young candidates complete early developmental training, the most promising are brought to the instructional academies where technology, science, engineering, and military strategy are studied as the foundations of Tiasenne's Defense. The position of akhso is typically held for four years.

Dvari is the lowest rank in the Tiasennian military.

Ekasi is the first officer's rank which includes recent ahkso graduates from the Gakano Leraestava e Lil-lieraya as well as experienced officers. Divisions such as ground ekasi (the lowest position, who serve squadrons, legions, and divisions), unit ekasi (the largest group of ekasi, who serve among legions as minor officers over other ekasi), and command ekasi (the fewest in number and highest of the three divisions, who command the air legions in the air or from command posts) are understood and observed among all ekasi by giving deferential treatment to those of superior rank.

Fer-innyera is the Tiasennian word for Leader.

Gakano Leraestava e Lil-lieraya is the Tiasennian Academy of Aeronautical Physics and Engineering, the planet's most renowned military and scientific indoctrination facility, located in Inen.

Miran is the second highest officer's rank. Miran are selected from the command ekasi and are subdivided into many superior and inferior positions, distinctions being made according to the prestige of the command and number of subordinates or legions assigned. Miran are governed by the Tiasennian philosophical code of conduct in which honor is gained through achievement. Thus miran of many years experience can lose their superior status to a new miran who has been assigned more subordinates, legions, or has had more successful campaigns.

Senka is the highest officer's rank in the Tiasennian military. Senka often gain their final promotion as a reward for some particularly successful campaign and hold little more authority than they did as miran, or else they may only be large fighter legion and army leaders and as such have little political clout. The higher ranking Senka are commanders of the larger military bases. A few are leaders of battalions in the command, such as large groups of fighter legions or divisions, but this can also be merely an office position designed to coordinate the fighter groups, other Senka, and Miran. Many only relay orders as figureheads who have earned retirement, having ascended as far as the structure allows. Some Senka may relieve the Marshall of the Defense on his off-duty, in particular the designated co-commander of Command Central.

Senkaya-Sukura is a Senka, the overall commanding Senka of the Tiasennian Command Center, also called the Marshall of Defense (a title once separate from the Senkaya-Sukura in Orashean's day). The Senkaya-Sukura's position lies in the main tactical decision room, Command Central in the Tiasennian capital city Inen. The Senkaya-Sukura is only held accountable to the Fer-innyera.

Dramatis Personae and places in The Last Immortal

Aktaeon Forren—Ack-TAY-ahn FOR-enn—swarthy leader of the Tiasennian primary guard

Ai-derian Suraeno—AI (like "eye")-dare-ee-an Ser-AY-no—a noble Orian Ambassador to the planet Tiasenne

Alessia Zadúmchov—Uh-LESS-ee-yuh Zuh-DOOM-chav—a mysterious visitor on Tiasenne who should have died long ago; the last survivor of Hinev's explorers

Ariyalsynai—Ar-ri-YAHL-sinn-ai—(white mountain or star mountain) the beautiful, ancient capital of the planet Seynorynael

Baxver Alton—BACKS-verr AL-tuhn—a past Fer-innyera, the leader of the planet Tiasenne; also the grandson of Theodalix Alton, who was the Secretary to Fer-innyera Orashean

Dasan Mira—DAY-suhn MEER-uh—a geoscientist expert on the spaceship Baidarka

Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov—AIR-on VAI-kyerr Er-LENG-kahv—Vaikyur's grandson; an independent-minded ekasi and soldier in the Tiasennian air corps

Enessa Fulten—Ee-NEHSS-uh FULL-tehn—a botanist included on the spaceship Baidarka's mission

Enlil—En-Leel—the Orian space battleship designed after Selesta

Enor—EE-nor—a planet known on Seynorynael only in legend, mythical creators of all life

Fielikor Kiel—Fee-YEL-ee-kor Keel—an architectural and mechanical spacecraft engineer; also an officer in the Martial Scientific Force who became the leader of Hinev's immortals

Fynals Hinev—FAI-nahlss HAI-nev—the Seynorynaelian biogeneticist who created the elixir of immortality known as "Hinev's serum"; one of Kudenka's explorers and also the creator of "Hinev's explorers"

Goeur—Gerr, like the French "coeur"—a windswept planet that became a territory of Seynorynael

Inen—AI-nen—the white-towered, fair capital city of planet Tiasenne

Kane Gerryls—Kane GAIR-rilss—one of Hinev's fighter-explorers in the distant past

Kiel—Keel—the pole star of Seynorynael; the mariner's star

Kiel3—Keel three—a planet discovered by Hinev's explorers in the Milky Way Galaxy; the third planet from a yellow sun inhabited by primitive earth-toned humanoids

Kudenka—Koo-DENG-kuh—an astrophysicist and officer in the Martial Scientific Force chosen to lead Kudenka's explorers

Lake Firien—Lake FEAR-ee-enn—a large body of water on the planet Seynorynael and the name of a remote province. Lake Firien was Alessia's childhood home and the location of The Firien Project, a project to rebuild an ancient ruined spaceship skeleton buried in the sands by the lake, a spaceship that would be called "Selesta"

Lucianvar Beren—LOO-shuhn-varr BARE-enn—a former leader of Orian; the half-brother of Ai-derian Suraeno and the uncle of Sargon Maxarien

lyra—LEER-uh—the beautiful, mysteriously undying trees of Seynorynael; a formerly abundant, seeded, but now fruitless tree that can no longer be replaced once destroyed

Marankeil—MAIR-enn-keel—the mechanized Elder and leader of the Seynorynaelian Council of Elders, then leader of the Seynorynaelian Federation Council before he became the eternal Emperor of Seynorynael

Mardius Ezáitur—Marr-dee-OOS Eh-ZAI-terr—the current Fer-innyera, or leader, of Tiasenne; a corrupt, capricious, and paranoid dictator

Orian—May-LARR—the second, volatile planet of the twin Celestian worlds (Tiasenne being the other)

Natoly Marúsh—Nuh-TOW-lee Muh-ROOSH—a Tiasennian government lackey

Ornenkai—OR-nen-kai—a biochemist turned politician, the Elder who, in antiquity, became the Vice-Emperor of the Seynorynaelian Empire

Rigell —RAY-gell—white star of the Celestian worlds, Tiasenne and Orian

Reior Orashean—RAY-or OR-uh-sheen—an eccentric past Tiasennian Fer-innyera, or leader

Ristalv Vaikyur—Rees-stahlf VAI-kyerr—the Head of the Tiasennian Army; a hardened veteran and secret dissident

Sargon Maxarien Suraeno—SAR-gahn Mack-ZAR-ee-en Ser-AY-no—the Orian Ambassador's brilliant son; a boy who will one day wrest power over all Orian and instigate the war between the Celestian worlds

Selerael—Sel-AIR-ay-el; more often Seh-LAIR-ee-el—Alessia's daughter, "moon angel"

Sesylendae—SESS-SI-lynn-day—Alessia's smaller spaceship; at one time, it had been the vessel of Kudenka's explorers

Seynorynael—Suh-nor-i-NAY-el; or Seh-NOR-i-nay-el, the pronunciation depending on the language used by alien races—the 6 billion year-old planet where Hinev's explorers, Alessia, and the Celestian colonists came from. The planet was named after S'eynor-inn-ayel, an ancient settlement near Lake Firien that existed before the dark ages of Seynorynael

Sukúr—Soo-KOOR—a Tiasennian rescue ship

Selesta—Sill-err-ESS-tee-uh—the greatest explorer spaceship ever built by the Seynorynaelian Empire; the spaceship which now belongs entirely to Alessia but which has a computer that seems to have a mind of its own

Tiasenne—Tee-uh-SENN—the first, lush green planet of the two Celestian worlds

Tulor—Too-LORR—a remote planet

Valeria—Vuh-LAIR-ee-uh—the short-lived, blue-white second star of the planet Seynorynael; civilization on Seynorynael only rose after Valeria's formation, and life on Seynorynael was dramatically altered by Valeria's intense radiation

Wryan Kesney—RAI-uhn KESS-nee—a young Tiasennian ekasi, or low ranking officer, assigned under Ristalv Vaikyur in the Tiasennian Central Command

Zariqua Enassa—ZAR-ee-kuh or ZAIR-ee-kuh Ee-NASS-suh—the last Enorian colonizer
