 
From an Alien Perspective...

A Collection of One Novella and Two Short Stories

By Jack Petersen

Copyright 2013 by Jack Petersen

Smashwords Edition

...intervention by an advanced culture can wreak havoc on one's religion.

Iadog
Chapter 1

Iadog slammed its head against the wall and silently wailed, "Eyes of the Prophet! How will I overcome this test?"

The Heavens knew that it was difficult enough to sustain the personal fervor required to complete one's small assigned part so that impetus be maintained in the War of the Truly Righteous. Especially surrounded, as one was, by non-believers and those slack of heart. This, this was a hard test, and one requiring all of one's abilities. Iadog had no doubt that one would find, although there were numerous obstructions to one's vision, a true path to the solution.

A small "Damn!" escaped unbidden, and gave proof of his confusion.

Iadog looked both ways down the corridor to ensure that no one had heard the use an English word of cursing, or any English word for that matter, here in this place of Solidarity of Reason and Belief. Relief that no one was near enough to have noticed one's gross indiscretion did not particularly bolster one's attitude. Once again, the thought came that the powers that be had sent one to that place far, far from home with expectation that one would 'fit in' somehow despite the obvious, surely insurmountable obstacles. Iadog still recalled the nearly constant feeling of helplessness one felt. How could one be expected to learn the language of the host culture, without being allowed to use it? But no, of course that would not be acceptable. One should exercise such self control that such utterances would stick to the roof of one's mandible rather than see the light of day.

Iadog idly scratched the base of the right eyestalk with the lesser claw on that side. This was not solving the problem. Only a short time remained before Qaat came looking for a report on the prisoner, and what truth could be said without repercussion one did not know. Eventually, it would all come out, and the fact that Prisoner Finnley Forepaugh, had been Iadog's classmate at university would be known to Qaat. Better to have it known sooner than later.

What Finnley was doing here was a mystery. Iadog had been too shocked, at first, to ask about such things, and then Finnley had started speaking of old times at University and hadn't allowed one a word in exchange. If one had not known better, one would have suspected that Finnley had actually expected to be prisoner here at this place instead of any other and that Iadog would be amongst his wardens. That was ridiculous, of course, how would an off-worlder know such things? Still, Finnley's attitude did give one pause to wonder. He certainly knew a lot about Dejan and of Iadog's clan in particular, having asked many questions over pizza and beer at the bar near campus. Thinking back on those very interesting times, very little else had been discussed.

Would that Iadog's attempts to gain insight into Terran technology have been even minutely successful in comparison. Not for the first time, one berated oneself for being diverted from the collection of information by Finnley and the offer of beer. There had been no warning from anyone at all about the effect of the mildly alcoholic brew on Dejan physiology, and Iadog felt somehow betrayed that it hadn't been included in the briefings. Nothing like it on Dejan, of course, and there never would be now that the highly addictive nature of the fluid was known to the elders.

After Iadog's six year sojourn on Terra, the trip back to Dejan had been a very long, and very painful, rehabilitation period, and it was fortunate that most of it had been spent in stasis. One might not have survived otherwise. Even now, the mere thought of sudsy foam lying atop the amber fluid brought a certain tightening to the softer tissue of one's mandible. Iadog thought the sensation to be embarrassingly similar to the feeling one had prior to the first molt, when the feeding tubes had not yet been absorbed and one still hungered for feedings from the parent. It was disgraceful that a Third-Rank Commander should have such infantile feelings. Those sensations were best left in the realm of degenerates and the emotionally disturbed. One gave a pinch to the lower mandible to prevent its attempt to round in the shape of a sucker tube. One could not delay reporting to Commander Qaat any longer.

Qaat had been watching the subordinate through one of the hundreds of eyeholes lining the corridor on the opposite side of the wall. One had been curious about Iadog's reaction to the first sight of the Terran prisoner. Now Qaat stood in the false wall attempting to rationalize Iadog's behavior. Iadog had beat its head against the wall as if trying to do penance, muttered off-world words, and began sucking as if it desired to be at its parent's teat once more. Did merely being in the same room with a Terran evoke such a reaction? No, there had been others in the room before Iadog who showed no such reaction. It must then have to do with Iadog's time on Terra. Perhaps there had been mental damage induced by some unknown event. Qaat could not have predicted this; Iadog had risen rapidly through the ranks since his return and had shown a fervor matched by few other warriors.

Nothing for it then, but to continue close surveillance of the young one, and perhaps recommend a test be given. Qaat smiled at that thought. It had been a long time since the upper crust of Dejanian society had such an event to witness. Much metal would change hands as bets were won and lost. But, that was for later, if at all, now the young one would be waiting in Qaat's office to give a report of his findings.

Chapter 2

Finnley Forepaugh, Class Three Lieutenant of the PolySci Corps, turned down the audio and sat musing. The automatic sensors would alert him if anything big enough to matter came within range. His first impression was that Iadog hadn't changed much in the five years since they had last guzzled beer at Cap Rogers' Bar. Iadog certainly had been surprised to see Finnley though, his entire carapace had turned chartreuse. Finnley had only seen that particular color change once before, when they had visited an aquarium in LA and Iadog had seen sea horses for the first time. He'd never forget the rage that the Dejan had fallen into as it accused Finnley and every other slave-keeping Terran of imprisoning infant Dejans. The rage hadn't lasted long, just until Iadog saw the curved tails instead of incipient legs, but Iadog's color hadn't returned to its normal lime green for the better part of an hour.

That had been his introduction to the famed Dejanian emotionalism. And that, after all, was why he was looking at the walls of this small, damp, rock and mortar cell instead of some well-appointed lounge in a more civilized part of the galaxy. He supposed that he agreed that the Dejans needed watching, his objection was in being appointed the watcher. There was little chance that they would be allowed to export their particular brand of fanaticism to the galaxy at large, but Finnley's boss and his bosses, bosses ad infinitum had decided that civilization owed the Dejanians a chance to demonstrate a potential for growth and eventual application for membership in the Galactic Council. Finnley had his doubts, Dejans were a particularly hidebound lot having proved on numerous occasions that death was preferable to even the slightest change.

Finnley didn't have broad personal experience on the subject, but had benefit of shelves of reports of observations made over the past hundred years or so. Together with a little knowledge about a vast variety of cultures, the past research did not give him cause for optimism. Of all the varieties of life comprising the galactic civilization Dejans were probably the most...Finnley struggled to find the right word... monochromatic perhaps? The entire coastal zone of the planet was covered by indigents that, to an outside observer, didn't differ by a micron in their beliefs or culture, and that condition had held firm for at least the past twenty millennia. Yet, warfare was constantly being waged between clans that were interminably and irreconcilably at odds over differences so small that the spelling of a single word could give deadly insult.

It was a good thing they were prolific breeders. If not, the entire species would have been wiped out thousands of years ago. At the start of his studies that was the hardest thing Finnley had to grasp; how such minutiae could separate groups of individuals whose DNA spread was at the family level. There were no great differences in natural resources, climate, or any other tangible so far as could be told. The planet had one of the most stable climates and placid crustal tectonics of any yet discovered. The two continents occupied roughly identical portions of the northern and southern hemispheres and the coastal zones of each were virtually identical. If just the favored habitable zones along the coasts were compared there were even fewer differences. Dejans chose to live within a narrow one hundred kilometer band parallel to the coast lines. Of course, this was mostly due to the life-cycle requirements for sea water habitat from birth to first molt. The answer had come when his senior trainer had asked if he had paid attention to Dejanian religious practices. And, there it was.

Finnley had passed the topic by at first because it seemed similar as every other aspect of Dejanian society, same-o, same-o. It took delving deeply to discern the differences. A word here, different phrasing there, one prophet was said to come from one early tribe by one cult and from another by the warring cult, or even the differing order of chapters was sufficient. It was early Earth history taken to the extreme, the entire planet functioned, or rather warred, on minor inconsistencies in their world religion.

That very day, he had marched into his senior trainer's office and announced that he had solved the Dejanian Riddle. He was cut short in his discourse, as the older man patiently explained that it was about time he tumbled to the obvious, and that they were severely behind schedule on account of his slowness. Finnley had been surprised, and eventually, more than a little put off that his future had been mapped out ever since UGC had learned of his association in college with a Dejan Warrior. They had been waiting, patiently they said, for his education to catch up with the plan.

He had always supposed that his first assignment would be an easy one, perhaps on some cultured planet needing a cataloger of operas or documenter of doings of some Council Representative. There instead had been numerous earnest conversations with his newly assigned personal counselor, and even so, reconciliation to his fate was a work still in progress as he contemplated the walls of the cell.

Still, here he was and here he would stay. At least for the next two solar orbits, since that was the term of his Apprenticeship. His thoughts turned less noble upon reflection that he would not be setting foot in Cap Rodger's Bar for at least that period of time. School seemed to have become a more fondly remembered episode than it had just a few weeks ago, when house parties and attempts at romantic interlude made for all the excitement in a young man's life. He had been more than ready, upon graduation, to make more of his life, to be a real contributor to the benefit of society.

Now where was he? Stuck on a round ball orbiting a backwater planet, and keeping watch on a bunch of maniacal savages who would rather fight than engage in logical thought.

Further indulgence in self pity was aborted by the signal from the sensor announcing the approach of something with a mass of more than twenty kilos to within a few meters of his android simulacrum. Anything larger than that had been killed off centuries before, leaving Dejans as the sole species massing more than twenty kilos when full grown. The android regained a semblance of being alive as Finnley directed it to examine its surroundings for signs of a living organism. Nothing in the visual range, and that meant the most likely cause was another visit by a Dejan within the false walls of his cell. Finnley decided to give his observer something observe. He set the android to drop and give him push-ups for the foreseeable future. Since the Dejans hadn't a clue about physical exercise that ought to give sufficient material for at least one good sized report, and unending food for speculation as to cause and purpose of such an activity.

Chapter 3

Iadog had waited at Qaat's office for the better part of the lengthy afternoon, before being allowed an audience. Dejans were a nervous bunch and the higher they rose in rank the more nervous they became. Iadog was no exception, and by the time of day one would normally have returned to one's solitary officer's quarters, internal distress was raging. Iadog had not yet admitted to Qaat that Finnley was known and had been a compatriot while at University on Terra. Why Iadog had not reported that immediately was unclear and motives were difficult to conceptualize. A vast unease had prevented discussing Finnley and their history on Terra. Still, if Qaat already knew somehow of that history, the senior officer would be on Iadog like a desert storm. Not for the first time, Iadog wished for a bottle of Tummie Numbies, the magic tablets that had cured even the longest night at Cap Rodger's within minutes. Iadog's two stomachs were holding a competition for attention, and it was difficult to know which was in the lead. One had been warned about the demise of his gestating parent as a result from terminal acidity of the intestinal tract. It was a common enough affliction among the People, but one's family seemed to be particularly prone to succumbing to the condition. It was said that the People had only two means of exiting this existence: one by holy warfare the other by being eaten alive from the inside out.

Finally let into Qaat's presence, Iadog was fighting to keep control over nausea, and wanted nothing more than to consume a large amount of powdered limestone. Qaat stared without speaking for some time. That, at least, was standard procedure, always make a subordinate aware that the superior may have discovered treasonous activity and would send the underling to the Claw forthwith. Iadog began to feel more at ease, however. Qaat had not immediately jumped down one's throat for being a traitorous infidel, and chances were good that his superior did not yet know much about Finnley, and more importantly Iadog's history with Finnley.

Finally, Qaat spoke, "So, Younger One, you have visited with the foreign infidel we captured. What does your experience with these beings tell you about this one's reason for desecrating our planet with its presence?"

Iadog gathered courage, and spoke, "Higher One, the infidel is one who is known to me. It is the one I have known on the world called Terra in the city called La. It and I attended classes together. It sought to be my friend, I believed."

"So." Qaat replied after a time, "This is important news. The Finnley thing must have some specific reason to have come to our Clan-hold in particular. Do you yet know what its purpose may be?"

Iadog felt long-tightened muscles within one's carapace loosen, Qaat had not known! One still had a chance to survive this event. Finnley was nice enough for a Terran infidel, but this was a matter of personal survival. Carless behavior could result in looking up at his headless body from beneath the Claw.

"Higher One, the Finnley being did not say anything about its purpose in coming here. I believe that it sought to avoid such questions. I must tell you that during my stay on Terra, I often had the feeling that Finnley was trying to keep me from my purpose, which as you graciously brought to my attention upon my return home was a dismal failure. I now believe that Finnley may be on our world to continue his mission, whatever that may be.

Too bad Finnley, old buddy and drinking companion, I've just signed your death warrant, but better you alone than both of us. Iadog continued in complacency until Qaat next spoke. Qaat's words brought a ripple of fear up the scales on both sides of Iadog's body.

"Tell me, Younger One, is that why you were behaving so strangely in the corridor just a short time ago? Ordinarily, if I had witnessed one of your rank behaving in such a manner I would immediately call for a Test of Faith."

Iadog struggled to speak in defense, but before words could be found, Qaat continued.

"In your special case, I have decided to make an exception. The fact that this Finnley, as you name it, is an old nemesis of yours will serve as well as any test. You have until the Holy Day, which I need not remind you is but four days in the future, to draw out as much information from the Finnley being as possible. The Finnley must be disposed of before the start of the Daybreak Ceremony. It would be unthinkable to leave an off-world infidel in our midst during the most sacred of our celebrations. It will meet the Claw as dawn breaks that day. I only hope that you will not kneel beside him."

Iadog managed to get through the customary Ritual of Leaving the Presence of a Superior, and stood in the hallway outside Qaat's office. One had not been as fortunate as one thought. How in the Dry Desert Blazes had Qaat known of his breakdown in the corridor? One had looked, no one had been near. Iadog soon let it pass as one of those things about Higher Ones, they had ways of knowing all. That did not make the task less difficult. One had not been able to elicit information from Finnley in all that time on Terra, how would one do it in four days on Dejan?

Not that one had not been warned about the proscription against exporting Terran technology. One's sponsors on the United Galactic Council, an organization that rivaled the Higher Ones in unfathomable behavior, had said at the start of Iadog's journey to Terra that only certain subjects would be taught in one's curriculum and that large areas of knowledge would be excluded. It had not worried one overly much at the time, even though one's specific instructions from the Higher Ones was to return laden with forbidden knowledge. One soon discovered that task to be more than a little difficult. The Terrans had kept one bottled up, and had refused to allow so much as the scrap of a page from "Popular Mechanics" found in a trash bin and secreted under one's mattress to stay in one's possession. Immediately after the scrap went missing, one had been called to the Advisor's office and told that trash bins were henceforth off limits. The following day, one had met Finnley in what had seemed to be a chance encounter and had been soon introduced to Cap Rodger's Bar. The cause was lost from that day forward.

Even so, Iadog would not say that one's time off-world had been wasted. Many hours were spent learning the elements of Animal Husbandry, Agriculture Practices Among Less Advanced Civilizations, Methods of Improving the Design of Simple Engines, but not a single phrase that might be of interest to one with a military background. Even those infrequent trips beyond the confines of the Campus were by sealed ground car with heavily tinted windows, denying even a glimpse of the day to day workings of what must be a great city. It had all been very frustrating for one attempting to be an undercover agent.

In all honesty, Iadog had been greatly relieved when Finnley showed an interest in one's company. Nearly every night after their introduction some sort of diversion was provided by Finnley. It had not occurred at the time, but now, with compelling force, Iadog concluded that Finnley and Cap Rodger's had not been all that coincidental. That realization provided all the motivation Iadog needed to undertake the task ahead. If that off-world infidel thought that one could fool Iadog again, it was in for a rude and painful awakening. Thus fortified with resolve, Iadog set off to find a meal before starting the arduous task of draining the Terran of all its knowledge.

Chapter 4

Finnley had long tired of watching his simulacrum push itself up off the floor with tireless efficiency. No doubt the hidden watcher would be very impressed at the android's perseverance, if for no reason other than Dejans having exoskeletons would find the activity pointless. Finnley had lapsed once again into reminiscence about his school days, so recently past. Not for the first time lately, Finnley wondered about his first meeting with Iadog, and if it had been as benign as it seemed at the time. It had been his Xenomorph Professor, Amos Kudo, who had first mentioned that there were many interesting beings on campus, and that he should cultivate a social relationship with one in order to bring his studies home. Professor Kudo had also suggested that a Dejanian would make a particularly good subject, and had gone on to explain how that race thrived on a hops-like vegetable, which was their principal staple of diet. He suggested that a beer now and then would cement a relationship. Since Finnley had been failing the course rather badly up to that point, he made a serious effort to follow the professor's suggestions.

The association with Iadog had resulted, and although he would not have characterized that association as friendship it became closer than he had at first thought possible. He had been mildly repulsed at first sight of the Dejanian, they were not to his eyes the most comely of species. An impolitic classmate had suggested that a crab and cockroach had somehow mingled genes with the crab side coming out ahead. The broad carapace, scaled upper body, six limbs including two sets of claws, to say nothing of the protuberant multi-mandible mouth and elevated eyestalks all required some getting used to in a one-on-one relationship. Who knew, perhaps this Iadog was the Dejanian equivalent of the captain of a football squad to his friends and family at home.

At first meeting Iadog had just completed the hypno-intensified English studies, but was still struggling with the language. Part of the problem were the annoying clicks of mandible segments that accompanied attempts at mouthing vowel sounds. Finnley, taking his new role to heart, encouraged and helped Iadog with his pronunciation. Iadog, for its part had been happy to have a native to practice speaking to, and listening to words from a native was useful as well. Nonetheless, improvement had to be called gradual, but Finnley was fortunately a patient fellow.

During these practice sessions, Finnley quite naturally had directed the conversation toward Dejanian topics, wanting to learn as much as possible about the physiognomy and culture of the planet. By the time his, and Iadog's graduation year rolled around, Finnley was arguably Terra's greatest authority on all things Dejanian and particularly of one of the thousand clans that segregated the planet's peoples. It was possible, he now concluded, that his future had already been mapped out quite thoroughly by then already.

The incessant buzzing, which had been on-going for the better part of ten minutes, finally broke through to his consciousness. It was the android's motion sensor, and he was too late to stop the push-ups before the door was thrown open with a crash. Iadog strode into the cell and stood watching the mindless exercising with greater claws on what passed for hips. Finnley finally got control of himself and then the android, bringing it to rest in the arms extended position.

"Finnley, you infidel offspring of a desert dweller, what do you mean by mimicking the most Holy Obeisance to the Great One? Does not your mere presence on this world bring enough disgrace to our clan? Get to your feet, you scum!"

Finnley had recognized his error with Iadog's first words. He belatedly remembered that Dejanians got down on all sixes and bounced around for hours on their Holy Day. Iadog had even made a rough calculation of when that would be while on Terra, and once every six months or so he had secluded himself in his room and gone at it for hours. The girl in the room below had complained loudly to the house supervisor since it was not a silent exercise by any means and not only interrupted her concentration, but was noticeably loosening the overhead lighting fixture. Before Finnley could bring himself back again from reminiscence Iadog had called two Fourth Class Warriors into the cell and told them to take the android to an interrogation room.

Finnley, who was by now struggling to reconcile Iadog's apparent hostile behavior, was again a bit slow on the uptake. Before he could cause the android to rise on its own, both Warriors had grabbed an arm and attempted to lift the four hundred kilo mass off the floor. Lightweight androids were damnably hard to manufacture, just way too many hydraulics, power packs, batteries, no matter how good they were getting at miniaturization. Needless to say Iadog's subordinates had some difficulty as the android out-massed them by a factor of four. Perhaps any rational being would have given it up as soon as the task seemed impossible, but Dejanian Warriors are trained to persevere no matter the consequence. The effort ended as a pair of loud cracks announced the brittle fractures of both Warriors legs. Iadog looked in contempt at the writhing pair. Broken legs did not heal, and they would both have to be put down. It was a disgrace to give one's life in such an ignoble pursuit. No matter, there were plenty more where they came from, and unsheathing his claw he put them out of their misery. Then, using the same weapon against the android's throat told it to get up, or else.

Finnley, safe in the confines of his orbiting capsule, couldn't believe what he was witnessing. That his old drinking buddy could actually threaten him with deadly force came as a rude shock even though his superiors had warned that something like this would come, Dejanians being Dejanians and all. He got the android onto its feet, but something must have come loose during the non-stop exercising because it wore a stupid grin that he couldn't erase. Dejanians, in general, probably wouldn't recognize the facial expression but Iadog did.

"Finnley, you worthless cousin of a sand slink, why are you grinning like that? I tell you now that this is serious business and that your soul hangs in the balance. That is, if you have one. A soul, I mean."

The android kept on grinning.

"Finnley, this is no laughing matter! I am no longer the vapid student you knew on Terra. I am a Third Class Warrior, and I will tear out your heart, if necessary, to gain what information I require!"

The android responded by widening its grin to show its pearly whites.

"Finnley, I warn you. I will not tolerate this behavior. If you value your well being you had best start to take this seriously."

The android apparently thought that things were going swimmingly.

Iadog gave up in disgust. He could only surmise that Finnley was so frightened that he could only smile out of some reflexive action one did not understand. Well, after a few hours in the Chamber of Contrition he would have very little to smile about. He told Finnley to get moving and directed him out of the cell and down the corridor to his doom.

The real Finnley managed to get the android moving after a slight hesitation in some circuit somewhere, and it set off with a slight limp. Finnley sneaked a look at the monitor board, both the facial monitor panel and the left leg monitor panel had the red word 'Malfunction' blazoned across their respective screens.

He thought, "Just what I need to conquer a world, a gimpy robot with a grin."

His view of the scene transmitted by the android's camera eyes wavered back and forth as its stiff-jointed gait propelled it down the hall. Finnley began to feel the symptoms of motion sickness. He realized that the vision goggles provided a rather too close and personal view of the up-coming scenery. Couldn't be helped. The encephalotronic control feature of the goggles was the only thing keeping him in even imperfect control of his replica. He hoped the walk wouldn't take too long.

Then they came to the stairs. The android took the first one as if its legs were working properly, but then the left one wouldn't extend to reach the next step down and remained in flexed position. It was a very long second step. All the way to the bottom of the stairwell six meters below. The android lay there in a heap while Finnley frantically searched the various monitor panels for trouble lights. Just a single light showed. The left leg monitors showed normal conditions. He stood the android up and had it wait for Iadog to scamper down the stairs. He caught sight of some fine print in the corner of his goggle display.

'Acme Androids are manufactured to exacting

specifications and are not meant to be

subjected to violent misuse. Further abuse

may void your warranty.'

Iadog arrived at the bottom of the stairs and stood there quivering. Finnley recognized the typical Dejanian response to uncontrolled excitement that came about by the rapid flexing and straightening of the middle leg joint, but the two cycle per second repetitive up and down motion seen through the goggles was not doing anything good to his stomach.

"Finnley! Are you alright? What are you trying to do, kill yourself? Are you trying to make me look bad by committing suicide? Is that it? Well, let me tell you Buddy, you'd better watch it or I will hand you your head on a stick!"

Apparently realizing how ridiculous that sounded and seeing that Finnley was unhurt, though he didn't know how, Iadog gave the android a push in the direction of a branching corridor.

Finnley was pleasantly surprised to learn that the fall had unstuck the left knee joint and that the android was walking with a normal, smooth gait. His stomach started to settle. He had a quick glance at the facial monitor; it was still smiling though. The corridor was a long one, and Iadog was keeping a hostile silence, so he began composing a nasty letter he was going to send to Acme Androids.

Chapter 5

Three and most of a forth day later, Iadog was becoming frantic. One had tried the sand torture. It drove Dejanians into a howling tizzy as the sand grains, strategically placed under the scales at the edge of the carapace, provided a constant irritant in those most sensitive of places. Finnley didn't have scales. The closest thing he had was hair, so Iadog poured the sand over his head. It had no effect whatsoever.

Iadog tried the extremity twister. Dejanian exoskeletons were particularly sensitive to rotation of the extremities. It tore at the connective tissues, which normally permitted only right angle movement. It was excruciating. Supposedly. Even when one put the device through its full ten degrees of rotation Finnley just lay there. The same measure of movement of a Dejanian extremity would have ripped it from its socket.

Iadog tried the many pain-giving devices one after another, all without noticeable effect. Finally, Iadog knew that one must try the most hideous of all the instruments of torture. Iadog didn't want to; even the most experienced of inquisitors quailed at using the Machine. Its inventor had been put to the Claw as soon as it was discovered what the thing could do. Such evil genius must be eliminated. They kept the Machine, however. After all, it had its uses; every generation or so a miscreant so terrible as to deserve it came out of the egg.

Iadog wheeled the bulky contraption over to the table where Finnley lay secured by strong strapping. Using the tip of one claw, one gingerly placed the long strands of bare copper onto either side of Finnley's head, just above the jaw line.

"Finnley, please don't make me do this. It may do my soul as much harm as it causes you excruciating pain. Tell me what I must learn."

The android smiled back at Iadog as if it were at a beach party and having the time of its life.

Iadog's eyestalks drooped forlornly, it was no use. Iadog checked the straps and tightened them as much as possible. There would be convulsions and wild attempts to rise from the table. One was not sure that one could watch as it happened. Iadog reminded oneself that only this last hour remained to save one's own neck from the Claw and resolutely turned to the Machine. Iadog started turning the wheel with all the force one could muster and soon had it humming along nicely. One last glance at Finnley and Iadog threw the switch into the closed position.

The android, having been in a darkened cell for more than four days was drained of about five percent of its power, perked up immediately. It was capable of renewing its storage cells in many ways, and the direct influx of electricity was just fine. Its smile broadened further, and it began to hum tunelessly in concert with the turning wheel. Life, or what passed for it, was wonderful.

Iadog, seeing the result of the most terrible of tortures one could deal out, nearly had a nervous breakdown. Not too long thereafter, Iadog began to beg.

"Finnley, friend and schoolmate, please forgive me for what I have done to you. How I wish we were back at Cap Rodger's right now so that I could buy you a beer and we could talk of things just as we did so often then. I fear that time is over for you, old friend, and perhaps for me as well. In moments now they will come and at the break of dawn you will meet your end. Since I have not accomplished my duty, and obtained even the tiniest scrap of information from you, I fear I will be right beside you. So, this is 'Goodbye' old Buddy. Unless, of course, you would like to do your old classmate one last favor before you go and tell me something. Anything. Lie, if you like. They won't know the difference anyway. Why, oh why, did you come here?"

Finnley judged the time to be ripe. The android's sensors were picking up the movement of several Dejanians approaching the cell. He directed the android's beatific smile toward Iadog's face and caused it to say the words that would precipitate the next phase of the operation.

"Iadog, I forgive you. I know this poor treatment is not your desire and you would have avoided it if you could. I bequeath you my old letter sweater, the one you admired. If you get to Terra again, just stop by my Mom's place and ask for it. It's probably hanging in my closet."

Iadog waited for Finnley to say something else. Even now he could hear the clatter of many feet on the stones in the corridor leading to the Chamber of Contrition. Time was running out, fast.

"Finnley, is that it? Don't you have something else to say?"

"Hmm? Oh, yes! Almost forgot. Wouldn't that be a silly thing to do? Iadog, I came here for a very important reason, but your people locked me up before I could say to them what I came to say and to show them what I came to display. Now, I suppose it is too late. Anyway, I will tell you. In the desert between your Clan's Holdings and that of the Clan to the west there is hidden an object of great importance to your people. We found it by using our most sophisticated equipment from far out in space. Since I was your friend on Terra, I fought to convince my superiors to give your Clan the sole benefit from this object. I came to tell your superiors about it as soon as I was given permission to do so. Just remember that the place where the Great Wadi meets the Hills of the Ark and..."

Just then the massive door crashed open and Qaat, followed by ten Third Class Warriors rushed into the room. Finnley's words were drowned out in the clamor. Qaat wasn't taking any chances, one had seen what happened in the cell. One had been peeking through the walls again. Qaat came to the table and looked down on the Terran. It was the first time one had seen the thing up close. It was a repulsive sight.

"Your time is ended infidel. The Cause and All That Is Right demand that you be expunged from our presence. You will meet the Claw as the Light-Giver rises above the horizon."

Qaat turned to the leader of the squad. "Take it away,"

As the ten Warriors attempted to lift the android, Iadog tried to intercede.

"Higher One, the infidel was just imparting most important information. This one begs of you to let it live for a time so that one might extract all of what it has to say."

Qaat did not hesitate, "No Younger One. Its time has come. It must be removed from our sight and our lives. You may remain here with me for a time while it is taken to the Claw and tell me of what it said."

The sun's corona barely cleared the eastern horizon as Qaat and Iadog stood below the platform which held the Claw. It had been a very close thing. The little bit of intriguing information one had gleaned from Finnley had been barely sufficient to keep Iadog on the ground instead of up next to the Terran. Qaat had thought it over for quite a long time and finally told Iadog that he might be granted the privilege of standing at his side at the foot of the ramp down which Finnley's head must soon roll. Iadog's fate was still unsettled. Qaat had also said the Younger One's future must be given serious consideration after the Holy Day Ceremonies had been concluded.

Now, it was Finnley's moment. The rising sun cast its first rays to glint of the curved obsidian surface of the huge claw that held Finnley's neck in tender embrace between its two opposing members. Qaat raised its own claw at that instant and made a pinching motion. The Second Class Warrior who had been given the honor of being executioner let drop the huge rock that pulled the rope that operated the mechanism. The Claw snapped shut.

The Light-Giver had fully risen above the horizon before anyone, including Qaat, dared approach the platform that had once held the Claw. A great force had pushed the crowd back several meters, knocking many senseless in the process, and nearly blinding those who had been closest to the platform. A roiling column of black smoke was just beginning to dissipate in the air overhead, and when Iadog looked upward as his vision cleared one could see that all that was left of the Claw was a black blob dripped onto the platform from a tapering icicle-shaped remnant above. The Fifth Class Warrior who had been volunteered to investigate shouted down that all that was left of the infidel was a small pile of black ash. Of the Executioner, there was no sign at all.

"You did not tell me, Young One," Qaat said, "that these Terrans died with such power. I think that we must give its last words very serious consideration."

Chapter 6

A slink popped its head out of its burrow to investigate the footsteps close by. Iadog sent out a soccer-style kick with one of his right legs and severed the slink's upper body cleanly from the lower part anchored in its burrow. The slink sent out a keening death wail as its upper parts sailed out and over a nearby scraggly growth of salt weed. Iadog didn't indulge in self-congratulation on marksmanship. After three days in the desert and far from the coast one's mood was firmly in the nether regions.

At the instant Qaat had given instructions upon Iadog's new duties, one's life had been a series of disasters. The provisional mate of his dreams had reached into its incubation pouch, taken out the many eggs carefully produced over the time since Iadog's return from Terra, and dumped them unceremoniously on the floor. Not that Iadog had expected any different result; the likelihood of returning whole or even alive after this mission put any future family planning into the realm of fantasy. It had been emotionally devastating to watch one's provisional spouse, pack bags and leave without even saying 'Goodbye'.

Then Iadog had told his incubating parent, and watched as that one took down the scroll of family homestead rights, scratched out the name 'Iadog' from below the representation of the small tidal pool where one's hatchlings would have grown to maturity and crawled out to breathe air. The incubating parent had unnecessarily explained, while writing the name of a distant cousin in that place, that the unlikely event of one's survival made such a change necessary. Besides, the same cousin was due to reach Second Class Warriorship in a matter of weeks; it would make a good graduation present. The parent had at least been a bit more sympathetic, and had said 'Goodbye'.

Iadog had walked by that tidal pool that evening, only to find the cousin and its provisional mate cleaning out loose rocks around its edge. They pretended not to notice one's presence. Upon returning to one's quarters, Iadog found all one's belongings stacked neatly outside the door. News certainly traveled fast.

Now, as Iadog stood looking down at the leaking torso of the slink, it did not raise even a twinge of hunger. The slink gradually curdled into a pool of gelatinous matter, and Iadog left it lying where it was, and realizing there was nothing else to do, set off once again in what should be a westerly direction. Of course, one could turn around and return to the Clan, whose leaders would immediately ready the Claw for service. As desperate as Iadog might be, that particular solution was not yet enticing.

Qaat had taken Finnley's last words very much at face value. It was clear that Terrans were very powerful beings, witness how two Dejanians could not even budge one Terran, to say nothing about what Finnley had done to the Claw merely by dying. Iadog had been puzzled over how Qaat had known of the ignominious demise of the two Fourth Class Warriors, such a small matter should not have normally come to its attention. Maybe the upper ranks really could read your mind, as was often said by warriors of one's rank. It was as clear then, as it was now, that Qaat intended to discover the meaning of Finnley's reference to the Great Wadi and Hills of the Ark. The locations of those two most holy geographic features were not described in the holy scrolls, and were a matter of great scholarly debate. More than one war had been fought over claims they were either here or there, even if no one had the slightest clue as to why they should be holy, or even important, in the first place.

True, it was said that the Great Wadi had once been filled to the brim with water, separating Clans on the East from Clans on the West, and that had led to the greatest missionary expedition of all time. The Great Prophet, who had been born to the Eastern Clans, although it was not clear exactly which one, in those most ancient of times often preached about the unity of the Clans in the beginning and taught that one day all clans, both East and West, would be re-united. This would happen it was said because in the future it would be necessary to fend off attacks from mythical peoples living on lands said to exist on the other side of the Great Ocean, far to the south.

The Great Prophet set off across the Arm of the Sea, as the Great Wadi was then called, to greet the Western Tribes and begin to bring them the word of the Great One. The Great Prophet had been sent back in a month's time minus all six limbs. As the Most Holy One lay there in the dhow, rolling helplessly back and forth while slowly starving to death, there had come a vision of how the Arm of the Sea would become land by the growth of a great mountain chain. Sure enough just a few thousands of years after the Great Prophet's Vision, that mountain range had formed in the fullness of time and was now the planet's most elevated feature. Iadog, having caught a glimpse of Terra's mountainous terrane, had come to wonder if Dejan's most lofty mountains, reaching elevations of tens of meters, were really all that spectacular. To have voiced such doubts would have been blasphemy, of course, and one had kept one's mouth closed on the subject.

The final words of the limbless missionary had been inscribed on the sides of the dhow with a piece of charcoal, the remnants of which were found in the Great Prophet's mouth, and earned that one a certain place in history of the Clans, both East and West of what had been the Arm of the Sea.

Even so, that place where the Great Prophet had crossed the now dry Arm of the Sea, was not much visited by either the Eastern or Western Clans. It was a dry and desolate place, a high place, and just about as far as one could get from salt water. None of those characteristics were conducive to tourism. It was a Holy Place, nonetheless, although the basis for that designation was far from clearly defined by the writings left behind by the Great Prophet. That One had been spared the long drawn out process of starving to death by the pieces of charcoal that had fallen back into its throat causing death by choking. Perhaps, it was said, there had not been enough time to complete writing the description of the Holy Vision that described the importance of the place. Or, perhaps the board containing that part of the description had fallen off into the Arm of the Sea before the dhow had foundered on a sand bar just off the Eastern Coast. All of what was now known came from the remnants of the dhow, which were transported along with the Holy Corpse to the chief village of the region. There, an assembly of priests was founded to preserve and interpret the Vision.

Iadog supposed that the whole idea of the quest one was now engaged upon, should fill one with a sense of higher purpose and sense of sacred endowment. Somehow, the fact that Qaat failed to provide a single companion, not even so much as a peasant escort, on this journey to the least inhabitable part of the planet kept such feelings at bay. It was highly likely that when Iadog failed to return after a reasonable passage of time, perhaps a year, perhaps two, Qaat might well proclaim the lost Warrior a martyr. That might well be just enough reason to cause the current Chief Priest, T'ar N'dan, to spring funds for a much larger expedition. Perhaps it would be an important enough cause to have that expedition cross the Hills of the Arc completely to search for the lost Young One in the territories of the Western Clans. It would not do, of course, that the unbelievers of the Western Clans be allowed to kidnap the Young One and whatever treasure inferred to exist from the Terran's last words that the Young One might have found. Of course, that direction would be totally unanticipated by the Western Clan and some degree of cleansing wrought upon their villages might well occur. Iadog sighed, resigned to assuming the role as cause for a new Holy War, it had been a while, after all, and it would serve the Western Clans right for what, in the name of the Evil One, had been done to the Great Prophet all those centuries ago. Then, once the errors in their scriptures had been pointed out and corrected, the two Clans could live happily ever after. Iadog could hope for some degree of holiness to attach to his memory.

Iadog would never see that glorious day. His hollow shell would long have been the home for a family of sand slinks, and his faded memory might find only the smallest of niches in the history of the Clan. One hoped that whatever faint spark might remain of Finnley would find some comfort in the knowledge that his betrayer had been betrayed in turn. In the depths of this bitter mood and with daylight fading, Iadog sought out any rough hollow as a nest for the night. Before drifting off into a restless sleep, Iadog scratched furiously near that itchy spot just slightly out of reach. Probably one is infested with a nest of sand lice, too.

Chapter 7

Finnley had sat quietly for some time after his execution. It was a sobering experience to watch oneself be murdered, even if by proxy. He was eventually aroused from introspection by the flashing red notice at the edge of his vision in the goggles.

We regret to inform you that the integument of your

android (Model SC-102, Serial Number 234-AB-00Q495)

has been breeched causing automatic implementation

of our patent infringement protection device. As a

consequence, your warranty has been voided.

We at Acme Androids hope that you will consider out

Ultra-modern model SC-103 for your replacement needs.

Please call our authorized Acme representative at your nearest

Sears, JC, and K-Tar convenience center.

Have a nice day!

Finnley slowly extracted himself from the padded control chair using leaden muscles that had been too long without sleep. He had been getting by with short cat naps between heavy doses of stimulant for five days and sixteen hours, and was dead tired. Iadog would just have to fend for himself for a while. If the Social Science guys were right, and they had been right on the money so far, he wouldn't have to take an active part again for at least two days. He would sleep at that long, at a minimum.

A much-refreshed Finnley seated himself at the console two days later. He dreaded the next part of the operation. He had tried Drama one semester at college, and it had been a disaster. It still brought on nightmares occasionally. The first time out on stage, his voice had taken off on him and he had spoken the entire part, that of a tough, street-wise mobster, in a high falsetto. They had literally laughed him off the stage. Still, someone had to give Iadog some help and guidance, and he was the only one within light years of the place. Well, first things first.

He punched out the code that would activate the video bug the android had planted in Iadog's carapace. The main video screen came to life with a view of dark, cloudy sky. Finnley panicked for a moment, thinking that Iadog lie dead on his back. The vitals sensors kicked in, belatedly giving all the readings expected of a living Dejanian, and allowing a sigh of relief. All was well, the intrepid explorer was merely asleep. A glance at the local time chronometer showed it to be just before dawn, and Iadog could be expected to arise when the first dim light topped the horizon.

Right on schedule, the view shifted to a close up of sandy soil as Iadog rolled onto its front side. Audio came to life next as the automatic system transmitted a string of slurred Dejanian that Finnley could not translate. It seemed to be a bunch of grunts and groans with a belch or two thrown in. A quick look at the vitals showed that gastric acidity was spiking in the danger range. Iadog had been worrying a lot, it seemed. Something would have to be done about that, Finnley had no intention of loosing his planetary representative to gastric melt down, and Iadog could give a battery acid manufacturing plant a run for its money. Finnley mulled over the few possibilities he came up with, but finally had to concede that Iadog would have to find his own temporary cure. Nothing could be done until the dark of night. It would be a long day.

In an effort to avoid thinking about the currently insoluble problem, he called up a track of the Dejanian's wanderings over the past couple of days. It was worse than expected. Iadog had been heading in sort of the right direction to start, but the dotted path of his travels on the screen tended to zig and zag and loop about on itself. At this rate it would take a month to reach the objective. Some surreptitious guidance was clearly in order.

The video screen suddenly changed view as Iadog, who had been walking in a forward moving, if stumbling gait abruptly stopped, bent over, and picked at something on the ground. Iadog came up with a small piece of rock. Ah, limestone! It got popped into Iadog's mouth and almost immediately the gastric acid level started to decline. Good, at least Iadog wasn't totally inept. A sudden rise in carbon dioxide readings at the implanted bug's level coincided with the sound of a huge belch roaring in through the audio pickup.

Finnley found himself taking several breaks in monitoring during the day. Iadog continuously muttered imprecations and bemoaned his predicament. His gastric acidity, which had dropped to near normal after the limestone, gradually climbed the rest of the day. It was tough duty watching and hearing indications of Iadog's clearly miserable attitude. When daylight began to fade down on the planet, Finnley felt a great sense of relief. Finnley could take some action on the native's behalf very soon, and when Iadog finally settled into a hollow in the sand, he disconnected to make his preparations.

The probe went first. It was already packed and ready to go, and all that was needed were the final coordinates. Once that was done, he set off to put on his grease paint and powder. He was less convinced about this part, but supposed that it was necessary. It didn't matter what he thought, the Social Science people had been adamant. He was willing to bet that Iadog would not even notice these preparations, but as he stood before the mirror patting some ugly gray paste on his face, he went over his lines again. No time for stage fright now. He looked in the mirror a final time and muttered, "Break a leg," to his reflection.

Just as Iadog was drifting off into a troubled sleep, he glanced up to see a blazing meteor flash across the sky.

"Good omen.," he muttered tiredly.

Sleep came full on before he could see the meteors strange behavior. It swerved into a tight turn and came directly toward Iadog's nest in the sand. Slowing to an impossibly slow glide it made a full circle at a hundred meter radius, briefly stopping every one hundred twenty degrees of arc to drop a small self-contained package of electronics at each spot. Then it settled softly near Iadog's head and deposited a large economy-sized bottle of Tummie Numbie tablets. Its duties compete, the probe slowly rose into the air until well beyond hearing, and then kicked in the anti-gravs, shooting upward toward the orbiting capsule.

Iadog thought the sound of one's name was a figment of a dream until after one opened one's eyes, and it came again.

"Ah, there you are, Old Buddy. Rise and shine Iadog. Places to go and wonders to discover!"

Greatly disoriented, Iadog looked about frantically, trying to identify the source of the voice that sounded very much like that of his dead classmate. He knew that voice must be Finnley's, who else on the planet would be speaking Terran? There was a strange glow just a short distance away. It seemed to be rising from the ground and flowing down from the sky at the same time. Watching in stunned silence, Iadog tried to make out what was happening. The swirling particles of light gradually coalesced, until they took the form of an upright figure. It was Finnley, there was no mistaking that soft-bodied being even if his complexion had a sickly cast to it. Just to make sure, he picked up a small stone and threw it. The stone passed through the smoky figure to land on the dirt beyond.

"Say now, that's much better!" The apparition muttered, "I'll get the hang of this materialization business real soon now. How're doing Iadog, you look a little peaked?"

Iadog responded with a strange burbling sound than gradually transformed into a sibilant hiss.

"Yeah, I know. It'll take some getting used to. You could at least say 'Hello', though."

Iadog came to life, and rising, abruptly plunged his battle claw into the smoky form.

"You too, you brute?" The thing giggled, "I always wanted to say that."

Iadog gasped and released the battle claw, which, meeting no resistance fell to the ground.

"Look here, Iadog. Is that any way to treat an old friend? Here I am, delayed on my journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds just for your sake, and what do I get? A claw in my gizzard!"

Iadog finally managed to get a few words out, "For my sake?"

"Why, sure thing, Old Buddy. There I was happily winging my way back towards my proper realm when one of your ancestors sort of pops out of the either and collars me. Where'd he go, anyway?" The thing looked around some unseen area searching for something. "Busy fellow, you know? High level conferences and all that." It gave Iadog a wink. "Hang on a second, I'll be right back."

It vanished, leaving a swirling cloud behind. Iadog cast around vainly for a place to hide. Nothing nearby could conceal even one of his feet. Besides, how does one hide from a phantom? Turning back around, he found two figures now within the cloud. The Finnley thing appeared to be standing on the ground, but other was suspended in mid-air. It looked like a limbless Dejanian.

"Iadog, I am pleased to present..." the Finnley-thing began. "Ah shoot, listen to me! This fellow doesn't need any introduction. I'll bet you knew who he was right off, didn't you?"

Iadog made an attempt at speaking, "The Gr-Great P-Pr-Profit?"

"See, I told you that you knew! He's got something to tell you. So I'll just shut up and let him have his say. There you go Proph."

The Prophet phantom began to speak in Dejanian, "Youngest One, I have come before you and have caused this off-worlder to come before you so that you may understand and set about accomplishing a great task, left undone these many centuries since my departure from the corporeal realm. I command you to seek out the Chain That Will Bind the Tribes and use it for its purpose. This off-world spirit who calls you friend will assist you in this task. It must be done! This is a command from the Great One!"

Apparently done with its announcement, the Prophet phantom abruptly disappeared.

Finnley's ghost spoke up again. "Like I said, he's a busy fellow. Probably off to some conference with the local boss." Finnley took a seat in mid air and continued, "Now about this Chain business. Have you got any idea what the Prophet was talking about?"

Iadog, who at some recent point had decided that he was either insane or actually talking to ghosts, followed the course of least resistance. It still took some time to transfer thoughts to words.

"Iadog, listen up. We don't have all eternity to get this sorted out. At least you don't. You with me? Good! I said, have you got any idea of what this Chain That Will Bind the Tribes is all about?"

"Finnley, if that is really you, or what is left of you, and if you aren't some figment of my desert madness, how do you come to travel in the company of one of our Peoples' most revered ancestors?"

"Jeez, Iadog! I'd always thought you were a little quicker than that. I told you, it grabbed me on my way back home, and being sort of Junior Rank around here, I was obligated to do the favor it asked of me. Besides, I've been worried about you Old Friend. Out here wandering around in the wilderness doing Qaat's dirty work. Old school ties die hard and I really did want to give you a little help. Look, I even arranged for you to get a little present."

Finnley was pointing to a place on the ground where Iadog had rested just moments ago. Iadog nearly lost what little composure was left at the sight of the plastic bottle of Tummie Numbies in the shallow depression one's head had left in the sand.

"Go ahead," said Finnley, "open 'er up and gobble down a few. You really need them. I can hear your tummies grumble all the way over here."

That was certainly true. Iadog took up the bottle and struggled with the child-proof cap, surprised to find that the bottle had a solid feel. After fumbling unsuccessfully Iadog clipped the top off with a claw and poured a quarter of the contents into its mouth.

"Mumph duh youf wink wou ough du do?"

Finnley look perplexed. "Huh? Iadog, I'm a spirit not a clairvoyant, finish chewing those things and then speak, OK?"

When the last of the powder had gone down the tube, Iadog repeated the question. "What do you think we ought to do? How is one going to find the Chain in all of this wilderness?" Bubbles were getting smaller in Iadog's stomach already; the Tummie Numbies were real enough.

"Iadog. Iadog. Iadog. What am I going to do with you? Don't you remember my dying words? What do you think I was talking about? I know exactly where the Chain is, and all you have to do is to follow my directions exactly. Do that and you will be there in a few days. I'll even come back every night to keep you company."

Iadog was pleased to hear these words at first, but then had a thought. "You mean you won't be around during the day? What if I stray off course?"

Finnley seemed to pause, and think this over. "Well, I've got to concede to you on that point. You've been making more sideways than headways so far. We have a little problem with the daylight hours, though. As you can see, I'm a mere wisp even now. During the day you couldn't even see my outline. You could hear me, though. Tell you what, every once in a while during the day I'll just whisper in your ear. Then, at night, after you've sawed a few logs, I'll wake you up and we'll have a fine old time talking about all sorts of odds and ends. Sound good to you?"

Iadog, who had rapidly acclimated to talking to ghosts, it was a cultural tradition of long standing, began nodding his head rapidly. One would be more than happy to have some spiritual company, as it were although a native spirit instead of an off-worlder spirit would have been preferable.

"Good." Finnley stretched and yawned, "Tell you what, Good Buddy, I gotta go cruise around in the stars for a while and gather up some ethereal energy. I'm a little weak yet. That dying business takes a lot out of you." Finnley giggled again, "Get the joke, Son? Takes a lot out of you, that's a good one! Have to remember to tell that to the spirits out there in Terran Heaven. Listen, seriously, first thing in the morning you look off to the West. You will see a low hill way off in the distance. You want to aim just to the left of that hill. Oakie Doakie?"

Iadog looked doubtful, but nodded.

"Good, I knew you would catch on quick. You go on back and get some sleep now. Be talking to you tomorrow. Pleasant dreams!"

Finnley vanished, followed closely by the swirling cloud. Iadog didn't think that sleep would come that night, it had all been quite exciting. Given the healthy dose of sedative in the Tummie Numbies, that turned out to be not the case.

Chapter 8

In the six days since Finnley had come to haunt Iadog, good progress had been made toward the goal. Just last night, the spirit had said only two day's march were left. Even now, the terrane was steepening slightly at the lower reaches of the Hills of the Arc. The nightly talks with Finnley had also done wonders for one's self confidence. At first, one had been dubious about what Finnley required to be done. Now it was a different story. Finnley had finally convinced Iadog that the mad scheme would work. For an off-worlder, Finnley certainly knew a lot about Dejanian customs and traditions. One supposed that spirits had access to unlimited knowledge about all sorts of things.

The black basaltic rock under foot was fairly firm, but very ragged. One had to be very careful when climbing, as a slip down the hill might result in being cut to pieces and breakage of fragile limbs. The higher one climbed the more often one found patches of green plants growing in shallow depressions, and it seemed as though it was slightly cooler. Late that day Iadog was amid a veritable forest of greenery. One was amazed, not since Terra had one seen such verdant growth. It was practically unknown elsewhere in Iadog's geography. A burbling sort of noise grew in volume as Iadog continued the climb. There, in the middle of a small valley flowed, of all things, a small, spring-fed steam. Iadog bent cautiously and took a sip. It was flat, insipid stuff compared to the salt water one ordinarily drank, but it was somehow refreshing. Iadog wondered what other marvels this place had in store.

Even though the climb was hard for one born and raised on the coastal flatlands, Iadog found that the terrane held a strange fascination, almost an appeal that seemed somehow at odds with one's warrior training. As the darkness capped the hill ahead announcing the start of evening Iadog sought a bed for the night. It was difficult to find a soft spot amongst all the sharp stones, but then an idea occurred. After collecting bunches of greenery and placing them in a natural hollow, Iadog tried out the new mattress. It was delightful, and smelled even better than it felt.

Iadog awoke with the first light the next morning feeling more rested than one had felt in weeks, perhaps in one's whole life. Something was missing, though it was difficult to lay a claw on what it was. Finnley! That was it, Finnley had not come during the night to have another long discussion. Iadog immediately began to worry. How would one pull this off without Finnley's help? Suppose he was gone forever? Iadog suppressed a ripple of scales, and tried calling out.

"Finnley?" At first a tentative effort, but drawing no response it rapidly became more forceful. "Finnley!"

Iadog continued calling out until the sun had fully cleared the horizon, but there was no answer. Iadog was beginning to founder in despair, and the hillside, once seemingly benign and beautiful, now bristled with unknown dangers and pitfalls. Iadog knew that one should start the day's journey, but found it difficult to move from the spot one was familiar with. Inertia won out as Iadog slumped down into a four-limbed crouch and held one's head in one's lesser claws.

Gradually Iadog became aware of a faint, but peculiar buzzing-hissing sound nearby. It seemed to be mixed in with a voice, and a few words could be sorted out of the static.

"Iadog. hsss...can... hear me...crackle...you...hsss...in a place...pop... can't...hsst... away...Iadog...hope...hear...crackle...snap...pop...move"

The meaning of the code gradually became clear, and Iadog moved away from the place where spirits could not dwell. The spirit had saved one again, it seemed, one could have been stuck in that spot until death. Iadog gained elevation to the top of a small ridge, and immediately, Finnley's voice came loud and clear.

"Hey! Iadog, I'm glad you finally are on the move. I was beginning to loose my voice."

"Finnley! What happened to you? I thought I had lost you forever. Why did you not visit me last night?"

Finnley's voice was immediately and reassuringly in his ear hole. "Well, you just happened to stop in a bad place last night. It was a place that I, ah, couldn't get to. I couldn't even trans... transubstantiate there. It was a place of, oh, I guess you would say bad power. It kind of blocked me out. Forget about it. Chances are you'll never find a place like it again. Besides, today is the day, Old Chum! Today you get to the place where the Chain is buried! Exciting, hey!"

Iadog perked up immediately. Finnley's enthusiasm was infectious. He was constantly in a good mood. Death seemed to have done wonders for his outlook.

It was some time before sunset when Finnley's voice came again from the air around his shoulder.

"Iadog, you can stop now."

"Why, Finnley? Am I getting too close to another bad power place?"

"Not at all. You have arrived at your goal! You lucky person, you."

"Here?" Iadog was confused. It looked like every other part of the hillside. One was expecting a monument, or a big X, maybe. "Are you sure, Finnley? It doesn't look so special here."

"Oh ho! You want some proof do you? Well, I was going to let you rest until morning, but if you insist. See that pile of rocks against the hill slope there on your right?"

Iadog walked over to a likely looking pile and said, "This one?"

"No, your other right you big Dummy. You just walked right past it."

Iadog turned and walked back to an even less impressive pile of stones.

"Here?"

"Right on target, Chum! Just start moving them away."

Iadog started tossing stones to the side, small ones at first, but gradually getting bigger, and heavier. Finally, one took every last ounce of effort to move. After a few minutes straining at it, there was a perceptible shift and then it overbalanced and started rolling down the hill, nearly crushing a foot left in the way. Iadog watched as it picked up smaller stones along the way, soon it was a respectable land slide, and Iadog was glad to be uphill from it.

Iadog examined the place where the large stone had rested and found that it had covered an opening in the solid rock of the mountain. Dust was swirling heavily in the opening and it was impossible to see very far inside. The sun was shining directly into the opening and gradually the light penetrated deeper into the recess as the dust slowly settled. The first indication that there was more than rock in the hole was a glint from sunlight on a reflective surface. Gradually the glint turned into a glimmer, and then into a thousand glimmers. Iadog forgot to breathe as the entire inside of the recess was lit by reflected light.

"Finnley," Iadog whispered, "what is it?"

"It is the Chain, of course, what else?" There was a slight pause before Finnley's voice continued, "Why don't you reach on in there and pull it out, Iadog? It won't do you any good where it is."

Iadog braced one's body on either side with lesser claws and reached in with the right greater claw. One fumbled around for some time because one could not see inside in that position, but finally its claw caught on something with a metallic clink. Iadog pulled back slowly, gradually extracting the prize from its hole. It was heavy, and when fully exposed to the light of the sun it shone with a deep, yellow luster. It stretched nearly the entire way between fully outstretched greater claws, and was in two parts joined at the middle by two claws grasping one another. That image was very familiar to every Dejanian, it was the seal of the Great One and it graced every holy scroll ever written. Never had Iadog seen it forged out of metal, especially this strange yellow metal. It was unlike any metal Iadog knew. Yellow wasn't quite the word for it, as that brought to mind dead seaweed. There was another word, one heard on Terra in fact, that fit it better. Golden. Iadog caught his breath, and held it.

Forced finally to breathe, Iadog said, "Finnley, is this what I think it is? Is this gold?"

"Right the first time, Iadog. What you have there is probably the single biggest mass of pure gold on the planet."

Iadog had no trouble believing Finnley in that. The largest gold piece one had ever heard of before this was a pin-sized nugget the Chief Priest carried around as a token of highest status. Iadog had never been so close to such a lofty personage as to see even that.

Finnley broke Iadog's reverie, "Why don't you reach in there and get the rest of the stuff out?"

Iadog was startled. "You mean to say there is more?" This time lowering ones entire body to the dirt was required to get the job done. Next out was a pouch made of skin. It was heavy, too. The dried lacing gave way and broke into small segments, and the pouch tumbled to the rock at his feet.

"Hey! Careful there, Butterfingers! You had better take care of that. It is your ticket to the throne."

Iadog sat on the ground and leaving the pouch where it lay, once again worked at its laces. Finally, the gathered top of the pouch unfolded enough to reach inside. Out came a finely woven cloth, the mesh made of so thin strands that one could see through the cloth. It too, shone with that deep luster, and had claw-shaped clasps at one side. Iadog saw that it could be worn as a cloak. A cloak of gold.

"Don't stop now, Iadog."

Trembling limbs once more into the void this time returned with a thin object wrapped in hide. The hide crumbled from age as it was handled, revealing a thin gold tablet that was covered with writing. Iadog saw the lettering was an archaic form, seen only on the oldest Holy Writings. It was barely decipherable by a modern Dejanian, and Iadog took a long time trying to read through it. Only a few words were decipherable to one's modern eyes, and one put the tablet gently down with a feeling of awe.

"Finnley, do you know what that tablet says? Oh, I suppose that you do, you are all-knowing now, aren't you?"

"Right you are, Old Buddy Mine. That I do. Listen up for a sec, will you Iadog? I am going to leave you to play with your new toys for a while. I will be back tonight and we'll talk things over. Mean time, try to get some sleep. Tomorrow you head for home, and it's a long trip."

Chapter 9

A long and tiring eight days later, Iadog arrived at familiar territory. Iadog's training squad had practiced in this very area. The uneasy feeling that had been growing quietly in the background forced its way to front and center and demanded attention. Iadog stopped and downed another Tummie Numbie, one was still far from convinced the plan that Finnley's ghost had hatched would not result in Iadog joining him in the ether. As if bidden by the thought of his name, Finnley's voice came from that familiar place near his right shoulder.

"Well now, Iadog, things ought to be looking familiar to you by now. It is time to stop for the night."

Why, Finnley? One could easily travel from here to the city yet tonight."

"Oh, let's call it poetic license. It will definitely be more lyrical if you seem to float into view with the rising sun shining off your new cape, don't you think?"

"That is probably true," allowed Iadog, "but I still think it silly to keep one out in the open yet another night, when one could be comfortably sleeping at one's parent's house."

"Patience, patience, dear friend. After tomorrow morning, all of the comforts you have ever dreamed of will be within reach. A very minor inconvenience now will pay off in the end."

Some considerable time and whispers later Finnley's persuasive arguments finally wore Iadog into submission. After the ghost's promise that one would be awoken prior to dawn for one last conversation before the "Big Show" as Finnley put it, Iadog looked around for a comfortable spot to spend the night. The last few minutes before sundown were put to good use by continuing one's efforts to memorize the contents of the Tablet. Iadog had never been very good at rote memorization and the stilted, archaic wording made the task even more difficult. Even as one attempted to recall the words, one's eyestalk peeked at the tablet lying to one's left side. One would never get it down pat, and always missed a phrase here or there. If it hadn't been for Finnley's persistent nagging, one would have given up on the task days ago. Finnley had insisted that it was essential to memorize every line perfectly, and Iadog had mad a sincere effort. One was now able to call up from memory nearly every line. Except that nonsense about how darkness in the day would confirm the New Prophet's identity. One hoped that the words on the tablet, and Finnley's assertion that the promise contained in the words on the Tablet would come true, were not some sort of spiritual miscalculation. Daytime darkness on moonless Dejan was unheard of.

Iadog had drifted off into slumber somewhere in the middle of the Fifth Promise, but was startled into wakefulness in the pre-dawn hours by Finnley's voice in one's ear. The hazy, nebulous cloud was before his eyes once more, and Finnley's spirit floated in a reclining position a few meters away, bathed in the cloud's brilliance.

"Hi there, Sport! Have a good nap? I certainly hope so. No more sleeping tonight, and in a short while you will have to move on to be in position for that old stage light in the sky! Boy, I bet you are excited!"

Iadog just then noticed the translucent mug in Finnley's equally transparent hand. His mouth involuntarily twisted itself into an O.

"Is that beer?" Iadog couldn't believe it. One often thought that Finnley's present circumstances were ideal, but the idea that there could be beer in the spirit world was considerably more than one's imagination had conceded.

"Why sure thing, Old Buddy. You think that we deprive ourselves here? Just between you and me, it's pretty tasteless stuff. Thin as water. Know what I mean?" Finnley giggled, and the mug suddenly disappeared as the ghost sat up in mid-air. "Enough chit chat; it's time to get down to business. Your famous, if frayed, ancestor is here with me, and has some words for your ears alone. So, if you will excuse me I will sort of fade out and make room for the Great Prophet. I've got to go and make room for another brew anyway."

Finnley's image gradually faded from view. His left eye went last, and it winked. Then, the Great Prophet was there. Iadog was stunned and couldn't make the proper acquiescence if one's life depended upon it.

"Youngest one," the Great Prophet began, "your test is about to commence. All that has gone before has been but preparation for that test. The Gifts of the Great One are in your keeping. Woe be to you if you should fail in your duties. Woe be to you and your people if you fail to impress upon the Tribes the nature of their duties. Woe be to your people if they do not follow the message of the Great One you will deliver this day. Go now into the sun and carry the Words of the Great One unto all the Tribes in their turn."

The Great Prophet's words had gradually grown in volume during his speech so that Iadog's carapace seemed to be vibrating. For a moment, there was a fear that it would shake itself loose, leaving one a shapeless lump on the ground. Suddenly, the Great Prophet was gone, vanished, dispersed, as if never there. The cloud of light was gone as well. Iadog summoned enough strength to whisper into the night.

"Finnley? Are you there? Finnley, please be there."

Faintly, oh so faintly, Finnley's unmistakable voice floated in the air around his ear hole. As though it had lost all of its power in the presence of a greater spirit.

"That one knows how to project, I'd say."

"Finnley, where are you? Why can't I see you? Aren't you going to come back and talk to me some more?"

"Sorry, Old Chum," the whisper continued growing ever fainter, "your esteemed ancestor insisted that you carry on by yourself now. I'll try to come back if you need me. Good Luck!"

Only be straining with every nerve ending did Iadog make out the last few, hope-giving words. Then the voice of his murdered schoolmate was gone and only the soft breeze rising from the nearby coast whispered in his ear hole.

Iadog brought forth all the courage one could muster. The false dawn was illuminating the outlines of the city just ahead. One was no more than a few hundred meters from the main city gate. The golden cape lay with surprising weight upon one's carapace, as one waited for the true dawn. A calm descended upon Iadog then, and with it came knowledge that this thing could be done and that one was capable of doing it. Iadog gathered that calm assurance into the center of one's being, and recognized that the Great Prophet's admonition had left courage in its wake, pushing fear aside. One would prevail!

At that moment, the first rays of the sun crested the horizon and struck the golden cape full on. As if coordinated with unerring precision, the city gate swung open and Qaat marched out at the head of a troop of Second Class Warriors.

Chapter 10

Qaat had personally taken over training over upper echelon troops in preparation for the great mission one would command within the next year. Since there was no chance whatever that Iadog would return successfully from the quest, it would fall to Qaat to seek out the meaning of the off-worlder's last words, and find the mysterious object of which it spoke. Once successful in that task, one would take advantage of the situation and pay a short visit to the Western Clans. For both tasks it was necessary that the troops be honed to perfection. Today, a session of in-fighting with short claws had been scheduled. Undoubtedly, quite a few warriors would be missing at least one eyestalk by day's end, but that would make room for up and coming Third Class Warriors. By the time it was necessary to begin the quest, the army one would lead would be made of tough survivors, ready for any challenge.

The gate now was fully opened and Qaat turned to give the squad a one last well-rehearsed warning to do well and to put forth the maximum effort, or else. The words froze in Qaat's mouth as one realized that all eyes were focused over one's shoulder and mouth's were uniformly rounded into O's. Qaat turned in the direction of their collective gaze, and was struck dumb.

There, on the parade ground was a dazzling figure that shone more richly than the sun. Qaat brought lesser claws up in position to shield eyes from the glare, but could not complete the movement. The figure began to move. It was coming directly toward the gate. The scales on both sides rippled in fear such as had not been felt in years of fighting. A murmur began in the ranks behind, and one felt the presence of the warriors begin to fade as they backed away from the approaching miniature sun. It was all Qaat could do to maintain a steady stance. One wished for nothing more than to find a deep hole, and crawl inside.

As the real sun rose higher in the sky, the diffraction of its rays through the golden cape gradually softened, and the being within the radiance became clear. Qaat nearly lost control of one's sphincter muscles. It was Iadog! Still bathed in radiance, but it now could be seen that a length of chain was held between Iadog's greater claws and that the lesser claws grasped the lower corners of yet another object held high above its head. Qaat then spoke words born of wonder, in a tone that could only be described as reverent, "Iadog, who or what have you become? How are you here?"

"Silence, perfidious one! Your time to speak is not yet. I bear a message from the Great One through its intermediary, The Great Prophet!"

Iadog strode with measured steps to within a meter of Qaat.

You will bring me," Iadog continued, "into the presence of the charlatan who calls itself Chief Priest. You will send your troops ahead to call forth our people to witness my procession. Do now as you are commanded!"

Qaat had lost all will, and Iadog, or the thing standing within claw's length, demanded submission. Qaat really had no choice, having been bred and reared in a culture that allowed no questioning of higher authority; this being clearly belonged in that category. Qaat would have bowed and scraped before the Chief Priest, but this being required more than bowing and scraping. It required absolute fidelity and obedience, whether it looked like a former Third Class Warrior or not. Qaat turned to issue the command, but found that the squad had heard the instructions equally clearly. The slowest of them was still in sight running down the passage to the Temple of the Great One, knocking on doors and yelling as it went.

Qaat turned back to face the presence once more, "Iadog, or whatever you have become, will you not tell me what all of this means? I fear that great and dangerous things are upon me and I do not know how to address them."

"Qaat, leader of warriors of the Eastern Tribes, you are correct. Great news is come to you and our People this day. I am merely the instrument which brings these tidings, but I have behind me the will of the Great Prophet and the proclamation of the Great One. If you hold our traditions and our beliefs in your mind, you will follow my orders as faithfully as if they came directly from the mouth of the Great One. It is now time to go. You may lead the way to the Temple where we will send the pretenders to their just rewards."

Qaat lead the way down the path, knowing that the continued connection between head and body was seriously in doubt. The People were already stirring, and the noise made by the troop of warriors preceded them down the passage. An ever growing number of the People looked out of windows to witness the small procession consisting of Qaat and the richly clothed presence walking behind. Dejanians formed into silent ranks behind the glowing presence until a small army marched on the Temple. Most were puzzled, and all were fearful, but something big was happening and personal safety took second priority.

Far to the rear, but silently moving up through the throng were the losers. The many maimed and disgraced warriors and the genetic mutants who were the cast-offs from society. They really had nothing to lose, and gradually the front ranks were filled with them. People gladly gave them right-of-way; there was no telling what was going to happen and it would be good to have some sort of buffer against disaster.

Iadog was hardly prepared for the sight that greeted one at the Great Temple. The square was filled to overflowing with the People. It was clear that the news had spread very far and very fast that a glowing being was coming, and there was going to be a showdown with the Chief Priest. It ought to be something to watch.

Acolytes were milling around in front of the closed Temple doors, not knowing what to do. The warriors were not doing anything to suppress the crowd although one had to admit that the gathering was virtually silent and very orderly. Nor had any instructions come from inside.

Iadog gave Qaat a push in the back to force him into the throng in the direction of the Temple doors. Qaat didn't need much help as the crowd glimpsed the gold-draped figure just behind; they melted away in awe and fear. A passageway through the crowd opened magically, and Iadog had a clear view of the great doors of the Temple. Qaat feeling no more pressure from behind, nor obstruction from the crowd, saw no further need for a guide. One would just as soon find anonymity in the crowd. Gradually veering sideways to the edge of the crowd Qaat simply stopped, halfway expecting Iadog to pull one back into line. One was both relieved and surprised when Iadog passed by without giving a glance, and strode resolutely to the front of the Temple. From this new perspective, Qaat could again appreciate what a figure Iadog made. Still holding the golden Tablet above its head and the golden Chain between claws, Iadog reminded Qaat of something from deep in Dejanian tradition. It was difficult to recall what such a picture represented, but gradually it dawned on Qaat that it was simplicity itself. The first letter of the Dejanian alphabet, which over centuries had become stylized and modified from its original form, but was supposed to be a pictograph of just this sort of being. The scriptures, which were lettered in archaic form, started with just this one symbol. It was supposed that the figure represented the Great One. This discovery left Qaat weak. Qaat began to murmur, incoherently at first, but then with conviction. Those nearest in the crowd picked up the meaning of the words, and mouth to mouth the word 'Truthsayer' spread through the crowd. One after the other, the People dropped to the ground in the dust-hugging crouch that denoted subjugation. Very soon there were thousands of the People lying with outstretched claws and eyestalks bent forward studying the sandy soil of the Temple Square.

Iadog appeared not to notice the posture of the crowd, or the murmured word, Truthsayer. Iadog had stopped within a few meters of the massive Temple door and stood waiting, Chain outstretched and Tablet upraised. The wait seemed to go on forever, but a deepening silence prevailed. At last, when it seemed the very air must begin to crackle with pent up energy from the masses, the Temple door swung open majestically, allowing the High Procession to step out into the sunlight. Many thousand eyestalks left off study of the dirt to risk a peek at what would happen.

The Chief Priest, who had been in the midst of the High Procession, now stepped forth and approached to within claw's length of Iadog.

"What is the meaning..."

"Silence!" Iadog's voice rose above that of the Chief Priest's and caused that one to stumble backwards in surprise. "I am come to set right the things that you and your co-conspirators have made wrong. I carry the Golden Tablet and the Chain That Will Bind the Tribes. I am charged by the Great One through its intermediary The Great Prophet to correct the evils which you and yours have perpetrated against the Tribes. You have no voice in the matter. It is only necessary that you submit to the Judgment!"

So saying, and without waiting for a reply, Iadog brought down the Tablet and cradled it in ones left lesser claw. Still holding the Chain taut between greater claws, Iadog turned to survey the crowd.

"You, you, and yes, you. All of you come forward." Iadog had pointed with right lesser claw at two maimed warriors and an obviously mentally deficient individual. The trio scrambled to their feet and approached as closely as they dared.

"You," Iadog began, "are chosen to carry out the Judgment and the Sentence against this pretender. Take it now to the Claw. Bring back only its head."

Iadog, who clearly expected neither hesitation nor discussion, turned once more from the crowd to face the Temple, and raised the Tablet to its former position held high. The selected trio looked at one another for a brief moment and then set about obeying the command. T'ar N'dan struggled vainly in the strong grasp of the two warriors, who had lost only one eyestalk apiece, and not their strength, while the mental deficient danced ahead of them along the path to the Claw. The dead silence prevailed until a short time later a distinct "Snick!" was heard from that direction. A long-suppressed sigh escaped the crowd. The mutant came dancing back into sight then, carrying a head by its eyestalks, as green fluid droplets marked its progress toward the Temple. The mutant stepped to the side of Iadog and deposited its burden there in the dirt. Silence continued as eyes were either on the trail of droplets leading from the Claw or on the scene in front of the Temple door, or on both.

The crowd was startled out of contemplation as Iadog suddenly opened eyes and turned once more to face the crowd, leaving the head lying in the dust.

"The head of the evil that has guided you has been removed. From this moment you will look to me for guidance. Do not believe that all evil has been expunged. There are those who would gladly take the place of the pretender who now lays dead. Their existence desecrates this Holy Place, and I will not enter there until all vestiges of that evil have been removed. Instead, I will stay outside the gate of the city in a place that will become a New Temple to the Great One."

The two one-eyed warriors had joined the mutant at Iadog's side, and that one turned to address them.

"You," Iadog said, pointing to the mutant, "will be my new chief of religious matters. Your simplicity of thought will be a great improvement over the hypocrisy of those who inhabit this place now. You will judge those who remain within and you will spare only those who you perceive to be Honest and True Believers of the Scriptures."

Subdued astonishment spread through the crowd as Iadog's words filtered through their ranks. Only the subordinate priests, who still remained huddled in the doorway of the Temple showed other emotion. Fear and a growing antagonism towards the golden being mixed in them. None dared speak, fearing that might be rewarded with a trip to the Claw.

"You are next, Kamend," Iadog continued, "I knew you when you were in charge of the training grounds. You have fallen far since then, and in your fall you should have gained humility and come to know the taste of hopelessness. Yours will be the task of commanding the army. Under your guidance, the Army of the Eastern Clans will cease to be an organ of war and will become a strong arm of peace. You and your command will be needed in the coming times. We will have an unwelcome message to spread. Only the People will rejoice its coming. The priests and commanders and upper classes may feel it necessary to rebel against the wave that will sweep across Dejan. Yours will be the task of protecting those who will take the Word to the Clans."

"You, Fejjahd were once the brightest of the warriors. Your ideas were constantly rebuffed until finally your persistence in finding better ways, forced our superiors to place you in armed combat knowing your dislike of battle. Your injury came rapidly upon you and your disgrace buried your abilities beneath the scorn of your Clan. Yours will be the most difficult, but also the most rewarding task. You will build the Eastern Clans by showing the way to use minds instead of following blindly after false priests into meaningless battles. Your first task is to build the new Temple outside the city gate where the desert winds will sweep it clean every day."

Iadog's lieutenants stood after receiving their charges with very different reactions. The mutant, who had never had a name, understood more of what Iadog had said than even the most generous person would have believed. One had grown into the role of a dolt, including a stooped posture and waggling eyestalks. As one's new responsibilities became clear, one's posture improved markedly and it was revealed that standing straight made this one amongst the tallest of the city's denizens. The mutant's abnormal height, which had been cause of unceasing troubles as a youth towering above one's betters, now was regarded as sign of authority by those who witnessed the transformation. As Iadog turned to continue charging the other two, the Mutant turned suddenly firm and steady eyestalks to gaze in an uncomfortably contemplative manner at the priests crowded in the doorway of the Temple.

Kamend, alone amongst the three took the assignment of new duties as a matter of course. Once a leader of warriors, habits learned during years of command came rushing back, there would need be no break in period for this one. The disgrace suffered had been forced upon Kamend, but that one had never accepted the inevitability of failure. A rage built during years of suffering the injustice dealt out by comrades would have eventually killed Kamend, if not for Iadog's intervention. One understood immediately what Iadog's orders were and how to implement them, and stood impatiently as Fejjahd listened to instructions. Kamend merely wished to begin the duties assigned as soon as possible.

Fejjahd, in turn, listened with growing wonder at the description of duties given the other two and then to one's own duties. The Eastern Clans would certainly go through a period of intense rehabilitation to be able to meet the new reality that this Iadog represented. Fejjahd was a wizened figure, far older than was normal for the People. One's remaining eyestalk was wrinkled and had a bluish-gray skin denoting advanced age, and Fejjahd had reached that age because the day to day life of an outcast had not been allowed to affect one's mind. It had other things to do, being constantly active hatching new ideas and improving upon old ones. Scraps of food gathered during the day were barely tasted as thoughts strayed first to this planned project or that newly perceived concept. This undoubtedly saved much internal distress, as any serious contemplation of the food thus gathered would have resulted in judging it fit for no other purpose than filling a garbage heap. Iadog barely finished speaking, before Fejjahd started voicing questions.

"This Temple, Truthsayer, how large should it be and of what shape? Will you require thick walls, or none at all? Should it include living quarters for more than yourself, or is it to be your place alone? Do you will there to be a solid roof, or one open to the sky? How should I..."

"Hold, Fejjahd, hold!" Iadog smiled at the old one. "These things will be discussed between us when the time is right. Just now, I must speak to the People. Will you excuse me?"

Fejjahd, realizing how inappropriate the questions had been, managed enough embarrassment to turn one's carapace a sickly green, but it didn't last long. It was very difficult to hold one's tongue when there was so much to plan.

The People had been straining to catch every word said by or to the golden being in their midst. When Fejjahd used the word 'Truthsayer' it caught in the ears of those nearby and spread from there to the people who had used it before. Soon it was to the farthest groups waiting outside the square and beyond. It had a ring of rightness about it and before long its repetition began to take on the aspect of a chant. The word repeated again and again took on a cadence and rose in volume until Iadog, who was about to continue describing duties, was forced to attend to the crowd instead.

Once more, the Tablet was held high in the sky, and Iadog with as much volume as one could muster said, "People of the Eastern Clans! You have much to hear!"

Those in front turned to hush those in the rear and slowly the noise diminished to the point that one could be heard speaking in a loud voice.

"People of the Eastern Clans. This tablet I hold high contains Five Promises. They are made by The Great One. They are made to you and to all of the People of all the Clans both East and West. When the Temple outside the gate is completed you will be the first to hear the Promises. Until then, you must give these three all the support they will require to fulfill their tasks."

Iadog was by then at it full tilt, and had solidly accepted the role as spiritual leader. The speech would last for most of the morning with the masses hanging on to every word.

Finnley sat back in the control chair and glanced over to make sure that the recorder was running properly. He turned the volume down on his head set and smiled to himself. This was really going splendidly; those people in Social Science Section really knew their business. Just like a well-oiled machine, the making of a new Dejan was in progress.

Chapter 11

N'ar N'dan, formerly head assistant to the Chief Priest and now holding no better rank than the newest acolyte, stood on top of the city wall staring out at the New Temple taking shape on the parade grounds. One had kept one's head attached to one's carapace by avoiding that nameless idiot who was now in charge of things. One's luck would not hold forever, and very few were left who could be counted as supporters of the old regime. The weaklings who were left, clearly had no use for N'ar or anyone else hanging on to the old ways. Old ways, what a laugh, up until a half year ago they were the usual ways. Now, everything was Truthsayer this and Truthsayer that, N'ar mentally spit out the name.

This escapee from the middle ranks of the army, who now wore a gold cape and gave orders had called the Chief Priest, who N'ar had been counting on to die at any time giving way to a normal advancement of rank, a charlatan and pretender. So far as N'ar was concerned those very words applied equally well to this Truthsayer. Thousands of years of tradition were being poured into the cesspit. Someone had to stop this nonsense before the Eastern Clans lost their roots entirely. No, not someone, N'ar N'dan must put a stop to this nonsense and assume the role that one had trained for. This Truthsayer must have some weakness one could exploit; one that could be enlarged to a catastrophe. It was only a matter of discovery, action, reaction, and then, N'ar N'dan would be able to assume the position of Chief Priest just as had been ordained by Tradition. One might even improve on those traditions in a different manner, nothing so obvious as this Truthsayer's actions more, subtle, dark and quiet things that happened late at night. Take for instant these mutants and disgraced warriors that made up the bulk of the Truthsayer's entourage, it would be better for them and for the Clan if they were simply put out of their misery instead of being allowed to trudge along on the outskirts of civilization. Yes, that was one change that would be made for certain.

The night passed slowly for N'ar, and it seemed as if the vigil this night like all the others would yield no useful intelligence. Not that sleep would have come in any event, one's insides were constantly churning these days as anger and hate vied for lead role. N'ar knew that one was dangerously close to becoming a casualty of one's own gastric juices, but could not stop. Not until the means of ridding the Clan of the Truthsayer was discovered. In this, the one hundred twenty-first night of one's solitary watch the walls of the New Temple had reached the height of completion. The three pillars that formed the corners of the structure were taller than the city's walls, and had been topped with wide, flat platforms so that from this vantage N'ar could no longer see the top surface. Utterly ridiculous. What possible use could these structures be put to? They were certainly sturdy looking. Perhaps during one's rule some sort of use could be found for them. The designs that graced the walls of the pillars were rather attractive as well, although also totally without purpose. Dejans at work at a variety of tasks for the betterment of the Clans, it was said. Foolish, but attractive. N'ar wondered who in the Clan had been found to be capable of rendering such lifelike works. The steady glow from the many oil-burning urns that were spaced along the stretch of foundation between pillars permitted the study of the designs even at night. That was another foolishness, and a waste of resources. Oil was expensive to collect. The urns were spaced so closely that one could not see between them into the interior of the otherwise open structure. That was the principal reason for N'ar's choice of observation location, it provided enough height to see over the urns and well into the interior of the so-called New Temple.

Not that there was much to observe. Every day was similar to the day before. The Truthsayer's growing cadre of helpers came by until twilight to receive instructions for the following day and then left. Afterward Iadog would follow an established routine, first removing a strangely shaped container from under a sleeping pallet and consuming some of its contents; then laying down on a plain bed and to all appearances sleeping until dawn. N'ar had wondered more than once if that container was more important than it seemed. Did it contain the Truthsayer's source of strength? Would the contents be equally useful to N'ar? Soon, and one would find out.

N'ar judged it to be nearly time for the sun to start showing over the ocean horizon to the East. The false dawn would soon waken the false prophet and the whole sickening business would start again. More changes for the Clan. More destruction of the Old Ways. More of one's followers meeting the Claw. N'ar was about to turn away and return to the secret corner of the Temple where the day would pass in sleepless discomfort. And, in hunger. Fewer followers meant less food smuggled in to feed upon.

The peripheral vision of one eye caught the bright flash of a meteorite.

"Good Fortune!" Snarled the former next Chief Priest, but then came to a sudden halt. Just before burning out, as N'ar had known it would, the Burning Spear of the Great One did a very strange thing. It seemed to veer sharply to one side. N'ar turned to stare at the spot where the light had been last seen. Something was there; at first nothing more than a speck, easily overlooked. Then it seemed to grow in size until it was a large as a lesser claw, N'ar began to feel fear. It was coming directly toward the New Temple. One felt the urge to run and hide, but could not move. It got larger still, the size of a person, the size of one of the oil burning urns, the size of a dwelling. Finally, it seemed to stop, and it hovered in the sky directly above the New Temple. Behaving in a most peculiar fashion it hovered in turn over each of the flat-topped pillars. N'ar could not see what happened at those places, but it did not take long. Then the thing descended into the open top of the Temple and hovered over the sleeping form of the Truthsayer. A sort of long appendage descended and deposited another of those strangely shaped containers next to the pallet. More Food of the Great One for the Truthsayer!

At that moment, N'ar nearly became a believer. An emissary from the Great One had visited the One's emissary, leaving gifts! A nagging in the more rational part of N'ar's mind struggled though past the clog of irrational faith. Some part of what had been seen was wrong, but it was difficult to know just what part. N'ar's incipient devotion to the new order gave way to suspicion. The emissary looked alien, too artificial; why wasn't it say, one of the winged beings said to inhabit the Great One's Place above? The object meanwhile had disappeared, where it had gone was a mystery. N'ar thought that some additional reflection on this matter might be in order.

If Iadog had been awake at the time and still retained memory of the event, the sphere would have been recognized as being identical to the vehicle that had picked one up at the start of the trip to Terra, and deposited one back in the same desolate spot in the desert upon return from University. As it was, there was no reason to believe that the new bottle of Tummie Numbies hadn't been delivered by Finnley's spirit in the same fashion the first bottle, which had been emptied just the day before. Iadog was disappointed that the spirit had not remained to discuss progress., but perhaps that was still prohibited by the Great Prophet. There had been a great deal of progress, but the course taken and objective of that progress were still matters of mystery to Iadog . And then there were problems of a more understandable sort. Just the day before, Kamend had reported to Iadog that one of the still-missing higher priests of the old regime was causing problems. Apparently that one was making the rounds of army officers and upper class families, planting hints and rumors about the new religion. Nothing one could lay a claw on, but all supporting the contention that Iadog was the False Prophet of scripture. If that agent provocateur had been found early and dealt with, no great harm would have been done. But, now every day that rumors spread unchecked made the final conversion of the People a more difficult goal to achieve. Finnley had said that such a thing was very likely to happen, but had not offered any solution to deal with the problem. Iadog would have liked to question the Finnley Spirit on these matters, but one supposed that it was going to be left to one's abilities alone.

Iadog pursued normal duties during that day. The New Temple was now complete, and workers engaged in its construction had been reassigned to other projects. Iadog found much to one's surprise that many of the classes taken against one's will at the Terran school had practical applications. Considering the grades one earned at the end of those classes it was equally surprising that so much of the course content remained committed to memory. The design of the irrigation system serving the huge new communal farms seemed to spring full-blown from memory, for example, even down to the design of simple but effective flow valves and aqueducts. Iadog had noticed that the normally docile and subdued peasants who now farmed those plots, were beginning to regard one with something approaching awe. The numerous labor-saving devices devised by Fejjahd, and installed at Iadog's insistence were proving to be very popular also. Already the improvement in quantity and quality of foodstuffs was noticeable. The lower classes found spare time for the first time in memory, but were quickly learning how to fill it with activities that might have been prohibited under the old regime. The upper classes, of course, found very little of value in the watering system. There had always been a surplus of peasants who had no better ways to occupy their time.

Middle class merchants and manufacturers were no less impressed by the changes that had been instituted in steam engine technology. Where one primitive machine had struggled to produce one thing or another over the space of hours, the new improved machines produced tens or hundreds in less time. Already a revered, if somewhat feared, person, Iadog was beginning to be seen as a hero as well.

The upper classes were a different story. All of the new ideas and radical changes hadn't improved their lives measurably. They had always had the best of food and goods; that no one else could afford. This tendency toward improving the lot of the middle and lower classes might prove to be dangerous in the long run. A sense of unease grew amongst them like mildew in a flooded storage room, and the rumors circulating about the Truthsayer were taken to heart and encouraged to grow.

Chapter 12

Finnley was keeping a busy as possible to help pass the time. Unfortunately, in his automated environment, it was only necessary to say aloud what needed to be done, and it was. The basics of his technological environment were a mystery to him, and making the big display that was coming up would have been impossible if he'd had to do it on his own. The machine had it set to go in minutes. Finnley hadn't been assigned this job for his technical prowess, however, but rather for his apparently innate ability to meld with very different individuals. He had an empathy that one could not get by training. That was likely why watching Iadog's progress was actually a good deal more interesting than he had thought it would be at the start of this project. He'd been warned not to spend too much time in this way, he might develop an unhealthy attachment for the subject that would prevent objective evaluation of options. Leave it to the machines they had said. He couldn't help it, Iadog was sort of a likable fellow for a repulsive barbarian. Besides, he was really impressed by the improvements that Iadog had thought up and implemented all on his own since becoming the number one guy.

So he was a useless appendage so far as the technology went, but had been surprised to find that the playacting suited him. It was great fun, actually. True, he was slightly ashamed of how Iadog was being used as an unwitting foil. One the other hand, he didn't see how it could have been done so quickly otherwise. It was one of those ends justify the ta-da ta-da. Still, if the Social Science projections held up, there was a time coming soon when things would heat up for his old schoolmate, and there weren't any guarantees that Iadog would survive the flames. If the Dejanian did fail the result would be a disaster not only for Iadog but for the master plan for Dejan, as well.

Finnley returned to his console and turned up the volume on the sensor in Iadog's carapace. The day was going along as most of them had lately. New things and new ideas cropping up every day. The whole process of technological advance of the Eastern Clans had become self-feeding. The more new stuff came on stream the more people invented spin offs. That one called Fejjahd was a walking gold mine of ideas, kind of a Dejanian DaVinci. Iadog spent more time trying to keep that one's imagination under control than with any other lieutenant. But, what ideas they were! Just the day before, Fejjahd had brought in a piece of parchment that had been folded into a delta shape and had spent the morning with Iadog floating the thing back and forth between them. Finally, Iadog had asked what practical purpose it would serve and Fejjahd hadn't been able to give a good answer. Finnley had been relieved, if Iadog had managed to get a glimpse of a Terran aircraft they would probably now be plotting the birth of a Dejanian Air Force.

Finnley had caught the report given by Kamend about the rumors circulating amongst the upper classes of the city, and even though that had been taken into account in planning it still kicked up his feeling of unease another notch. He wished that he were allowed to contact Iadog at least one more time, but had been refused by the boss. "Leave it be," they had said, "it is all taken care of." Iadog would just have to muddle through somehow. The plan permitted contact only at specific times, and that time was not now. Finnley had long given up understanding every nuance of the plan. Social Science people had a maddening habit of lapsing into advanced statistical formulae at the slightest provocation. Listening to them, he was lost in a matter of seconds.

Finnley sat musing about one red head in the Social Science Section who was as difficult to understand as the rest, but a good deal easier to listen to when one of the mass sensors atop the new temple squawked. A large number of the cities inhabitants were moving on the building. Finnley felt a chill run up his spine. It sure wasn't Sunday down there; this many people moving could only be trouble. Finley pushed the alert button, bringing Social Science into the net and turned on every sensor available. Since the New Temple had been thoroughly bugged during construction that included several hundred of them.

Numerous vid cameras came to life along with directional microphones, and Finnley not only saw but heard that the crown swelling in numbers outside the New Temple looked and sounded angry. More people were streaming out through the city gate to join the throng, but it was a peculiar gathering. Nearly all of the people were upper class civilians or ranking army officers. This was it, alright; this was the showdown.

A brief consultation with Social Sciences confirmed his evaluation, and he was given the go ahead. Finnley reached out and depressed the "Activate" button for Probe 2-A, and sent it on its way.

Chapter 13

Iadog had been pacing up and down the length of the sleeping quarters while listening to the last few reports of the day nearing its end. Everything was going so smoothly that it was becoming boring. This business of ruling a large population was a grinding task involving endless massaging of details while tracking minutiae. Not at all like being out in the open, fending off attackers and taking orders. It had sort of been enjoyable when Iadog had been the only one coming up with ideas, but now everyone was doing it, and one's job was to sort out and approve those which would go forward...details, details, details. Allocation of Responsibility had been one class too many back on Terra; Iadog had been maxed out at the time and academics were interfering with business down at Cap Rodger's.

One was half-listening to Fejjahd, while daydreaming about the short-lived glory days of not so long ago when a deep droning impinged on one's consciousness. Iadog stopped pacing suddenly, and tried to focus attention on the noise. Fejjahd, noticing the sudden loss of an audience joined in trying to sort it out, and was the first to recognize the cause.

"It is the People, Truthsayer! There is trouble!"

A small ripple in Iadog's scales signaled a trace of fear of the unknown.

"Go see, Fejjahd. Go see what the trouble is."

Iadog needn't have bothered to issue the order. Trouble came in through the beaded curtains that covered the doorway to the sleeping chamber in the form of two Dejanians approaching side by side. Iadog recognized the one as Qaat's former superior, but the other was unknown. That one was dressed in the manner of a high priest of the former religious order, and it was not hard to guess. This was undoubtedly the rumor-spreader. Here, indeed, was trouble.

The pair wasted no words, and the military person called in adjutants and issued a sharp command, whereupon they grabbed Iadog roughly in a manner that pinned both sets of claws to the side and hustled their prisoner out into the open. The waiting crowd had been primed for Iadog's appearance and immediately began to call for blood. It was a nasty scene, and Iadog understood that one would be fortunate to live any great amount of time beyond this moment. Iadog was to meet the same fate as the Chief Priest had not so very long ago, but there was considerable doubt that one would make it as far as the Claw before being torn limb from limb by the crowd.

N'ar N'dan had remained behind in the sleeping chamber, there was something that needed investigation. Alone, the priest looked under the sleeping pallet and found the expected container wrapped in Iadog's sleeping cloak. One could not resist this opportunity, whatever this was it was clearly the source of Iadog's strength. N'ar struggled with the top unsuccessfully, and finally resorted to nipping off the top with a claw. The tablets within looked innocuous enough, but small things sometimes held great power. N'ar did not think twice before downing the entire contents. Then N'ar went outside to claim one's rightful place as religious leader of the Eastern Clans.

One was pleased with the sight that greeted one's eyes in the open courtyard of the New Temple. The large crowd of upper class clanspeople and army officers were raising cries for the False Prophet's head. Far to the rear, an even larger crowd of merchants and peasants were hanging back watching the proceedings. It was clear that they did not like what was going on, but one knew these people, they would not interfere.

Things would revert to their proper order as soon as this so-called Truthsayer could say no more. That time would now be very soon, but first one had to establish the proper ownership of the High Priest title. Nodding to the ranking officer in charge of the arrest squad, N'ar mounted the steps of a platform that had been hurriedly erected in the New Temple Square.

As N'ar stood looking out over the mob in front of the platform a gradual recognition of his person swept the crowd and noise subsided. They were waiting for the formal charge of crime and issue of sentence. N'ar felt better than at any recent time in one's life. Even one's stomachs were calm and the normal fiery churning had subsided. N'ar felt wonderful, this was truly one's day. N'ar yawned hugely, and supposed that all those nights without sleep were finally catching up.

"People of the Eastern Clans," N'ar began, "you have been led astray by this False Prophet at my feet. This one had brought you to the very edge of ruin. This one has caused the killing of the Chief Priest without trial or reason, and has attempted to poison your minds even as the traditions of the people have been destroyed. Those who have given the Light of the Great One to each of you through words and ministrations have been murdered. If this one were to go unchecked, the very fabric of our Clan would be destroyed and we would be open to attack by the heathens who are our enemies! What punishment is great enough for this destroyer?"

As if rehearsed, a cry went up from the crowd. "The Claw! The Claw!"

N'ar gave a grim smile of satisfaction, and yawned again. Great One, but one was tired! Even the anger of the crowd failed to rouse one. N'ar fought to remember what one had meant to say to this gathering, but thoughts were slow to come. N'ar's eyestalks began to droop, and the next attempt at speech came out as incomprehensible mumbles. Suddenly, as if taken from behind N'ar dropped to the floor of the platform and lay still.

The crowd stirred restlessly, the Priest was gone from sight and not even those in the front could make out what had happened. Only N'ar's inert form lying there, helpless and powerless could be seen. The idea that perhaps not all was right, began to grow. N'ar had been struck down in the middle of charging the False Prophet. Or, was the prophet truly false? What or who had down the striking down? Iadog was still firmly in grasp of study looking warriors.

In an attempt to rescue the situation, the army officer who had accompanied N'ar climbed the stairs onto the platform. Someone must take control, as it was clear that their hold on the crowd was fading rapidly. And, there seemed to be movement in the rear as lower class persons dared creep closer. The Officer, one Thenth M'dar, stepped forward and attempted to hide the fallen form of Nar N'dan from view.

"People of the clan," Thenth began, "N'ar N'dan, the courageous one who has sought to save you from yourselves, has been temporarily overcome by the Glory of the Deed we have accomplished today! I will continue in N'ar's stead until that one is able to resume leading you in the Ways of Truth! Do not mistake that one's present state for weakness. If you knew of the tireless efforts that one has made to bring you to salvation, you would understand. For now, we must follow that one's lead and rid ourselves of this low-born imposture!"

Thenth pointed at Iadog, and those in the crowd did not have any doubt of who to blame. The officer's speech had brought some of the blood lust back, but the yells from the crowd were somewhat ragged and far from universal. There appeared to be some cause for doubt that the proper course was being followed. Thenth was about to resume the harangue, when a gasp ran through the crowd. It appeared to be in response to something happening behind one. Thenth glanced back at the supine form of the priest, no that wasn't it. Thenth tried then to organize thoughts, for a reasoned argument, or failing that a stern order. Strange, the day was becoming less bright, but there was not a cloud in the sky. Not even a wisp. The light was fading all the same. Thenth turned to look in the direction of the sun. Most of it was covered by a black disc, and it was getting bigger. The horrible growth obscured the sun nearly entirely, and only diffuse light crept around the edges. The black disc continued to grow threatening to engulf the entire sky, until darkness was virtually complete. Cries of fear and confusion grew louder as the crowd came out of its stupor.

Then it was gone. More quickly than it had appeared the black mass seemed to be rent apart, and the abrupt reappearance of the sun left many blinded for moments. The darkness had lasted for the short time it took to draw a dozen breaths, but it left everyone stunned and terrified. From far back in the crowd, where the merchants and peasants stood, one loud voice cut through the murmuring.

"It is the Promise of the Great One! The Truthsayer did not lie! It is the Third Promise come true!"

The idea caught on like a blaze in desert saltbush. The merchants and peasants, emboldened by the revelation, fought through the crowd of their betters toward the front. The upper class Clanspeople were pushed roughly aside, as if they were no better than peasants. Soon more that half the mass of people in the front ranks were lower class. This had happened so quickly that the military, who were supposed to be keeping the lower classes under control, were swept along with them instead. A new anger arose. This time directed towards the figure of authority holding center stage.

Thenth did not require anyone to draw a picture. The slink had turned on the hunter, and seemed to have grown teeth. The recent miracle was pushed to the rear of one's mind in favor of finding a scheme to escape this new disaster. Jumping from the platform, Tenth unsheathed a short claw and held it beneath Iadog's mandible. The threat was unmistakable and held the crowd at bay. Thenth slowly backed into the curtained room where Iadog had been arrested, keeping Iadog as a shield against the angry crowd. Several junior officers joined in the retreat, but not as many as one would have expected. The rest melted into the crowd, and disappeared from view. Cowards, Thenth thought.

Once out of view of the mob, Thenth tried to regain composure. One had run! Like a Fifth Class novice warrior in one's first armed combat, one had turned and run! Worse, one had used a living shield, surely the most disgraceful behavior possible. Thenth no longer had the will to hold Iadog prisoner, and let the short claw drop to one's side. The officers who had joined in retreat could not look at each other, they too, recognized the disgraceful conduct for what it was. The one of two who could look Thenth in the eyes, wore expressions of contempt, until one's returned stare reminded them of a very similar behavior on their part. They joined their companions in contemplation of the packed earthen floor.

Iadog had been in a near trance all through the ordeal, even through the darkening of the sun. After a moment's fear at the outset, one had recognized the utter helplessness of one's situation and had resolved to meet fate head on, with the full measure of dignity expected from an emissary of the Great One. Once Thenth had released one's grasp had Iadog become reanimated, and turned to face one's former captors.

"People of my Clan, you have erred. It is not the way of the Great One to seek vengeance upon those who do wrong because they are ignorant of the True Way. That is the Second Promise. It was given to all people of all clans. You are no exceptions. However, you are no longer ignorant, and it is up to you to choose your own paths. You may die following the old ways, or you may choose to join your clanmates outside in forging a new Clan that will circle Dejan from East to West."

Thenth, looked up at Iadog. This was a tempting offer, but one's entire life had been spent living the old ways, and it had been a good life to this point. As a ranking officer, one was accorded the best that the Eastern Clans had to give. Changing directions would require leaving all the perks behind, but the sounds of the crowd outside reminded one that there might be very few options. With the choice boiled down to change or certain death, Thenth played for more time.

"Truthsayer, if you truly are, I am not one who makes such decisions on a moment's notice, and must give this thought. I ask you not to do anything that will make me act in an unwise manner. You must, ...you will please stay in here with us for the time being."

Without responding, Iadog grasped the Tablet, which had been left lying on a nearby table in both claws and held it aloft once more. Iadog closed one's eyes and stood rock-still. Thenth stared at the figure for a moment and then shuddered. It really was unnatural. The effect of Iadog's words on the junior officers was more dramatic, another half of them turned and walked out of the enclosure to join the waiting crowd. After giving assurance that Iadog had not yet been harmed, they were ignored to wait in silence.

So the remainder of the day passed. The crowd, silent but watchful, stood outside the New Temple. Inside, the statue that was Iadog, kept its place. The officers who had remained inside searched for their private answers. N'ar N'dan slept on, atop the platform, ignored by all. In time, N'ar's drug-induced coma would be interpreted as death, and last rites would be given. The assumed corpse would be placed in a dhow made of woven reeds and set adrift far out on the ocean after being set fire.

Nightfall, found the crowd of quiet but watchful Clanspeople still in place around their New Temple. Their numbers had grown during the day as more middle class finished the day's work and peasants coming from the field found a better use of time than sitting down to a meager meal. These people had been the first beneficiaries of the Truthsayer's new ways, and the outcome of this event would bear greatly on their futures.

The restrained tension of the massed people was tremendous. The next stage would, by its nature, either propel the Eastern Clans into a totally unheard of social organism on the planet or would tear the society of the Eastern Clans apart. Finnley, in his small orbiting capsule, and the Social Science Section by remote transmission, held their collective breaths. On such a small matter as the life or death of one native would their plans either fail or succeed. Small jokes were made by the most nervous among them, but they fell on unreceptive ears.

On the planet, nothing changed with the full darkness. Officers inside the Temple still struggled with self debate, the crowd could not or would not go home, and Iadog remained still as a statue. There was no guidance available to any of them, and they were left for the first time in their lives to make their own decisions. Thenth, alone, had nearly reached a decision. The way out of an impossible situation was to simply end it. One would kill every one in the room and then oneself. Thenth slowly steeled oneself to do the task when another gasp rose from the crowd outside. Perhaps an answer had been given after all, Thenth and the remaining junior officers rushed outside to find if salvation had come.

At the moment calculated by far off machines, when darkness was complete on this part of Dejan, small noises from atop the three pillars of the New Temple announced the connection of circuits. Noises far below the threshold of hearing of the crowd below resulted in visual display they could not miss. The crowd looked upward into the darkness lit by a scattering of distant stars and perceived a glowing, but insubstantial mist gathering above their heads. In the center, something of slightly greater substance seemed to be forming amongst a random flickering, as if a thousand sparks from a fire were igniting in the sky. Unnoticed by a spellbound mass, Iadog slowly made one's way outside the Temple and mounted the platform. At the top, eyes once more open and standing over N'ar's inert form, Iadog once more raised the Tablet on high and extended the chain between claws; and waited.

Gradually the masses noticed Iadog's presence and a wave of sibilant releases of breath announced their recognition that the Truthsayer was once more free. But, not even Iadog could long compete with the light display above. Something great, something basic in nature, something directly tied to their very existence was occurring. Iadog might be part of it, but no longer was the Truthsayer all of it.

Slowly, the thousand sparks coalesced. There was something almost at the edge of recognition forming.

Suddenly, a cry from the Crowd.

"It's an Eye!"

And it was. One eye, gradually assuming its shape atop a magnificently colored eyestalk. It was huge. The size of a house, but it was certainly an eye. The materialization seemed to be speeding up, a second eye joined the first, and then a mouth. Now it took only seconds and there was an entire face, a huge face the size of the old temple. The eyes looked at each one in the crowd individually and seemed to judge each one in turn. A shudder ran though the People of the Eastern Clan. This was the Forth Promise come to pass. This was the Great One.

Then came the Voice. It was like no voice ever heard before. It did not come to ear holes alone, it caused the entire body to vibrate in sympathy, as if one's carapace would loosen and fall to the dirt. It was not possible to ignore that voice.

"People of the Eastern Clans, why have you not followed my call? I Promised First that I would send an emissary. That one stands before you even now. I Promised Second that you would be given a New Way, and the emissary has shown that to you. I Promised Third that you would be forgiven past faults, if you would but follow the New Way. There you have failed, you have imprisoned my emissary and would destroy that one and the New Way together. Now I fulfill the Fourth Promise, and come before you to give warning of your peril. It is your path to choose which part of the Fifth Promise will come to pass, to follow the New Way or to Perish!"

The voice vibrated through bodies long after the apparition had vanished. They stood staring into the sky, once more returned to blackness with a scattering of distant stars. Even those who had fallen to the ground from fear stared into the sky. All. All, except Iadog, whose voice came as if in a dream. Strong, but like a gentle mist compared to the voice of the Great One. It compelled them to listen.

"People of the Eastern Clan. Hear me now. Go to your homes and think upon what you have heard. Choose your way, old or New. Choose between the slow death of the old way and Promise of the New Way, but choose! The Holy Day comes near. At sunrise three days hence, your choice will be recorded. As the Great One will know which choice lies in your mind, no ceremony will be required. You will either join me to live the New Way, or you will show your choice by putting me to the Claw. Go now."

Chapter 14

Finnley found it impossible to join in the exuberance transmitted afar from the Social Science Section. It wasn't just his isolation that kept him to a sober demeanor. He had been increasingly bothered by the methods being used to force the Dejanians into line. He could not argue that it was not for their own good, and things had gone relatively well, after all. It had not taken one day, let alone three, before the Eastern Clan sent representatives to Iadog to beg for leadership in the New Way. If things continued on this course, it would not be that long in the galactic course of things, that Dejan would join the interstellar community as a junior member. They would progress rapidly then, and in a short time compared to what had gone before, divisive religious beliefs would be left behind in favor of rational thought.

It was the manipulation that Finnley did not care for. He still had no alternative that would have worked so well or so quickly as the Social Science plan, but it still felt wrong somehow. He wished he could beg Iadog's forgiveness for tricking him into beliefs that were wholly based on falsehoods.

Finnley had been curious about who had fist come up with the plan. When he asked, they told him that they didn't know. In fact, they had no way of knowing. The machine had spit it out as the preferred course of action after all the data relating to Dejan had been entered. It was wrong, they said, to try and find someone to take credit for such a success. It was the result of many minds working over many years, while utilizing the most advanced statistical formulations and modeling. Finnley had noticed a slight embarrassment then, as if their tool had gotten away from them and they really did not understand just how it worked any longer. When pressed on the point they had been incensed; how dare he suggest that the outcome was not the direct result of their competence. Did they not, after all, program the machine? Was it not, then, merely an extension of their mentalities?

Finnley had ended the communication with the feeling that they, not he, were missing part of the picture. It was time to settle into routine. Two more years of observation before the replacement came to take over. Finnley could feel the sense of comradeship with Iadog slipping away. All that would be done now, barring some disaster below, was to watch and report. He wondered if he would survive the boredom.

Chapter 15

For the billionth, billionth time so far as such things might be measured, like the leading end of an infinite slinky, the leading cloud of the entity established a focal point in the next galactic mass in the rotation. In an interval beyond measuring by conventional time and space the compression built to a climax. A notation was made that indicated all was going according to plan, with minor side notes for possible tweaks, after evaluation of probable results were any implemented. The compression reached its peak, but a slight hesitation occurred in the smallest part of time before expansion began, and a small, subordinate part of the entity devoted to the study of anomalies made a rare notation of its own. When queried by the lead nexus in the next instant the reply made was "External transient event, cause unknown. Query to evaluation segment, element of humor detected. Meaning?"

...getting hung up in a native's laundry can ruin one's long range plans.

Hetzie and the Speedball

Hetzie looked up at the flickering wall lamp, wondering if it would go out again. She was used to the transient troubles of a rural power supply after six years on the "Ranch", but five or six every day plus who knew how many at night while she slept was a bit too much.

The people at the Co-Op office claimed to be unable to find a cause for the power surges that invariably blew the circuit breakers, and were exhibiting a growing suspicion of her claims. Let 'en suck eggs. If it kept up, she'd go out and buy that diesel generator she'd been thinking about, now that she could afford it. Convinced that the light would continue burning a while, she leaned back in the chair, stretched out her six-foot frame as far as it would go and yawned. Reading dry technical material might be part of the job, but it would never be the enjoyable part. She longed to take a break and get out amongst other people. She couldn't even do that, since the truck was down for repairs. "No need to call Ma'am, we'll let you know when it's ready." Yeah, sure.

Lacking easy options, she lapsed into daydreaming about her lifestyle again. She was proud of herself. It had taken the better part of five long and hungry years to get were she was. The hardest part of building her technical editing business up from scratch had been sinking every penny of her savings into the top-of-the-line computer. The new electronics made the job easier, but were maddening, too. The last few days had seen fifteen thousand words go down the drain during power outages. Even the backup had failed. Now, two weeks behind schedule, she would have to go back to the original author's memory stick and start all over. Somehow, the editing never seemed to go as well the second time around.

Annoyed that the power problem had worked its way into her normally pleasant daydreams, she pushed herself away from the keyboard and went to the kitchen for a cup of instant something or other. On the way, she paused at the window to see if another storm was brewing. That might explain the flickering lamp. She felt the hairs on her neck raise at her first glimpse of the eerie sight outside. The orange light of sundown washed over the lawn, giving surrealistic hues to the landscaping. Midway between the house and the utility pole, where her laundry line crossed the yard, something was moving. It was a wispy, translucent form without definite shape. It changed constantly, rippling, stretching, and streaming. It was almost like a bed sheet caught in the wind, except she had no laundry out, and you couldn't see through a bed sheet.

Slowly, as if fighting an unseen, but overwhelming force, the phantom shape stretched upward towards the power line. It dawned on Hetzie that the apparition might be the cause of those power surges. She left the house and cautiously approached, ready to dive for cover at a moment's warning. She found it to be attractive in a way, despite her fear. Its surface had a peculiar texture and was filled with swirling, iridescent pastel bands. It had nearly touched the power line by the time she got to within a few meters. Its writhing gave the impression of agony, and at that moment she knew without doubt that she was witnessing a life and death struggle. If it touched the power line, whatever it was, it would die.

She fought the impulse to act. Surely it was nothing more than swamp gas, but a panic rose just the same. She looked around for something to abort the connection between the now violently flashing form and the power line. Without giving thought to consequences, she picked up a roll of bailing wire left over from mending the barbed wire fence and threw it. The wire was still on an upward track when she realized just how disastrous her action might be. She'd made it halfway back to the house when she heard the end of the roll hit the ground.

Hetzie was a strong girl, born to ranch life on a remote patch of dry grassland in the middle of Wyoming. More than once while growing up she'd pitched bails of hay with her brothers. Sometimes, she just didn't realize just how strong she was, although a number of former boyfriends could have given embarrassed testimony to the facts of the matter. The roll of bailing wire had sailed up and way over her intended target, clearing the power line by a few meters. The end of the roll had come down nearly simultaneously with the connection of its mid-portion with the power line, bringing immediate results.

As Hetzie turned to the noise of the wire hitting ground, she saw the wraith-like form snap loose of its loosing tug-of-war and shoot to the ground like a rubber band from a thumb. She watched in fascination as the thin sheet changed rapidly. First it rebounded into an amorphous mass and then sprung out into an ovoid. Finally, it shaped itself into a perfect sphere. The swirling bands of color, now shot through with sparkles, irresistibly drew her back. Back to within a couple of arms lengths.

The thing shook itself like a wet dog. Hetzie jumped, and retreated a few steps. Then, when the thing didn't make any more sudden moves, she approached again. It was compelling to look at; the sphere was becoming more organized in its surface patterns. It kind of looked like pictures she'd seen of Jupiter, great spot and all. Then the great spot resolved itself into an eye. She'd almost expected it, and wasn't particularly surprised, until it blinked. At the same time, a sinus-like pressure built up in her head and the sphere thought at her.

"Greetings, I have come to annihilate you."

Hetzie couldn't help it, she thought back, "I beg your pardon?"

"Regrets. We do not honor pardons. Prepare to be expunged."

Utterly confused, she couldn't think straight enough to turn and run. Instead, she stood dumbfounded and in mounting horror as the surface of the sphere began to pulsate in one spot, now a deep red in color. A fraction of a second later, a burst of glowing plasma emerged from the throbbing surface and leapt towards her. In the following fraction of a second, the brightly glowing stream veered to one side and struck the dangling bailing wire. It burst into thousands of shining motes, which swirled about the bailing wire, very much like an upside-down whirlwind. The spinning firestorm stretched upward toward the power line, and upon reaching it spit into two segments which raced in opposite directions down the line. The house lights brightened momentarily, but this time the surge didn't throw the breaker.

The Sphere reacted before she could even begin to gather her thoughts.

"Most Clever, your energy trap has disarmed me. As you planned, I am also its captive. I await destruction. As a warrior, I claim right to speedy execution."

"Why should I kill you? I just saved you from the power line. While we're on the subject, why do you want me dead?"

"Is that your term for the incredibly inefficient and poorly insulated conductor of free electrons above me? It is an apt term for a trap. As for your second question, it is what we do. Your first question is a puzzlement to me, for every living thing lives off the death of another. Why then should you wish to preserve me alive? Most likely to gain some satisfaction therefrom, perhaps in the form of torture. My puzzlement arises from the knowledge that you must know there things, but still have asked the question. However, further explanation on your part would almost certainly be tedious and serve no purpose, therefore I repeat my request for speedy termination."

"I can't do that."

The Sphere seemed to deflate. "Just my fortune, a sadist. Are all natives in this dimension like you? If so, our invasion is in serious trouble."

"Invasion?" Hetzie stammered, "How many of you are there? Why do you want to invade our planet? We've never done anything to you! Have we?" Suddenly she was unsure, who knew what the government was up to, or what damage those space probes might have done. Maybe there had been a space crash.

The Sphere replied instantly, "What has that to do with anything? You exist. We can reach you. Therefore, you must be exterminated. I've already explained this to you once. Are you also mentally deficient?"

Hetzie was taken aback by the Sphere's reply. Could such a ruthless race exist? She realized that the thing really was held captive and harmless somehow by the accidental construct of bailing wire. Near as she could tell, that was a marvelous piece of luck for the human race. A new thought suddenly came to mind, and she sought a mental pathway back to the Sphere.

"Sphere, I don't know why you are so concerned. Surely, your comrades will soon arrive to set you free."

The Sphere burned with a reddish-orange glow, "I was mistaken, you are something much worse than a sadist. As any being can plainly see, I am occupying the gateway between my former dimension and the one in which I now reside. How do you expect another being to occupy the same space as I do?"

Hetzie didn't see anything much resembling a gate. She decided to risk another question.

"Sphere, why don't you simply escape my trap by returning to your former dimension?

The Sphere's eye had not left off staring at her, and now seemed to widen in surprise.

"Perhaps you are not so advanced as I surmised from your masterful construct. In which case, the Universe would be well rid of your race. There are more than enough clever races already, no matter which dimension one is in. Second-rate civilizations are not readily welcomed. I digress. My return is impossible without artificial aid. Such assistance would be possible only after technicians follow the Warrior shock wave. Since you have already killed more than forty of my predecessors and captured me within the Gate, it is clear that such help will not be forthcoming. Now, I repeat my demand for execution. This torture has gone on long enough."

Hetzie pondered what she had learned. She'd certainly landed in a fresh cow pie here.

"Sphere, your demand is refused. Obviously, if I release the Gate by causing you to expire, I only invite further invasion. You will remain as a dam."

The Sphere changed color to a dull, blue-gray, and seemed to shrink in upon itself.

"You have discovered my ruse. There is no point in further subterfuge. I conclude that you will keep me alive until other means of blocking the Gate are devised. I request that you install your device and allow me to expire as quickly as possible. Will this be soon?"

Hetzie, having no ready response, asked, "How long can you stay alive as you are?"

She could have sworn that the Sphere shivered then, and turned even a darker, leaden gray.

"Surely you would not be so barbaric! You drain my energy constantly, knowing full well that I am helplessly caught in your trap. Now, now that I lay isolated and abandoned in this alien place you carry torture through a new and hideous level of depravity. You threaten me with an eternity of existence, growing weaker as you watch. By fractions I will deplete my life force...until finally there will be nothing left but a tiny packet of my life force locked within this shell. Too small a reserve to permit motion, not even enough that sensations might filter in from the outside. So small a remnant that even conscious thought might be impossible. What manner of beings are you that such an incarceration might even be contemplated?"

Hetzie shuddered at the mental images that were invading her mind from the Sphere. She almost wanted to feel shame and remorse, but at the same time could not image why she should.

"Well, isn't that yow your kind dies? Gradually running out of energy? At least here you could live to a ripe old age and not worry about dying in battle."

The Sphere once again brightened and expanded to what seemed to be normal size.

"None of our race are treated so unkindly as to be permitted to deteriorate to such a state. When life force drops to half-value, those nearest grant the privilege of extinction. You have thought us inhumane! We would never force a being to live out a life so forlorn as you propose."

The Sphere fell quiet and its color changed from an emotion-charged dull-red to the swirling iridescence Hetzie had come to believe to be normal. She didn't know what to do. Getting help was high on the list, but then she would have to leave the Sphere alone. Shouldn't it be watched every second? Then again, if it did escape, what could she do about it? Nothing. She glanced back every second step on her way to the house, and the phone. Her hopes of assistance evaporated at her first try at dialing out. She couldn't get so much as a dial tone over the low, incessant hissing sound. She left the handset off the cradle, just in case someone might investigate the open line.

What other alternatives were there? Since her own truck was down, she might have walked to the neighbors, but they were out of town. Town, a country crossroads fifteen miles away, might as well be on the moon. By the time she got there on foot, it would be nearly two in the morning. She didn't even want to think about making that trek in the dark. All right then, she would watch the thing until morning, and hope for good luck to happen.

In twenty minutes she had a pot of coffee, a bowl of popcorn and Grandmother's afghan stacked atop a small cot on the front porch. Not that she planned to get any sleep. Who could, with a hostile alien in your front yard?

She startled herself into wakefulness. The coffee stood, cold and untouched on the small table beside the cot. The popcorn had attracted one of the local 'coons, and its crunching had disturbed her slumber. Now that she was awake, it reluctantly shuffled off towards the nearby brush. She was afraid to look, but knew that she had to. The Sphere could be floating inches away, preparing to engulf her in a burst of energy. She forced her head to turn , and the relief she felt at seeing the Sphere still in its place was palpable. The one-quarter moon gave just enough light to let her see her hands. She glanced at her watch; it was just after one in the morning. She had slept half the night!

She got up, feeling chilly in the night air, and walked towards the Sphere. It was moving in its confined space between the strands of bailing wire. It seemed to be tracing and retracing an intricate cloverleaf pattern as it floated, just clearing the freshly mowed lawn. It showed no sign of recognition, even as she came to the spot she'd occupied earlier.

"Sphere? " She though softly. No response. "Sphere, do you hear me?" She tried again, projecting he thoughts more forcefully. The Sphere continued its pattern weaving, but an eye slowly formed on its surface. It slid about on the Sphere's surface, keeping Hetzie in its gaze while it turned its way through the complex dance.

"So, you have returned after all this time. At first, I did not believe you would hold to your threat to keep me penned for all eternity. I have long since come to the opposite conclusion. You are a ruthless being. It my race knew of my torture, I would be hailed as a grand martyr. If I could make them know of the way in which you have destroyed me, yours would be the most hated of all the races in all the Universes."

Hetzie wondered what the Sphere was thinking about. The hatred it its thoughts was nearly a physical thing. She would be dead in an instant if it were free. It had been ruthless before, but now it was a personal hatred.

"Sphere, I don't understand. You seem to have taken my short absence and made it unduly important."

The Sphere left off its pattern and floated quickly to a position as close the Hetzie as its invisible cell would permit.

"Now you toy with me! You are truly a beast! I came to this dimension in youth, prepared to meet the challenges a young warrior might expect. Hopeful of achievements that would lead to respect and leadership. I knew those aspirations were dashed upon my capture. I begged you to end my misery, to save me from a lifetime of reflection upon my failure, but you, you soul-less beast, forced me to the life I feared the most.

Now, you come to taunt me. Now that my energy has decreased by more than half, it is already past the time when I should be accorded a gracious end by my comrades. What have I, instead? An alien monster of a jailer who leaves me in timeless isolation and then returns to make jokes at my expense! If I could free myself, I would use every part of my waning power to exterminate just one of your kind, You!"

Hetzie stumbled backwards from the lashing, she understood that the Sphere conveyed only truth in its thoughts. She had slept half of the Sphere's life away.

"Sphere, Forgive me! I did not know that you lived so quickly. The time which has passed since I saved you from the power line has been very brief to me. I had no way to know that it did not pass at the same rate for you."

Before she had finished thinking, the Sphere had already returned to a state more closely resembling what she thought was normal. She could now see the signs of its aging. It surface was pockmarked and covered with gray splotches. Its eye was misshapen and seemed to lack focus. Even so, she though there might be a hint of mischief in it as the Sphere entered her mind once more.

"I perceive that your thoughts are true. I presumed a greater intelligence on your part. Now that you know the truth, do you not believe that you would have released me, or at least terminated me, long ago?"

"Sphere, in all honesty, I would not have treated you differently had I known. There was no option open to me."

The Sphere's eye flashed in anger, "How then can you ask for forgiveness? You have admitted that you would still have subjected me to this torture regardless had you known of our respective life-rates. I withhold forgiveness. My fruitless and wasted life is upon your conscience."

Hetzie was about to turn and go back to the house, but there was something else she had to know.

"Sphere? I know that you don't have to answer, but I will ask anyway. When the time comes for you to finally fade away, or do whatever it is you will do, will the Gate be opened then? Will others of your race be able to come through?"

The bitter amusement echoed in her mind before the Sphere gave form to its thoughts. "How long did you think they would wait? Two generations have come and gone since my imprisonment. The younger generations have long given up on seeking ingress to this dimension. They have better things to do! The Gate is long sealed and forgotten. I am abandoned in this place-time."

"Sphere," Hetzie persisted, "couldn't they reopen the Gate anytime they wished?"

The Sphere began to trace its pattern once more. "Why should they? There are an infinite number of Gates. Those which present problems are quickly forgotten."

Hetzie returned to visit the Sphere once more that morning. The pitiful shrunken ball could no longer support itself above the ground. It bumped along in an irregular fashion, trying to keep to a pattern of movement within its prison. The Sphere had not replied to her first questions and she had feared that it had tuned her out completely. Only when she had given the mental equivalent of a shout did the Sphere react.

"Eh? Is that you. Why do you whisper your thoughts? Are you ashamed of them? It is you standing there, isn't it?"

Hetzie ran back to the house without replying. The helpless, aged creature she kept in a cage like an animal weighed even more heavily on her mind. She wished it would die, and solve her problem. She glanced into the mirror on the hallway wall. Her face showed her lack of sleep. Her eyes were red, and burning. Her brown hair looked as if it hadn't seen a brush for a month. She glanced out the window at the Sphere. In the sunlight, it looked like an underinflated beach ball. It just sat there, rocking back and forth. She couldn't watch. She went to the bedroom and lay down. She wanted desperately to find an answer, but her mind was numb.

The knocking on the door roused her from a light, but troubled sleep. Immediately, the implications of the knocking hit home, and she sat up in a panic. Had they noticed the Sphere? She glanced at the clock as she got up. Nearly Noon! She rushed to the door expecting the worse. A telephone repair man stood there. The look he gave her told her all she needed to know about her appearance.

"Good Afternoon, Ma'am. My name is Jethro Hume. Here are my identification papers." He held out a photo ID and work order for her inspection. "The Smithtown office sent me out to investigate you open line. It's been playing havoc with the entire service area. They dispatched me as soon as they discovered the source of the problem.

Anyway, I think I've already taken care of the problem, but I do need to check out your equipment inside."

Hetzie couldn't see over the man's shoulder, but something looked different over near the Sphere's cage. "What do you mean, you've 'taken care' of the problem? What did you do?"

The man frowned as he replied, "Well Ma'am, someone did a pretty foolish thing. Maybe it was you or maybe not, whoever. A fence was put in directly over the telephone cable. Might even be that some of the posts went deep enough to cut into it. I don't know about that yet. That's not all. Then somebody looped some wire over the power line, of all things, and tied it to one of the fence posts! Aside from the possibility of getting you fried, it must have set up a pretty weird electromagnetic field. That scrambled the entire telephone network as soon as your line was opened up. You shouldn't worry though, we come prepared for power line problems. I just shut off the main breaker and pulled the wire down. You probably didn't even notice the electricity being off for a minute or two. So, the immediate problem is solved. Now..."

Hetzie pushed past him into the yard, shouting back over her shoulder. "Jethro, you don't have the faintest idea of what it is you have really done! If I were you, I'd climb back into your truck and get out of here as fast as I could!"

Jethro didn't need a second warning. He'd figured the woman for a nut case as soon as he'd set eyes on her. She didn't look particularly dangerous, but he'd heard some wild stories. Who knew, maybe she had a shotgun squirreled away somewhere. The rules were clear: when in doubt, clear out and call the supervisor. That was just what he planned to do. As soon as he got to the next town. The last he saw of her she was wandering around out where the wire had been draped over the power line. A real nut case.

Hetzie saw immediately that the Sphere was gone. Whether dead and disintegrated or escaped she had no way of knowing. She ran around in ever widening circles calling out with her mind. She paused. Had she heard something? Pouring all of her concentration into mental listening, she waited. It came again, but very faint.

"Free! Free! At last I'm free. He-he, they can't trap me!"

The whisper of thought seemed to drift away as if carried on a breeze, even as she listened. The Sphere was moving away from her. She shuddered; she didn't even want to think about what might happen now. Who knew how powerful the aged Sphere might still be?

She ran back to the house and picked up the telephone. It was working perfectly, and for a moment she considered calling the Sheriff's Substation in Smithtown. Lot of good that would do. After Jethro got through telling his tales, her description of an alien beach ball would just about ice the cake. She sat down in the big, overstuffed arm chair in the living room and buried her face in her hands.

An hour later, she was moping around the house, listening to the radio and waiting for the first reports of disaster. The thumping against the back wall of the house didn't penetrate at first, and when it did her first thought was that the wind was blowing the TV cable against the wall again. She got the roll of duct tape out of the kitchen drawer and opened the back door. There, floating above the doorstep, was the Sphere.

"So," it said, "you recognize the inevitability of your fate. I have returned to fulfill my promise. Before I begin my quest to dispose of the rest of your race, I will have revenge for your bestiality!"

Hetzie backed away from the Sphere, through the kitchen, past the hallway leading to the bedroom and into the den, where her work area spread over every flat surface and half the wall space. She knew it was useless to run. The Sphere could generate a plasma burst in a split second. The only time she had left was what it gave her. She stopped with her legs pressed against the computer desk, and the Sphere, which had been maintaining a constant separation, came to a rest also.

"Now," it said, "prepare to die!"

Driven by sudden inspiration, she ran wide around the Sphere to the light switch on the wall and flicked it on. She watched the Sphere for signs of the electricity's effect, elation rapidly giving way to disappointment.

"Ha! Your second power trap is not as effective. It generates no field, and even now leaks into that vessel for producing radiant energy. It is merely an irritant. Now, hold still and let me conclude my task."

Hetzie saw that she had waited too long. The Sphere's surface was already pulsating. She covered her eyes and waited for the end. Nothing happened. She spread her fingers and took a peek. The Sphere was throbbing in several places, not just one. Finally, as she watched, the one spot throbbing most strongly dilated, and a dimly glowing patch bulged outward and finally burst. Dull reddish material oozed out and flowed down the Sphere's surface. Reaching the low spot, it dripped off onto the hardwood floor and promptly burned its way through. Smoke and steam rose out of the hole as the plasma hit the damp ground below.

Hetzie couldn't help herself, still peeking through her fingers, she giggled.

The Sphere turned bright pink and green in between its numerous gray splotches.

"You insidious monster. No doubt you planned even this."

The Sphere's thoughts were subdued. It was difficult to believe, but it seemed humbled.

"What happened," Hetzie enquired, "can't get it up?" She giggled again.

"You know very well what happened," it said.

"I do not!"

The Sphere paused, and then thought again. "Well, I don't either. How could I? Do you know how many generations it has been since one of my kind has reached this advanced age? Disregard that question, I do not know myself. Many. It has been many generations. I must conclude that my advanced age has rendered certain internal changes.

Once free of your power trap I felt so much improved that I had thought myself fully recovered from the drain of my energy. I now understand that my feeling of well-being was a sham. I am not the Warrior I once was."

Hetzie's amusement had come mostly from relief at not being burned to a cider. Now she felt an incongruous sense of compassion for the Sphere. It was ridiculous. Here was a thing bent upon pure wanton, destruction, and she was feeling sorry for it. Of course, it didn't know any other way to live, and now it was faced with impotence. Well, she just pitied its feelings of helplessness. She wasn't sure of just how it had happened, but over the last twenty-four hours she'd become fond of the little killer.

She heard it think once more, "Even you must realize that you owe me recompense. Is that not true?"

"Perhaps."

"I have recognized that my periods of clarity of thought are more frequently interrupted when my mind closes in upon itself. I remember nothing of those times, only of the gaps they leave behind. It occurs to me that, perhaps soon, those blank periods will become permanent and my sentience will be destroyed. If for no reason but pity, will you not now end my existence?"

Hetzie took her time before replying. "Sphere, even though I regard your race as barbaric and immoral, I cannot kill a thinking being when my life is not immediately endangered. Why don't you do it yourself?"

"I cannot. Self-survival now is too strong in me. Why else do you think it is necessary for one's comrades to assist in termination?"

Hetzie pondered, including the Sphere in her thoughts. "Well, what now?"

"I do not know and cannot predict."

The next ten hours were hard ones for Hetzie. She had, for reasons far from clear even to herself, decided against bringing the outside world in on the problem. She had come to think of the Sphere as her own personal alien. Especially since it had apparently given up on the idea of incinerating her.

The Sphere, more robust since its escape, was showing increasing signs of senility anyway. It would be answering one of her frequent questions in one instant, and in the next be demanding or simpering in turn over some ridiculous small matter. Once, it demanded a pan of water be placed on the floor nearby. Then it had spent nearly fifteen minutes hovering above the pan while spitting out minute droplets of plasma to make plumes of steam rise.

"See," it cried, "I still have power! You had better be careful how you treat me! He-he."

After a brief sleep near dawn of the third morning since the Sphere's coming, Hetzie woke to the smell of something burning. She threw on a robe and hurried to the living room, where the Sphere was confined. A trail of burning patches in the carpet led around to the back of the sofa. The Sphere was hanging low near the upholstery. It had a blank surface she had come to associate with the inability or unwillingness to communicate.

Hetzie was burning mad herself. She had installed the carpet just months ago. It had set her back a bundle.

"Sphere! I see you there. What do you mean by burning holes in may carpet?" When she got no reply, she repeated the question with as much force as she could muster.

The Sphere turned a dull pink and sickly green in the few non-gray areas left, and transmitted an incomprehensible series of thoughts. If it had been human, she would have said it was mumbling.

"Sphere, what did you just think? I could not comprehend your last thoughts."

"I explained," the Sphere's thoughts came with only slightly improved clarity, "that I appear to have become incontinent."

"Oh?" Hetzie had to think about that one, and then she got the meaning. "Oh!"

From then on, the Sphere was restricted to a large turkey roaster with a bit of water on the bottom. The plasma droplets were quickly used up generating steam, but the new arrangement seemed to suit the Sphere quite well. It had been complaining of feeling chilled, and its self-generated mini-sauna was much to its liking.

Late that day, it had been several hours since the Sphere's last display of intelligence. Hetzie had just about given up any expectation that the Sphere would return from this period of withdrawal. She was surprised when a quiet intrusion in her mind caused her to look up from the paper she was trying to edit.

"I feel a change beginning. I also feel a new emotion. I have known pride, anger, loneliness, hatred and, lately, shame. This new one is a feeling I do not know, but it is the one you radiated when I was about to end your existence. What do you call it?"

"It is called fear, Sphere."

"Fear. Yes, the thought pattern you emit with the name fits the feeling. Perhaps I am the first of my kind to feel this emotion. I wonder what it means?"

Hetzie knew, but kept the knowledge hidden. As she watched, the Sphere's surface slowly crystallized, and its presence in her mind faded by degrees until finally, there was nothing.

She picked up the delicate crystal lattice that remained, and held it up to her eyes. It was surprisingly light. If she looked closely, she thought she could imagine that there was a very faint spark way down deep in the center of the intricate latticework. One of her fingers pressed too hard and a small strand of crystal broke off and fell to the floor.

Being very careful, she placed the crystal sphere in a wicker basket on the big table that she used for infrequent dinner parties. The Killer Centerpiece. She felt something crawling on her face. It was a tear.

...Down on the farm ain't what it used to be

Sodbuster

"Sky's orange today." Fil shook out his overcoat and stepped on the two or three crawlers that fell off.

"I saw. You scared yet? Doesn't look good to me."

"You worry too much Talia. It's just orange, not purple."

"Starts that way, doesn't it?"

"Sure, but starting don't mean it's doing to finish."

"Doesn't mean it won't either."

Fil sighed and looked into the woman's light blue eyes. Even the sight of her smooth skin exposed by the deep V in the laces couldn't take the bite out of her words.

"Come on Talia, I'm in no mood for the glooms today."

"You're never in the mood for anything except your farm."

"Shoo, I forgot to reprogram Hector."

He put his coat back on and kicked the crawler carcasses out the door as he left.

The smell of the dry dust that puffed in through the door seal lingered in her nostrils. She watched his huge bulk trudge through the dust drifts on the way to the equipment module. He hadn't forgotten his damn Hector. He was just avoiding an argument. She watched a geyser of dust rise at his heel as a big crawler jumped up to latch onto the hem of his coat.

"Hope it bites you." She muttered.

The one-way was dusty. She extended a finger and wrote in the thin film, 'HATE THIS PLACE', and then she got a static cloth and cleaned the surface. The sky was turning a ruddy red-orange. It was coming this time for sure. Already, she could see a dark spot low on the horizon. No sleep tonight. Might be the last time she'd take it. Green. She needed green. One stinking bush would be enough. Instead, the one-way showed an endless expanse of pukey yellow silt. She pulled the lace negligee tight around her shoulders. She heard the seams start to pop, but still couldn't make it cover her breasts.

Fil sealed the door behind him and shook out his coat. The crawler landed with a thud, and was immediately set upon by the barn cat. At least that still worked. He looked over at Hector. Parts were scattered all over the assembly table. It was just like he'd left it a few minutes before. Talia hadn't done her job. Here he was looking at the same unsalvageable mess he'd tried to get away from by going to the house. Damn woman! She knew what she was signing on for, they'd explained it to her. Ought to just ship her off, for all the good she was. Nice to look at, though. That only made it worse most of the time. Might be that he had a right to take what he wasn't offered, like it said in the contract. He couldn't do that. Damn sentimental fool; expecting a whore to show some feelings.

He sighed and tried once more to jury-rig a connection that would get Hector back on its tracks again. After a few minutes, he threw the latchit down in disgust. Useless. The smell of spilled hydraulic fluid overpowered the more pleasant odor put out by the water reprocessing plant. Maybe she was right; nothing was working out. No supplies for another rotation, and harvest was coming up in a few turns. What he could do by hand would barely pay to resurrect Hector. Nothing left for food and water. Hopeless. He sank into the rough chair at the work station and buried his head in his arms.

The shrieking wind woke him. Dejection had given way to sleep. She'd been right; this was a big one. Mid-vector must have been aimed right at them. He looked at the velocity gauge on the wall. A hundred klicks and climbing fast. He felt the building settle as the compensators tightened down. His spirits sank as well with the thought of storm damage. Just then, the inner lock slid open with a suddenness that sent a chill down his spine. Structural failure?

Talia stumbled into the room and collapsed onto the floor. The barn cat slid out and nosed around her inert form. Fil kicked it out of the way. Her laces were in tatters, exposing abraded skin. Half her back was pink raw flesh. He ran to get the med kit.

She whimpered as the spastic-skin spray took hold.

"You Crazy woman, you trying to kill yourself?"

Her reply was laden with pain, "You never left me alone before in a storm. I was scared."

"Could've got yourself killed."

"Would it matter? You've got consumer protection insurance. Maybe the replacement would have been better for you."

Fil worked the words around the lump in his throat, "Don't talk that way Talia."

"Why not? It's true isn't it?"

She struggled up to her feet and stood swaying, anger and pain vying for prominence in her expression.

"Why'd you sign up, Talia? You knew what to expect."

"Why does anybody? 'Cause I had to. No other choice. You just got hold of a poor looser. Tough luck."

He turned away to hide his expression.

"Might as well sit down. It'll last a while."

"What's that?"

He turned back to look at her. The anesthetics were kicking in, most of the color had returned to her face.

"What's what?"

"That mess on the table there."

"Hector."

"Shoo! He looks the way I feel! What happened?"

Fil smiled at her; it was the first bit of humor he'd heard out of her.

"Bad luck happened, and too many rotations without decent service."

"What are you going to do, Fil? Harvest's soon isn't it? How are you going to harvest without your harvester?"

He looked at the gauge again. Two-fifty klicks and climbing.

"Don't matter now."

"Huh? Why not?"

"Hear that wind out there? Right now it's shearing off the crystal below what used to be dune level. Time it's done, there won't be anything left to harvest."

"Oh."

"No worry for you, of course. I don't make payment, you're repossessed."

The trader skipper certified Fil's disaster claim without hesitation. He was used to it. He'd get his five percent of the bankruptcy sale without a hitch. More than enough to cover relief passage for the two inhabitants of the planet. He was relieved of a possible negligence claim to boot. He'd slipped dock without on-loading the harvester's replacement parts. No point in bringing that up, under the circumstances.

Three transfers later, they met in the observation dome by chance. They were still two periods out from port. She was wearing a pair of tight leggings and a neck-high blouse. He nearly didn't recognize her. She looked good. A real eye-stopper. Funny, he hadn't noticed how good it felt to have her around. He'd missed her during the trip.

"Talia! How are you doing? All healed up?"

"Good as new, I guess." She seemed at a loss for words.

"So, where you off to now, Talia?"

"All that time I wanted green? I got my wish. Some kind of jungle planet. More people though. Nearly fifty of them; even one or two other women."

"Oh? Guess you must be looking forward to it."

"Maybe."

He wasn't sure if it was doubt he heard or just her usual resignation.

"How about you, Fil? How'd you make out?"

"Ah, OK, I guess. Between bankruptcy insurance and disaster relief I'll get enough to start over. Won't be as good a farm, a step down I guess. Something though." The lump in his throat was back, he had to leave before he made a fool of himself. "Well, uh, Good Fortune, Talia! I'll miss...miss your company."

He turned to go, but paused after a few paces.

"Talia?" He turned back to face her.

"Yes, Fil?"

He took the sudden light in her eyes for amusement and turned away again.

"Nothing Talia, good life to you."

She watched his stiff back as it moved away from her down the passageway. A better man than most. She'd almost let herself dream, but he hadn't more than a physical need for the likes of her. It would have taken nearly half his settlement to buy her out. Too much to ask just to save a whore.

He saw her once more upon debarking. She was held in tow by a sleek-looking man with fancy clothes and an even fancier hairdo. Wasn't likely they'd let valuable merchandise wander around on its own in a busy port. Might wander too far and get lost. He watched as she disappeared into another departure terminal. Shipping out so soon. His heart seemed to pause in its duties. He told himself it was just idle curiosity as he followed them through the alcove.

"Sorry Mate, if you meant to be on the Palin Shuttle, you're about five ticks too late. They just closed the hatch."

Fil turned to look at the uniformed station hand. He was short, skinny and bald, barely coming up to the bottom of Fil's brushy beard. Like everything else on the station, he smelled like disinfectant."

"Oh, I thought it was someone I knew come this way. What's Palin?"

"It's the cross-shipment station. The second of the pair. You know, this one handles quads one and four, and Palin handles two and three."

"So my friend might ship out anywhere?"

"Sure anywhere in quads two and three, just like you."

"What?"

"Your travel badge. That orange color means you've got destination in quad two. Listen Mate, ships don't leave all that often and the next shuttle to Palin is just an hour off. Maybe you'll still be able to track down your friend."

"Yes, might be so. Thanks' for your help."

"No problem. That's what I'm here for."

The hour passed slowly, and Fil learned in that time an important truth. The woman was more than just a hired hand. He was stunned when he realized that she was more important than another farm. After spending so much time on that farm, only the past two years, after Talia's arrival, were worth remembering. Now, at forty-six years of age Fil realized that he was in love. He almost missed last call for the Palin Shuttle, so deep in contemplation was he.

The shuttle trip and interminable docking procedures at Palin seemed to take forever, but finally he and thirty or so other passengers were released to enter the station. Fil passed under a humming arch. He had no idea what purpose it had, but he noticed that his badge was now green checked with white. He wondered at the change until he noticed a video display of departures. The same green and white checks pattern was there along with a multitude of other color patterns. His color was opposite the listing for a ship going to Berrea. That name was on his itinerary as the last stop before a planetary craft took him to his new home. He wondered what color Talia's badge had turned.

Talia! How to find her? He looked at the departure board again. The listings were in order of departure, and the next ship out would leave in...fifteen ticks! His heart began to race. Where? Nearly in a panic he searched for help. A station hand. Anyone. His eyes swept the floor and its multitude of colored lines. Colors, of course! That's how you find your way around. Memories from his first trip flooded in. Follow the colors. He found the green one first, but where was yellow? There? It lead off at an angle. He began to run and soon found himself in a long, well-lighted passageway. The voice brought him to a halt.

"Say Mate, you're going too fast," the station hand glanced at his travel badge, "and in the wrong direction. This ship just locked up tight with a one hundred percent passenger count. No room for you."

Fil's heart sank, "But, I have to see a friend."

"A friend, on a prison barge? You sure you've got the right berth?"

"Oh, Maybe not! I mean of course not! I need to find my friend where do I look?"

"Well Mate, I'd like to help but I get off in a few ticks. Why don't you go back to Terminal Central and check with the info desk?"

"What if my friend's ship leaves before I can get there?"

The station hand registered a resigned look and pulled a perscomp out of his pocket. "All right then, where was your friend shipping off to?"

"I don't know. All I know is that is to a jungle planet."

Now, that's just great, huh? How am I supposed to help you if you can't give me any info?"

"I can tell you my friend's name."

"No good at all. I don't have access to passenger manifests. Just to cast off time and destination."

"How many jungle planets can there be?"

"Mate, you just plain got me beat. I ain't no planetographer."

"How do I find out?"

"Ain't got the faintest, but you might try the ship's library."

It took some doing, but five hours later Fil knew all he needed. The library computer and departure listing yielded the answer. Talia would be leaving in twenty hours for a planet called Vingus. He looked at his own itinerary. He was due to leave in four days. Her color was red. He went back to the reception area and looked for a red stripe on the floor. Six hours into his search, he caught a glimpse of a form he thought he recognized. It was Talia's escort, just turning into a side corridor. He sped up and again caught sight of the man, now standing beside a woman, preparing to punch in a door code.

"Talia!" He was rewarded as the familiar face turned towards him, frozen in surprise.

Her companion was slower to react. He took in Fil's bulk and rough features; then backed up slightly.

"Fil?"

"Say Cousin," said the escort, "what do you want?"

"I want to speak with Talia."

"Uh uh, sorry, I can understand, but the girl's with me."

"No, you don't understand. Talia was with me for two years; I have to talk to her!"

"Oh! The deadbeat. You've been foreclosed sport. Talia's got nothing to do with you any more."

"No!" Fil's temper was beginning to flare. "Talia, please talk to me. I... I, Shoo..., I need you back. Come with me, please?"

There, he'd said it, he felt relief sweep over him. And, joy. He could hardly mistake the look on Talia's face. She needed him, too.

"Fil..."

"Shut up Talia, I'll do the talking. Listen Cousin, Talia's got a new contract now. Your contract was cancelled."

"You have to change that."

"Yeah? Why? Law's on my side. Look Cousin, why don't you go visit the Rec Area, all kinds of girls there, even some you could afford."

Fil stepped forward, the greasy-looking fellow didn't understand. The stunner muzzle appeared out of mid-air.

"Back off Cousin, I don't want to call security, but I will. Look, be reasonable, Talia here ain't even young anymore. The body's OK, and the face isn't bad, but she's on the downhill side of Prime. The next contract is the last for her anyway. Why not find a better piece?"

Fil was barely keeping under control, "I want Talia."

"Not possible, her contract is pre-paid." The man stroked his fancy hairdo with his free hand. "Of course, accidents sometimes do happen. What you got to offer Cousin?"

"What do you mean?"

"Goddamn farmers. I mean, Cousin, if you want Talia so bad, you got to buy her out. Can you, or can't you?"

"Sure, I can!" A glimmer of hope.

"Yeah?" The man prompted.

"Yeah!" Fil was getting into it now. He'd rescue Talia no matter what it cost. "I'm getting money for my farm."

"Getting? What's that mean, Cousin? What I've gotta have is a buyout right here and now. What are you going to give me?"

Right now? Here?" Fil was confused, he didn't know what this fancy man wanted from him. "A few hundred credits, I suppose. But later, when I get settlement, there'll be more."

"No good, Cousin. Look, take my word for it, the piece ain't worth it. Look, you put in an order to Diversified when you get settled. Let 'em know that Chockers wants 'em to treat you right. You won't be sorry. Now, just back off some. We got to go in..."

"Talia!" Fil turned to her for support.

"Fil," she had a cold and stony look, "best forget it. Thanks for the thought, but it isn't going to work."

"No!" Fil roared as he turned back to the skinny tormentor and advanced.

Fil awoke in confusion. He was laying on a hard surface in a gray-green room without ornamentation. The door looked solid, and he was naked. He got to his feet and circled the small room, looking for his clothes. Almost immediately, the door slid open and a burly looking station hand stepped inside.

"Well now, up and about already. Most hit with a full stun would be sleeping for another thirty hours yet."

"What time is it?" Fil demanded. It hadn't taken long to figure out just where he was and why.

The guard checked his chron. "Don't worry, you'll get out in time to catch your ship," the man smiled, "and that won't be until after the Vingus ship leaves port.

The guard didn't have much time to react, he'd counted on the residual effects of the stun to slow Fil down. At any other time that might have been enough. As it was, the guard had just started to reach for his suppressor when Fil's huge arm crashed into his neck.

The uniform had been a little small, but dressed in the guard's uniform, Fil dragged the naked body over to the door. It was secured with a palm lock, and lifting the unconscious form up high enough to place its palm on the plate would have been beyond most men. Even for Fil, it was difficult, and it took three tries to get the man's hand in the right position. Fil was finally rewarded by the snick of the lock releasing, and after a second's heart-stopping delay by the door sliding open. He dumped the man unceremoniously on the floor of the cell and stepped out. As he'd hoped, the door closed behind automatically.

He'd half expected a swarm of the guard's colleagues to surround him, but found the security reception area to be deserted. There must not be much of a crime problem on the station. Only one other door led off in another direction from the cell. Now what? The Vingus ship hadn't left yet, that much he knew. How much time was left before it did, he didn't know. His belongings were lying atop a desk. He couldn't have been out long, or they'd have been put away. Gathering his belongings, he took the guards purse out of the uniform he was wearing, removed the man's ID card, and left it on the desk in place of his own belongings. No point in being labeled a thief as well. He pondered about changing back into his own clothes, but decided that the authority vested in the uniform might prove useful.

An hour later, Fil was in much better shape. He still had nearly ten hours before the Vingus ship slipped dock. It hadn't taken that long to make his way back to Talia's door. Better yet, there still was no alarm over his escape. With any luck no one would notice until shift change. This was the first place they'd come looking, of course, and he had to find a better hiding place. And, come up with a plan. A uniformed station hand turned into corridor several meters away. Fil froze, expecting the worse, but the man just nodded in passing. Somewhat relieved, Fil watched the man move away, and then disappear into a shallow recess in the wall. A service access!

He waited to give the man time to move away from the door, then inserted the guard's ID card. The door snicked open without hesitation, and he found himself in a dimly lit corridor. Structural beams stood out at regular intervals as he walked along, until abruptly the passage widened into a larger room with a vaulted ceiling. Wheeled machines stood idle along the walls. He had no idea what most of them were for, but one form leaped out at him. Hector! Well, not quite, but close enough. Instead of harvester blades it had something else sticking out in front. Curious, he walked over for a better look, and then recalled Hector's options catalog. Page whatever, variable depth, collimated, meson-beam cutters, guaranteed to cut through any material up to twenty centimeters thick. He'd even thought about buying a set, but it had been too expensive. The glimmer of an idea took form.

The waiting was the hard part. It had to be timed just right; he glanced at his chron again—it was time. He put the machine on manual and started it moving up the corridor. It was a close fit, and he wondered if the wheel hubs would clear the doorway. He needn't have worried since the design engineers had made the bottom of the jamb widened just enough to let the machine clear. Moments later he was outside Talia's doorway, and looking up and down found the passage to be empty. Reaching out, he slid the guard's ID into the doorway's emergency release slot, and sat back just in time as the room opened up before him.

Talia was laying on the single bed, asleep, and Chocker's back was to the door as he watched some kind of play on the holoscreen. Neither had heard the door open. Fil guided the silent machine up to the man's chair. That did it, the styled hairdo whipped around as the movement of the large object became obvious. Panic filled Chocker's eyes as he took in the metallic shape looming above. He reached for the stunner on the side table, but under Fil's expert guidance the machine moved faster. A faint blue streak cut across the man's arm as he lifted the stunner, and he looked down at his cauterized stump in puzzlement when the stunner did not appear as expected. The puzzlement didn't last long, because the blue streak appeared one more time at Chocker's neck level.

Fil turned to find Talia sitting up in bed, her wearing an expression of fear.

"Fil, what have you done?"

"I've just made it possible for us to be together Talia. No, don't you worry. I've got it all figured. All you have to do, is to get yourself ready to go. I'll just need to borrow this bed sheet here."

He had the three pieces, two small and one large, trundled up in the sheet and into the machine's cargo bin in a matter of minutes. He looked around. No blood to worry about.

"Now listen Talia, I'll be gone for just a few minutes. Just long enough to make our friend here look like an accident or suicide. Then, I'll be back and we can be on our way."

"Where are we going, Fil?"

"Where they expect you to go, but not me. Vingus. They won't be asking questions there. We'll just be another couple come to start a farm. Our friend here will take my place, so they won't come looking. We'll have a good life Talia. Good fertile ground and a good farm. Just wait and see. Now, you go ahead and get ready."

Fil maneuvered the machine back out into the passageway and then to the service corridor. Back in the storage bay he laid the body out and changed its clothes. His old clothes looked oversized on the thin form, but soon that wouldn't matter. He left the purse and the guard's ID on the operator's seat, and pocketed the dead man's purse. It had taken a little while to figure out the details, to make it believable. He set the machine on automatic in a grid pattern and set the timer. Then he went around and held Chocker's body so that the first cut matched the neck cut. Then he left the body lay where it dropped. In an hour it would be mincemeat, and unrecognizable by anyone. The only way it would be identified was by DNA, and he didn't think they would bother what with the Id's and all. He watched a few minutes to make sure the grid pattern was going to work. Already the body was a pile of fist-sized chunks. Satisfied, he headed back to Talia's room, and was pounding at the door in moments.

She let him in without saying a word and walked to the other side of the room. He moved in her direction, but she held up a hand to stop him in his tracks. Something was wrong.

"Talia, we have to get going! The ship will be boarding by now."

"Did you get rid of Chocker's body, Fil?"

Of course, he's just bits and pieces now. He'll never bother you again. Now, how about a hug, that's all there's time for."

"I won't be going with you, Fil."

"Huh?"

He was concentrating on her words, and didn't notice the four security guards that moved up behind until they'd gotten a stifle-net over him. Arms pinned to his sides, he stared at the woman in disbelief.

"Talia?"

"Fil, poor Fil. It might have been different if I'd even liked you, but you were just one more client, Fil."

She had watched them march Fil out of the room. He'd been quietly crying, and had not looked her in the face again. Now, standing at the Travel-Aid Kiosk, she thought about him for the last time. He had done her a favor after all. The Vingus ticket had been refunded without a problem, and there was even a small credit difference in her favor. Enough for a few weeks expenses. She punched in the code transferring funds to pay for the ticket to her home world. It would be nice to visit the people at the foster house, they were the closest thing she had to relatives in the whole galaxy.
