Prologue

Ash had heard the saying “Time stood still,” but he had never experienced it.

He felt it now. Such a strange feeling.

Time stood still.

Disembodied. Weightless. These intense sensations besieged him. Was he having some sort of out-of-body experience? Did these feelings come from his past or from events yet to come? Ash relaxed into this consciousness and let the Truth flow over him. He saw a vision of Tynan, his wolfhound, his friend … his brother. He recalled the words of the Seer he met as a child on Delian: “Now, young wolf, remember who you are.”

Time stood still.

Nothing could stop him.

Blood in his veins heated, pounding, flowing faster as he let the truth unfold. It wasn’t that he could act like a wolf or howl like a wolf, or even pretend to be a wolf for fun. I am a wolf. Pack leader.

Power radiated within and around him in a limitless ocean of heat. A surge of electrical energy blasted through him with the intensity of this knowledge. All animals were his to command.

I know. I have always known.

The awareness was a foundation for his soul there, eternally there but hidden, unviewed, unseen.

There is no time. Time is an illusion.

At that thought a loud cacophony of commotion and noise sounded from the barnyard; from horses, pigs, chickens, goats; from the birds overhead; from indoor cats and outdoor dogs. Squeals, shrieks, hissing, barking, bleating, squawks, whistles, brays, bellows, cackles and yelps. Screaming crying out, either in fear or in defiance who could say?

As suddenly as it started, all sound stopped.

Time stood still.

1. Passage to Kalar

Icom: Interface Communications Online Management. Thanks to the cortical plasticity of the brain, signals from the neural implant are handled through effector channels. Thought itself controls audio, visual and 3D access, creating the ability to text, read and communicate through direct neural control. Icom is hosted separately on each world where it is used, as the distance between planets is too great for direct access. Data updates are transported between worlds on UWG info ships.

Distinguished Professor Emeritus Allan Dyen-Shapiro, Icompedia

The man on the holovid display sat in a comfortable chair, faultlessly dressed in the trim blue service uniform of a senior officer. Physically fit, young and attractive, the officer had thick brown hair and dark eyes. Despite his pleasant appearance there were two things that drew the attention. First, his eyes were numb and lifeless, with a shattered sort of shocked expression. Second, he held a disrupter to his head.

An emission flared silently as he pulled the trigger.

The man’s head disintegrated into tens of thousands of fragments as the disrupter waves passed through his skull. Blood and bone and gore flew and spattered against the walls. The man’s torso, headless, fell over.

A roar of laughter shattered the quiet, echoing throughout the holovid room.

Admiral Neopol Jones, heavyset and impeccably dressed in service blues, rocked forward and backward as he laughed. He mentally hit replay on a section tagged, “Favorites; Service Personnel; Officer; Breaking Point, Captain of Conqueror, Jon Barlow.”

Neopol watched the holo alone in the darkened projection theater. One well-manicured, thick, soft hand caressed his data stick. The device and Neopol’s heavy gold finger rings occasionally made contact, with a soft ticking sound.

Neopol replayed the last scene, enjoying the breaking of Barlow again and again. He felt a thrill of delight each time he relived the moment. He had watched Barlow experience crushing pain, of course, but what had really tipped Barlow over the edge was emotional anguish and that, for Neopol, was what made it so sweet.

He swirled the ice in his glass and took a long swallow of Scotch. Poor Captain Barlow, reduced to such a state. The death of his wife had shattered him, followed by the realization that his future held life imprisonment on the prison planet Cirani and the consequent Indentureship of his children. If he died, his children at least had a chance of being adopted. Barlow had been a most excellent subject, strong and intelligent, difficult to break. His dissolution had occurred through carefully calculated pressures that Neopol had brought to bear. It just didn’t get any better. A thrill of pleasure went through him. So exquisite!

He flicked to, “Favorites; Service Personnel; Personal-Aides; Breaking Point, Sub-Lieutenant Cal Tennison.” An exact life-sized holo appeared of a man standing within his own quarters. It was an orderly room, impeccable, everything within it meeting or exceeding regulation standard. Neopol watched Tennison undress, carefully folding each item of clothing and placing them in a tidy pile. Unclothed, he moved to a personal hygiene area in which a noose hung from an overhead pipe. With no expression at all on his face, the naked man climbed on top of the inbuilt recessed chair. Without hesitation the man put the noose over his head, pulled it tight, and stepped off the chair. His legs twitched spasmodically for a few seconds, then went limp. He was dead.

Tennison had been quite bright. He would have meticulously studied how to knot and place the rope in order to break his neck. Neopol didn’t laugh. Instead he felt a momentary twinge of regret. Tennison had been one of his failures. The fawning boot-licker had genuinely tried to please him.

Neopol wasn’t surprised when the man hanged himself. He had predicted it, he had planned for it. In fact he had orchestrated it. But so soon! He thought Tennison would survive at least six months, yet he had lasted only two. Ah well, he consoled himself, he knew better now. Neopol had overestimated the fellow’s ability to cope. If only that sort of person would last longer, the Admiral thought wistfully. His type was a pleasure to break, but far too easy. Happily, his death wasn’t wasted. Tennison had served to further his knowledge and research.

Neopol tapped his personal, security-locked data stick, and reattached it to his bracelet. It contained the only backup of all his research. Screamer tagged, it couldn’t depart his vicinity.

Neopol spent his life studying humanity. When did an individual hide something and what did an individual consider necessary to hide? How much could it take? What destroyed a person’s will? When did breaking point occur? It was a fascinating pursuit and Neopol never tired of it. The breaking point, as Neopol defined it, was the exact moment at which the subject’s physical, mental, or emotional strength gave way under stress. Neopol’s talent was in prediction and execution when, how, and why a subject would break. He was the most accomplished master of human management in the United Freeworlds. And he was close to his lifetime goal: complete understanding and control of both individuals and whole populaces.

Admiral Neopol flicked through a few less interesting suicides with bored indifference. This review of past research was a small taste in preparation for the main meal, the feast that awaited him on Opan. Neopol smiled, recalling the eyes-only communication he had received from High Command: “Delian Prince confirmed dead on Opan. Find Queen and Forseth. Secure Talisman and Testimonials.”

An Icom alarm sounded.

Time for the briefing. He mentally flicked the holo off and the lights on, then stood up. He hummed a cheerful tune as he left.

The briefing room on the battleship Conqueror consisted of a large, black, round table, six comfortable recliners, and a secure holo projector. Neopol chose it because of its compact size. He wanted only a small gathering of officers to attend. Its viewing portal remained closed for the meeting.

As he entered, the five men already seated in the room rose quickly and stood at attention. Neopol scanned the assembled officers, mentally assessing them as he did so. His own aide, Sub-Lieutenant Janson, was here, of course. Janson was his personal slave, an excellent menial who followed orders exactly. The captain of Conqueror, Gene Pagett, lacked courage, Neopol knew, but was a useful tool. His second officer, Eric Nelson, was dependable and earnest, but rather boring. Also attending were the chief technical officer and the operations officer, both competent mediocrities who would follow orders precisely but with little imagination.

“Sit down, gentlemen,” Neopol said. He moved to the front of the room. He used Icom to dim the lights and activate the holovid.

“You will all be wondering why we are in orbit around Opan.” He paced back and forth for a moment and then stopped. “Let us begin with a history lesson.” A holographic vid appeared, displaying a scene from a market area on the world of Delian. Bloated greenish human corpses littered the ground in gruesome contrast to the army of cheerful, colorful flags and market items that surrounded them.

“You will recall that five years ago the planet of Delian was gassed, resulting in the genocide of the entire Delian race.” He flicked to a view of ex-police Captain Larren Forseth. “This man committed the atrocity, using the police vessel Darla Wu.”

Neopol carefully noted the reactions of each man in the room. He saw horror and disgust, but not surprise. Everyone here had heard about the event when it occurred. Neopol’s lips twitched, but he held back his satisfied smile. Good. The memory wipes and false memory implants are holding. What these gentlemen don’t remember is that they themselves perpetrated this atrocity that they are now so horrified by. The Delians died by my own command. Conqueror released the AH Gas that caused the genocide of the Delian race.

The view changed to display Darla Wu being tractored into Conqueror’s holding area. It went on to depict the capture and detention of her crew. “The men you see here are all dead. All, that is, except the Captain of Darla Wu, Larren Forseth.” Forseth’s image was projected once more, this time appearing life sized and in vivid detail. Technical specifics scrolled along the side of the holo: height, weight, genetic data and so on.

A holo of a gorgeous blonde woman of about forty replaced the image of Forseth. “This is Lady Sartha Chayton, Queen of Delian. As you are aware, she and Forseth conspired together to commit genocide by gassing her planet.” Neopol gave a faint smile, chuckled and shook his head. “Such an extreme method just for the disposal of an unwanted husband. The woman was powerful and certifiably mad, an interesting combination. One often wonders about cause and effect. Did the woman become insane after falling in love with Forseth or did she fall in love with Forseth because she was insane? Who knows?” He gave a sly sardonic smile. “Ah, well. The things people do for love.”

Another image appeared, a holovid of a sickly young boy. The child stroked an extremely large dog, a wolfhound. “This child is the Delian prince, next in line for the throne. He fled Delian with his insane mother. Prince Ashton Rynan Chayton was twelve years old at the time of the gassing. Here we have an extrapolation of what he may look like now. If still alive, he is almost eighteen, but we have reason to think him dead.” An older and larger yet still sickly version of the child appeared.

Neopol sat down and tented his hands on the dark table. “The boy had physical problems that did not respond to medical treatment or at least they didn’t up to age twelve. Genetic weakness in the breeding, I suspect, but he was the Delian King’s only heir.” Neopol shook his head with disgust. “He should have been killed at birth. Records show that numerous times in his childhood the boy lingered near death. Somehow the young prince always survived, although he remained thin, undersized and chronically ill.”

Holos of Forseth, Ashton and the Lady Sartha materialized. “These three individuals are wanted by High Command. It has been confirmed that the Lady Sartha and her son escaped Delian via this needle-class warship.” A holo of RDS Assurance appeared, cycling through various features and views.

“Aboard Assurance, we believe, were two priceless artifacts.” A projection of an armband replaced the image of the ship. A flat oval Damithest slightly larger than an adult eye had been placed into a silver self-fitting armguard, with smaller stones set around it, creating a ring of continuous blue crystals. “This is the King’s Mirror.’ As even the smallest Damithest crystal commands an enormous fee, this Delian talisman is utterly priceless.

“And finally, one last view. This book contains the Delian Testimonials of Truth’.” A holo of a golden tome appeared, rotating to show ample detail. “It is also wanted by HC.”

Neopol mentally flicked the viewer off. His arms rested on the table, his data stick in one hand. Neopol wore a platinum bracelet, on which he usually attached his data device. He tapped it ominously against the table top. “This information has been provided on Icom file to each of you, with extensive appendixes. Recently I received a report that Prince Ashton Chayton expired on Opan, the planet around which we’re now orbiting. If this is true then it stands to reason that Assurance may also be here, as well as the Lady Sartha. Where the lady is, we will find Forseth, the Testimonials and the Damithest armband. Do you concur, gentlemen?”

The men nodded and voiced their agreement.

Neopol stood up, and reattached his data stick to his bracelet. He couldn’t sit still. I am so close to my goal. A peculiar energy flowed through him, and he began to pace in earnest around the small room, back and forth, back and forth. “I understand that our technical people have detailed metallurgic reports to assist in the discovery of Assurance. Gene?”

Captain Pagett rose to his feet. He put his hands behind his back in parade rest. “Yes, Admiral. That is correct.”

“Good. And a search has commenced?”

Pagett nodded. “Yes, sir. The Opan search is taking place grid by grid. The techs will find Assurance, Admiral, if she is here. I can’t give you a time projection. We may be lucky, yet such an extensive hunt could take months. There are oceans and …”

Neopol made a throwaway hand gesture, “Yes, yes, we know all that. But you don’t think the boy and his mother swam to land from the middle of the ocean do you? Be smart. Begin the search from the point where someone discovered the boy’s corpse and work outward from there. I myself will begin the investigation and interrogation of everyone connected to his death. All of you, study the data I have sent concerning our mission objective. Captain, you can go over this with your department heads. I will want to see detailed analysis, suggestions. You know the drill. Let me have an initial plan by 0800 tomorrow. That is feasible, is it not?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

Neopol sat back down. “Very well. Dismissed.”

The men filed out, all except Janson. The door swished shut. Admiral Neopol’s Aide stood near his master, alert as a well trained dog. Janson remained perfectly still. Neopol knew the man would stay right there until he told him to move. The perfect adjunct. What would break him? Someday Neopol intended to find out. He smiled. Janson would be an interesting subject, but he couldn’t afford to lose him just now. Finding another aide would be an unnecessary inconvenience.

Neopol opened the viewing portal using Icom. The red and green sphere still astonished him. So unique in the united Freeworlds. Beautiful planet.

Within the atmosphere of Opan was a proliferation of a unique aerobic microorganism called hardicoribin. Its chemical properties had an all-pervading effect. The sun of Opan was a normal yellow star, but upon passing through hardicoribin the wavelengths of its light were diffused and altered. It was this that caused the unusual colors on the world below. Hardicoribin was inert during low temperatures, its inactive composition creating a red sky in the cold of winter. In warmer weather the sky became green, reflecting active chlorophyll.

Currently the southern hemisphere experienced winter, thus the lower half of the planet was red. The northern hemisphere was experiencing summer, and summer atmosphere was green, except for the far north red zone. What Neopol saw was a sphere half red, half green, with red at both poles. Quite a sight.

Neopol’s spirits lifted. The Delian prince had allegedly died on Opan. Thus he was within his rights to interrogate everyone connected with the entire matter, to ensure confirmation and to find both the mother and Forseth.

Yes. He sighed with satisfaction. So much research and experimentation to attend to. My position as Admiral is perfect for a man with my skills.

Neopol turned and smiled a wicked, humorless smile at his Aide, Janson. He knew that this particular smile could make a strong man recoil. Janson didn’t recoil. He didn’t flinch or react at all. Neopol’s smile grew wider. Janson had seen this smile many times before.

Welcome to Opan. A whole new world of pleasure and possibilities.

Literally.

He laughed out loud.

The blue-gray room had simple, functional furniture, handcrafted from the light-colored, fine-grained hardwoods of Opan. Handmade vases of cut flowers adorned the area, as well as bold works of art and a decorative tapestry. Its high ceilings were decorated with carved cornices worked in delicate patterned designs. So many beautiful things stood on display, but the wall hanging was what drew one’s eyes. Fashioned in green and gold with mythical animals and dancing maidens, it went right to the ceiling.

It was a woman’s room, with soft colors and feminine fragrances, reflecting both practicality and whimsical design.

I want to do it again.

Ashton Rynan Chayton lay on his side in the Prefect’s large hand-carved bed. A herd of sculpted horses galloped across the headboard, running through skillfully worked grasses and a meadow filled with flowers. Head raised on one arm, he looked down at Lindha’s sleeping form. Her hand curled under her chin, her eyelashes long and dark. The bruising passion of his kisses had made her lips red. Lindha smelled as sweet as she looked. Forsaken Worlds, he swore to himself, feeling a gut punch of lust. She was soft and warm, and always melted perfectly into his arms. They had whispered their need and made desperate love all through the night and it still had not been enough.

I want to wake her up and do it all over again.

He withheld the impulse.

Careful not to disturb her, Ash got up and slipped off to shower and dress. He strode past the open curtains but could perceive little outside. It was still dark, almost dawn at the Temple of Jana on Opan. Seventeen-year-old Ashton Rynan Chayton had recently become the acknowledged leader of the Temple of Jana of every Freeworld. Known to the Temple hierarchy as “The Trueborn,” he possessed more wealth and power than governments and kings. He could do virtually anything he wanted. And with all that wealth and power, what was his first order of business?

He intended to find and kill a man.

Ash stopped in front of the mirrored wall in the washroom, noticing how his pale white skin was golden brown on his arms, neck and face anywhere, in fact, that it had been touched by the sun. Dark brown eyes and black hair, like his father’s. Ash felt a tinge of loss and sighed. Courageous, kind, politically astute would he ever be half the man his father had been?

But Ash had known too little of his father, the Delian King Jarith Chayton. Orphaned at thirteen and raised by the red wolves of Opan, Ash had always been weak, sickly and undersized. He gained size, strength and health nursing from the teats of his adopted wolf mother, who had lost her cub. Had it been wolf’s milk that gave him health and made him physically powerful? Or living the rigorous life of a wolf?

Just under six feet in height, Ash was lean limbed and muscular, not bulky. He had the kind of muscle that screamed strength, speed and agility. No one could call him small or frail now. Despite his youth, he knew there was something dangerous that others sensed about him. Was it in the way he moved? In how he carried himself? Or was it something else? If he didn’t pay attention, if he wasn’t careful, he often scared people without intending to.

But there was only one man he genuinely wanted to frighten. An image of Larren Forseth came into his mind. It brought out the internal violence he kept carefully suppressed.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash shut his eyes and slowed his heart rate. Soon. Not long now.

The private freighter, Minavera Mover, was leaving orbit today. He would be on it. As it was much easier being smuggled off Opan than onto it, he didn’t foresee any difficulty.

Ash returned, washed and dressed. Awake, Lindha greeted him with a smile and held out her hand.

Ash took it, climbed onto the bed and pulled her to him with a hard kiss. He resisted his desire for more, relaxing back on the bed and pulling Lindha against his chest. She cuddled against him. Arms wrapped around her, he stroked her silky, sleep-tousled hair and said, “The transport leaves for Kalar soon. My shuttle’s waiting. It’s time.”

Her arms tightened around him. “Please, Ash. I don’t want you to go.”

“Lindha, I must. You can’t change my mind. The man committed genocide. He killed my father and all my people. He destroyed my innocence. It’s been left to me to find and kill him … and I will.”

She regarded him with an anxious frown. “Are you sure, Ash?”

He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Lindha, you are a stubborn woman,” he observed. “Despite this unattractive trait, I swear I’ll always love you, no matter how much you nag.” He gave her a brief smile as he chided her. “Let this be the end of it. I know what must be done.”

“Yes, Trueborn,” she said, using his formal title. She lowered her gaze, hiding her eyes.

Ash raised his hands and cupped her face. His fingers felt the wet warmth of tears. He clenched his teeth with grim determination. He couldn’t allow Lindha to alter his resolve. Ash stroked her hair, her arms, and her back, soothing her as much as possible.

As he left her he said, “I swear, my love, by all I value in this world: I will not come back to you until Larren Forseth is dead.”

Ash checked the time. The small vessel would be nearing Opan’s orbital station shortly. With the whole of the United World’s Government looking for him, he was traveling incognito under the name Sinto. The last known holo representation of him was of a small and sickly child. The boy they searched for was quite different from the man he had become.

“You all right back there?” the pilot shouted back to him.

“Fine.”

“You can sit up front, you know,” the pilot added. “Seeing as you’re the only passenger on this shuttle.”

“That’s okay. I’m fine here, thanks,” Ash yelled back. The Temple Sisters wanted him to travel alone. It must have cost a small fortune, but the expense was offset through freight carriage. Ever pragmatic, those Temple Sisters. They followed the Parables of Jana, a creed that adjured a middle road between excess and frugality. In this instance, the Trueborn’s safety was paramount and thus any cost was justified.

“Righto. We’ve been given our bay number and clearance to land.”

The craft tipped as the pilot adjusted its attitude for station rendezvous. The vessel was in null g, but Ash’s safety straps pressed against him as the shuttle altered trajectory. He felt a tremor and barely heard the vibrations from the propulsion jets being fired in the vacuum of space. Noise-cancelling systems were incredibly effective. The sound of pumps could be heard as his body settled into the increased gravity. The section he saw of the space station looked like spokes on a wheel. While larger ships docked to the station’s exterior, his comparatively diminutive shuttle would be brought inside to a pressurized cargo bay.

A familiar sensation pressed against him. His armguard. The Delian talisman, also called the “King’s Mirror,” came from his homeworld. Delian was one of the first planets colonized by Earth, over three hundred years ago. He recalled how the Mirror had brightened momentarily when passed to him. It was an odd notion, but he had the distinct impression that the talisman wanted to be with him. It had once belonged to his father, the King. It was customary for each Delian ruler to be presented with the King’s Mirror on succession of the crown, relinquishing ownership only through death.

Ash sighed, pushing away the unhappy circumstances that made him the rightful owner of the talisman. I never wanted to be king. But what was he now? Emperor? Spiritual patriarch? Temple-appointed God? There were hundreds of Temples of Jana on every Freeworld, thousands altogether. They all called him “Trueborn” and his word was law. It was a frightening thought.

The shuttle moved along the required flight path, green lights signaling “okay-to-dock.” As long as Lindha is with me, I will take the honorable path, he assured himself. But Lindha was not with him. A clutch of apprehension gripped him. He needed Lindha. In truth, he didn’t trust himself. Or was it the wolf he didn’t trust?

His hands whitened on the arm rests of his seat. He searched his mind, trying to understand this anxious intuition. Why should he fear for Lindha? He shook his head, irritated. He wouldn’t be gone long. Lindha was Prefect of one of the most powerful organizations on Opan, the High Temple of Jana. She was safe.

The ship fired retros and landed inside a darkened cargo bay.

Once the huge exterior doors had closed and air had filled the chamber, Ash disembarked into the dimly lit freight bay, carrying a small bag of personal items. With his acute hearing Ash picked up an imperceptible hum. As he left the last step, the lights came on and the bay burst into near daylight. An enormous cargo door lifted and a number of personnel in gray and tan jumpsuits entered. The red lights on lift robots blinked green as they started to move. The activity was swift and, even to his untrained eyes, seemed choreographed. The orbital crew had work to do. Time was money, and there was freight to unload.

He strode up a ramp to the portal labeled “Passenger Exit.” A pressure-sealed door swished open. He enjoyed a blast of warm air as he entered a large, undecorated, utilitarian sort of transfer area for equipment and personnel. A few float flat-backs were parked, available for rental. Moving speedways operated nearby. Icom mapping showed that the Opan orbital station was a large, layered donut and arm wheel of docking berths. Ash’s heightened wolf-like sense of smell was teased with a smorgasbord of scents: spoiled foodstuffs, coffee, oils and spices particularly pepper. There were also human body odors, and mechanical and plasma energy elements that melted into a strange ion-charged electrostatic tingle in his flaring nostrils.

Customs and processing were handled planetside, so he didn’t have to endure that. Ash checked neural Icom and found a projection that outlined the quickest route to Minavera Mover. A twenty-minute walk and he would find his transport, a mid-range freighter. The largest vessels required placement on the outer hub. He avoided moving speedways he wanted to walk. He notified Minavera Mover’s supercargo of his arrival via Icom, and requested permission to board. A terse “Hurry up” was his reply.

He found the appropriate docking wheel without complication and gazed with both delight and dismay at the vessel on which he would be departing. His pleasure was in her size. Minavera Mover was easily ten times as large as RDS Assurance, the only other spaceship he had been aboard. His dismay came from her neglect. Icom registration authority indicated Minavera had been commissioned within the last decade, yet there was already evidence of deterioration as tiny portions of her outer skin were notched by small particles, the minute motes that at times slipped through the shields. The tiny hulling fragments were darkened with age. Why hadn’t she had a refit? It seemed strange to let such a valuable ship remain damaged.

As he boarded, Captain Dal Walters of Minavera Mover greeted him, dressed in casual civilian clothes. There were two crewmen with him, outfitted in light mauve jumpsuits, each bearing a faded, dark green emblem of a freight ship with red words proclaiming, “Mover!” Ash hid an internal wince. To say that he was “greeted” was to use the term loosely, for while the salutation was warm it was certainly not welcoming. Red faced, the Captain had the look of a man building up to a loud, public reaming.

“Took you long enough,” Walters snapped out in a raised gravel voice. The Captain was a tall, older, brown-skinned man with dark, wiry gray-black hair and a pockmarked face. He had large hands and a heavy build. His brows were drawn down in an angry frown.

“Sorry, sir,” Ash replied in a neutral voice. He stood in a respectful military “at ease” position, hands behind his back.

Walters’ reply shot out like weapon fire, used with savage intent. Words flowed like pyrotechnic tracers. He said, “I don’t care what you’ve paid for transport to Kalar. This isn’t a tourist vessel. I don’t take passengers. You’ll work while you’re here. I don’t carry dead weight on my ship.”

Yes, all right.” Ash bit off a reply as fast as the captain’s. He could feel his own temper rising. The Temple gave this man a fortune and now he was expected to work for his passage as well?

Walters leaned toward Ash, fists clenched, reeking of whisky and stale cigars. He stood over him in an obvious attempt to use his position and greater height to intimidate. Ash’s jaw tightened. He could feel the wolf within him raise hackles. The Captain of Minavera Mover knew that the orders he was giving Ash were not part of the agreement. His belligerent demeanor seemed to be daring Ash to disagree with his “So what are you going to do about it?” look. Walters gave the impression that he would be happy to beat his unwanted guest to submission.

Ash stepped back a pace. This movement was done for Walters’ safety, not his own. Something familiar moved inside him. It was an almost irresistible animal need, the wolf leader’s impulse to dominate and punish defiance.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Walters continued speaking, but Ash, surrounded by a red haze of primal rage, only heard the last of his words. They were a faint echo, but plain enough:

“… and you’ll do as I say.”

Ash cleared his throat, taking a moment to control his mind, his emotions, and his instincts. His teeth clenched. His fists did too, but Ash needed this angry man. He had to get to Kalar and the Captain of Minavera could take him there. He couldn’t afford a fight or to draw attention to himself. No one knew his real identity and he needed it to stay that way. “Yes, sir,” he said with lowered eyes and stepped back even further.

Walters, apparently satisfied with Ash’s passive reaction, turned to another member of his crew. “Put him with the halfwit,” he said, “and get him crew garb.” With that he left.

“Yes, sir. You,” the other man said. “Come with me.”

Ah, such a promising beginning, Ash thought with a deep rueful sigh.

Ash had no idea that the warship, Conqueror, orbited Opan at a relatively near distance from Minavera Mover. On board Conqueror was the man actually responsible for the death of his father and the genocide of his race. This had not been the work of ex-police captain Larren Forseth, as Ash believed. The man responsible was the twisted sociopathic genius, Admiral Neopol Jones. The Admiral had received a report that Ash died on Opan. He planned to interrogate everyone connected with the matter. And it had been Ash’s love, the Temple Prefect Lady Lindha, who had made all the arrangements that falsified death.

If Ash had known this, he would have understood the inexplicable apprehension he felt for Lindha. He was right to fear for her.

If he knew about Conqueror and the Admiral he would not be leaving Opan.

But Ash didn’t know.

2. The Dark Sankomin

All souls suffer the Dark Sankomin. If one is in the present, if the mind remains in attendance, the Sankomin cannot seize or bind. The Sankomin is a combination of all that has been and all that can be. It is not evil in itself: it merely is. Time is like a river and the mind is the water. When the water flows, all is well and sequential, in chronological order. However, these past events, encompassing all the conscious feelings within them thought, pain and emotion can fall on one en masse. They attach to one’s soul like metal filings drawn to a magnet. At times presenting as burdened river eddies, they dam the river and the mind becomes bound. It will not flow. The Dark Sankomin is solid, a heavy mass in the mind, a dark burden to the soul. Unresolved, it will cause madness and despair.

Seer Foweraker, The Interpretations

The rough snarl of snoring filled the darkened room.

Awake, back aching, Ash rested heavily on his bunk aboard Minavera Mover. With his acute night vision, Ash easily identified the brawny outline of the snoring crewman who shared his quarters. It was his work partner, Jed. Mentally deficient, Jed had an anxious demeanor and a deep need to please. When awake, Jed spent his free time watching holos on a portable viewer because he couldn’t read and had no Icom implant.

Ash shut his eyes and relaxed. His ears echoed with his roommate’s loud, even breathing, which made a sawing sound like an idling speeder. Ash smiled. It was impossible not to like Jed. His snore added to the trancelike peace Ash began to feel. The sound was like the man, solid and dependable. Consistent. Jed was the same person both inside and out. There was no duplicity in him.

Tonight he would use his power to mind-touch.

Ash let his mind drift and drew on his sources of power. Infinite space. Warmth. Heat. His flesh rose and tingled with goose bumps. His gift held an ocean of energy that poured like an incandescent river over his skin. Yes. Good. So good. This feels right. He was born for this.

Something disturbed the harmony of the crew of Minavera Mover. Whatever the issues, he wanted to make sure that they didn’t affect his journey to Kalar.

Ash’s mind brushed against someone else’s.

Contact.

He sought to merge with this unseen other, probing with mental fingers. In a surge of energy, he forced his way past the barriers that separated one individual consciousness from another and entered the man’s body and mind. Sensation came crashing down on him with unexpected force.

Pain! Pulsating, crushing, throbbing pain! Ash’s mind reeled in the darkness, assaulted and tormented. The man whose human form he now shared was curled into a ball of misery, with his hands pressed against temples and eyes shut tight. His head felt as if it was being crushed in a vise. Mentally flinching at the man’s agony, Ash held on and continued to probe. This took discipline. Whatever was wrong with the fellow? Ash heard only one thought: “It will work any moment now … any moment I will feel it.”

Feel what? Ash wondered.

He saw a blur of … time? Light? Movement? Everything changed. Ash felt as though he had been transported to another world. Exhilaration and euphoria bubbled up through him like water erupting from an enormous fountain. Swept up on a wave of delight, Ash nearly lost the mental contact he had forged with such difficulty. He felt light, carefree he was flying. The man opened his eyes, his body relaxed and uncurled. As he did so, Ash stared from within the stranger’s vision.

Magenta. Aqua. A wash of dazzling yellow. The kaleidoscope of elastic colors disoriented him. He stared into this new place, this soft, unreal world.

What was going on here?

Oh. The answer came to him in a flash of insight. Chemical hypnotics. The man had taken a euphoric. Of course. All drugs were perfectly legal in the United Freeworlds. Free trade. Free choice. Free addiction. And all at a reasonable price. Medical and recreational drugs were provided under the UWG pharmaceutical services branch, taxed and quality controlled by each of the United Freeworlds. Why should criminal elements cash in on the lucrative drug trade?

And who could make a financial return from the drug trade when all drugs were freely available at a set, inexpensive, government-regulated cost?

Ash sighed with relief. Whatever pharmaceutical concoction this man had taken, it clearly worked. Tension disappeared as the man’s pain flew away on a golden speeder with flapping white wings. Wings? Were those feathers? He gazed at the golden-edged hallucination as it floated into a pink cloud. Ash and the man whose flesh he now inhabited laughed, then giggled, then laughed again. Who was this guy? Ash wondered, but the man’s vision and intellect were too distorted for Ash to focus on his identity. Confusion defeated him. As though thrown from a spirited horse, Ash broke contact.

He left the man, both mind and body.

Ash found himself back in his own familiar form, his stomach roiling. He opened his eyes and sat up. A simple local anesthetic would have numbed his head pain, leaving ordinary perceptions instead of hijacking the man’s senses. Ugh. Out of control. In Ash’s experience, loss of control equated to life-threatening desperation. A mental image formed of Assurance falling into the Opan atmosphere, followed by images of being captured, imprisoned and thrown into the arena to fight for his life. He let these images wash over him until the mental associations faded. He rose from his bunk, a mist of sweat covering his brow.

He rubbed his face and went to the convenience. He grasped a flask of water and drank, then washed his face and hands. He recalled his drugged impressions of a moment earlier and snickered as he thought of the speeder with wings. The initial moment the drug took effect had felt good. Very good, in fact. He couldn’t deny the sensual delight. It had been a soaring physical joy, not unlike contact with a whitehawk, or being on the cusp of orgasm.

Shadows of sensation lingered like a fog but what felt so strange was the thrill. That kick it was alive in him yet. His mind focused on the echo of delight that caressed his skin like soft, warm fingers filled with promise. So this is a drug high. Odd to feel both elation and the discomfort of being out of control at the same time. Such a sharp contrast. Misery and euphoria, thought Ash. It felt a little like unrequited love.

Ash shook his head. The pleasure wasn’t worth it.

He raised his arms and bent backward, stretching his muscles. The Captain of Minavera Mover planned to get plenty of work out of him, despite the exorbitant fare. Minavera was a crewman down from her full complement, one recalcitrant crewmember having jumped ship. Apparently the man had preferred Opan. That really said something about the conditions on board, considering that being caught as an offworlder on Opan would result in death.

Ash’s sympathies lay with the man who had left. No one stayed long on this seedy, rundown vessel. Perpetually short staffed, the crew was sullen and unhappy. Walters didn’t hire robots for cargo transfer he had crewmen for that. He didn’t want to pay the “unnecessary expense.” Ash called himself Sinto and the freighter’s supercargo had not bothered checking ID. He was another cynical man, certain that Ash was engaged in something illegal. The fare had been paid and that was what mattered.

Too tired to continue contemplating his situation, Ash slept.

Icom transmitted an alarm, notifying him of the end of his rest period. He and Jed pulled themselves out of bed and prepared for another day. The mess was deserted. A staggered mealtime roster was in place, so the auto-chef, which looked like it was the first of its series and had never been upgraded, would not self-destruct through overuse.

“Jed,” Ash asked curiously over breakfast, “how long have you been working here on Minavera?” Minavera Mover was privately owned, operating for a Freeworld enterprise called Consolidated Mines. Consolidated had a fleet of twenty, carrying payloads between five planetary trade worlds, including Kalar.

“Working … here?” Jed echoed vaguely.

“Yes. Have you been on Minavera Mover for some time?”

Jed’s eyes were blank as glass. He ran one large hand over his close-cropped gray-brown hair.

Ash took a bite of reconstituted egg (not bad) and a bite of “fresh” bread (disgusting). He choked it all down with coffee (tolerable) and persevered. “When did you start working on this ship?” Ash said, “You know, when you came to live and work here. Do you remember?”

After repeated questioning, Ash found that Jed had been aboard since “after the bicentennial” of Kalar, which made him the longest employee of the ship other than the Captain himself. Jed must have joined Minavera when she was first commissioned.

“Jed, has the Captain always been so … upset?” He was about to say surly, but Jed wouldn’t understand the word.

Jed frowned, downcast. “The Captain, he yells at me and calls me stupid and slow. I’m not slow. I work real fast.”

Ash patted Jed’s back, hoping to set his mind at ease. Jed was not bright but he was smart enough to be aware of it. He worked twice as hard as the others to compensate. Ash said with perfect honesty, “No, Jed. You do a good job. I like working with you.”

Jed smiled a brilliant smile. His simple, innocent pleasure reminded Ash of Tynan, the wolfhound of his childhood. He imagined Jed wagging a nonexistent tail. “I like you, Sinto.”

Ash smiled back. The man probably hadn’t had any real praise or acceptance for years. “Was Captain Walters always like this, Jed? Did he always yell at you?

“N … no,” Jed replied uncertainly.

“What was he like before?”

Jed’s brow furrowed as he tried to extract a complex thought from his simple mind. “The Captain was nice. Minavera Mover is the best freighter in the United Freeworlds.” Jed frowned again. “But now the Captain yells at me, and Minavera needs time in the docks. There isn’t any credit. Have I done something wrong?”

“No, Jed,” Ash said. “You’ve done well. Everything will work out fine. You’ll see.”

Jed gave him an innocent smile, warm and full of trust. “I like you, Sinto,” he repeated. His face lit as he seemed to remember something. He pulled a piece of paper out of his mauve working jumpsuit. Jed held a childish picture in his hand, a stick figure drawing. “I made this for you.”

“Jed, this is really, really nice. You did this?”

Jed nodded.

Ash took the proffered gift and felt a strange clutch in his chest at the gesture. “Thank you, Jed,” he said sincerely.

The day’s work went slowly and his menial tasks allowed plenty of time for reflection. There was something wrong with Minavera. Why was such a prosperous business falling into ruin? Tonight he hoped to mind-touch someone and find out. Nothing could be allowed to interfere with his plans. Ash had to get to Kalar. He needed to settle the debt with Forseth. A verse from the Testimonials sprang into his mind:

“Hate hides the power. One sees only the enemy or revenge, not Truth.”

Ash dropped the box he was carrying, annoyed. Why should that stupid verse from the Testimonials plague him? Forseth must pay. It is not revenge, he reassured himself. Ex-police Captain Larren Forseth was on the run from the United Freeworlds government for the genocide of the Delian people. Ash’s entire purpose in going to Kalar was to find and kill him. He will not escape from me, Ash thought with malicious satisfaction.

Jed frowned at Ash. Anxiety and confusion shone in his hazel eyes. Ash hid his turmoil with a faint smile. Jed smiled back, happy once more. Life would continue for him as always. Nothing changed.

The day stretched on. Ash returned to his quarters after last meal. Jed rested on his bunk, playing a game on a tablet. Ash took an ion shower no one used water for personal hygiene while aboard a spaceship. The ionic showers were adequate, even if one was left with a distinct ozone smell and every fine hair on one’s skin was left standing on end. Ash toweled himself “dry” out of habit rather than need.

There was a loud knock on the door. “Eh, Sinto. Wake up. You’d better get to command quick smart. The Captain wants you.”

“All right,” Ash called. His adrenaline spiked with the summons. Why hadn’t he been notified on Icom? Was it some sort of ship protocol? His mind focused on Walters, someone he still knew little about. He had been surprised by the man’s pockmarks and gray hair. Most of the United Freeworlds embraced the “body beautiful” notion. Personal sculpting and genetic enhancements were the norm. He supposed the Captain came from Kalar, one of the few worlds that frowned on body alteration. One thing was certain. Walters was a hard, angry man.

He pulled on a civilian shirt and trousers and took a tube to the control deck. Upon entering the command center, Ash was taken aback. Walters looked years older than he had the day before. Was the man ill, or had he suffered a shock?

“You called for me, sir?” Ash spoke with deference. His mouth felt dry.

Walters said without preamble, “There’s been an outbreak on Kalar. No one goes planetside due to quarantine.”

Ash’s frowned. “Quarantine?”

Walters was looking at him, but not really looking at him. He was squeezing something in one white-fisted hand. He said absently, “Yes … that’s right. Over twenty-five percent of the population is infected. I have a shipment to drop off. It will go via bots and shuttle. There will be no physical contact with the people or the planet.”

“Can I still disembark, sir?” Ash tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. Larren Forseth was on Kalar he had to kill him, unless the man was already dead. Had Forseth died of plague? Ash felt a small stab of loss at the thought.

Captain Walters glared at Ash. His habitual hard edge returned. The man’s anger didn’t surprise him but his eyes were … wrong. The vessels in the whites of Walters’ eyes were red enlarged and irritated. Had he been drinking? Ash smelled Walters’ musky sweat, which his deodorizer couldn’t disguise, but Ash couldn’t sense the unique tang of whisky. So. Not drinking. Walters’ expression seemed … raw. It looked as if the man had been crying. Ash’s mind reeled. Had someone he loved died from the Kalar plague? Surely only the death of a loved one could make a stubborn hardhead like Walters cry.

“Suit yourself. Kalar is as good a place as any to be buried. It’ll be years before you get back off that planet if you ever do get off.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Let me know what you decide. Now get out of here,” he said in a cold voice.

Ash left the command center, deep in thought. Walking slowly back to his cabin he realized the full force of his predicament. A quarantine. If he went downside to Kalar, he might not get a ship back out for years. Not only that: What if the plague overtook him? Was it too dangerous to risk?

Jed was asleep when he returned to his quarters. Ash lay down, his mind in turmoil. He checked ship’s Icom for possible updates, but none had come in. How did the Captain know about Kalar’s quarantine? He must have had a personal message. Ash shook his head in frustration. It was impossible to establish a course of action with such scanty information.

Ash shut his eyes. He let his mind drift as he reached for his power. Yes. Warmth. Endless heat. Tonight he would search until he located Captain Walters’ mind. Only the Captain would be able to provide the answers he needed.

As usual when working with his gift, Ash felt exquisite waves of pleasure. It feels so good. So right. His power was a vast and endless ocean. He could never use it up. Ash searched for what he wanted, that one particular mind, camouflaged by the mental presence of the rest of the crew. After light touches on a number of other minds, he found the Captain of Minavera. Contact was uncomplicated, natural and instinctive. As though diving into a pool of water, Ash slipped into the Captain’s body and thoughts.

Twisting gut spasms. Nervous flutters.

Ah. Anxiety. Ash knew this terrible feeling from his own near-death experiences. It was an overwhelming, visceral sensation that dragged at his attention. Walters’ large form was thick, heavy and slow, his mind dark and burdened. Walters stood in the command center. The man’s short, rapid breathing was loud amongst background conversational noises and the purring of equipment. Walters was hiding something … and he was afraid.

Within Walters’ flesh, Ash waited.

Breathe in, breathe out. In, out. Walters’ shifted, nervously running his hands through his hair. Ash felt the man’s thick fingers move over his head. “Number One,” Walters said tersely. “I’m going to bed. Look after things here.”

“Right,” the second-in-command of Minavera Mover replied.

Walters lurched down toward his quarters and Ash moved with him. With an Icom command, the door swished open. Walters locked it securely behind him and slid solidly down on his bunk. He reached into his jumpsuit and pulled out a large, flat flask of strong spirits. The container was designed to be sucked or squeezed in order to prevent spillage in case of loss of artificial gravity. Ash smelled the sharp bite of alcohol. It was a Barten brew, a strong, cheap whiskey. Walters squeezed in a large swallow. Ash felt the hot fire coursing down his throat, the burning sensation as the liquid moved toward Walters’ stomach. Fire stabbed his gut, then spread its warmth through the man’s flesh with numbing relief.

Captain Walters sat in wooden shock for some minutes. He dimmed the lights. Then he began to think, at first slowly and then with rapidly flashing images. Ash imagined synapses in the man’s mind flashing with loose associations. His neurons flickered like a fireworks display, forming small snapshots of events brightly illuminated in their miniature electrochemical glory, again, again and again. The last few months unfolded in Walters’ mind like a holovid. Ash understood the sequence of events as if he had experienced it himself.

Walters slid to the floor and leaned against his bunk, thinking back. It had begun so easily. First there was the woman who introduced him to gambling … and so much more. The intimate mental images of Mara flashed by. Walters trembled, feeling ill. Mara … why? The memories of her flooded back. They filled his heart with grief, reopening the unhealed wound. Mara. Such a beautiful name. Ash felt a tear roll slowly down the man’s cheek as the alcohol enhanced his emotions. He loved her. But she was using him. Somehow, he didn’t blame her or hate her even now. If only she would come back to him …

It hadn’t been long before Mara left and the gambling debts remained … but then, the solution. A representative from another shipping company offered him money, not enough to pay the debts, but enough to take the pressure off. All he had to do was make the next freight run late. The cargo exchange would be delayed, but what real harm could it do?

He agreed, causing Minavera Mover to be off schedule. Just one little thing and it helped so much to get him out of the bind he was in. Consolidated Mines lost money and an important shipping contract, but Walters only planned to do it once. He had served Consolidated faithfully for years. What was one little slip up?

Then one favor turned to two, and then to three and four. Ash and Walters together exhaled in a deep sigh. Now he was on Consolidated’s payroll, but really working for someone else. He had helped destroy the very shipping line he himself had spent half his life building up.

Walters pulled himself up onto his bed and slumped across it. No one knew his secrets. He had lost all connection with his friends they couldn’t help him. They had warned him against Mara and they had been right. He had been so stupid. Nothing is as deaf, dumb and blind as an old man with a pretty young woman. He had made such a mess of things he didn’t want to pull his friends into it anyway. But who could he go to for help? He had never been in such trouble in all his life, but he had no one to turn to.

Walters took another drink. Over half the flask was gone. Ash’s vision blurred. He felt a kind of vertigo. Within the man’s flesh Ash felt sloppy and uncoordinated. It was difficult staying in mental contact with him, but Ash held on. Walters’ experiences kept coming. Like thousands of rolling objects being pulled downhill by the force of gravity, the cascade of pictures and memories would only stop when the man hit bottom. It was the Dark Sankomin. Walters needed friends, but he had cut himself off from them. The traditional fallback solutions for such pain were sleep, drugs, alcohol or death.

There is no way out, Walters thought with grim certainty. Not now that they knew about his six-year old granddaughter.

Ash became suddenly alert. What? Now this is interesting.

Walters took one more pull on the flask. Marguerite, his ex-wife, had left long ago with someone better. Walters wondered why he had never heard from her in all these years. Was she dead? He could understand her leaving him, but why had she abandoned her own daughter?

Then Maria, their only child, had died too. It had happened a year previously, through some stupid accident on Kalar. Tina, Maria’s daughter and Walters’ granddaughter, was all he had left in the world. Despite the softening effect of drink, the threat concerning Tina remained vividly alive in his mind.

Tholl was his contact from the other company, the one that had paid him for sabotaging his own employer, and Walters told him he wanted out. He had made up his mind. He didn’t want to work for them anymore whoever they were. Walters shut his eyes tightly. The conversation with Tholl seemed to be burned into his mind.

“I tell you, I’ve done enough. Minavera is in ruins as it is.”

Tholl oozed understanding. “There’s no need for concern. This will be the last job, and really, it’s only a little thing.”

“No,” Walters’ replied emphatically. “‘Last job,’ my ass. I’ve heard that before. I said no more. I’ll carry no more illicit freight, I’ll delay no shipments.”

With a cunning look Tholl said, “What about your debts?”

“I’ll go to prison for them if I must.”

“Fine.” Tholl seemed resigned. “However, there is the matter of your granddaughter.”

Walters burning rage disappeared as a knot formed in his gut. “What are you talking about? How do you know about her?”

“I mean that unless you cooperate, I can’t guarantee her safety.” Tholl’s face held a sly, malicious expression.

“You can’t threaten me! I’ll go to Kalar and take her away. You won’t be able to touch her.”

“Your devotion to the child is touching, but let’s just say that it comes a bit late.”

Walters felt the blood drain from his face. He could hardly remain standing, such was his shock. “What do you mean?” His voice came out in a whisper. “Have you harmed her?

“Oh, certainly not,” Tholl said. “What kind of barbarians do you think we are? Some of our people are simply looking after her, ensuring her welfare. It seems that Kalar is under quarantine. Apparently it’s been overcome with a fairly serious infectious disease, a bit like the cholera epidemics during the hundred-year interplanetary war.”

“You’ve kidnapped my granddaughter,” Walters said dumbly, his voice weak with disbelief.

Tholl grinned, amused. “You make it sound so dramatic. We aren’t kidnappers. Why, we are the child’s guardian angels. Our people will ensure that she survives this terrible epidemic provided, of course, that you do exactly as I say.” He paused to let the thought sink in. “Then again,” Tholl continued with a malevolent grin, “if you renege on your agreements, we would certainly have less motivation to shield her from the epidemic. She could become infected.” His eyes were hard as flint. “After all, she is so young. The young ones have no resistance, poor things. I doubt she would last two weeks without our staunch protection.”

Dal Walters simply stared at him, aghast. Within seconds the full consequences of his actions filtered through into his tortured awareness. He could imagine no avenue for escape. He was a beaten man.

“I see,” he said, able to see very clearly indeed. “What is it you want me to do?”

Tholl smiled with the kind of ruthless charm that only the incredibly insincere possess. “Very good, Walters. I was sure you could be made to see reason.”

Captain Walters shut his eyes and allowed the strong drink to take control, pushing his memory of the conversation to the farthest corner of his mind. All tension eased from the man. The matter was out of his hands.

The message he had received by tube tonight confirmed Tholl’s report about the epidemic and the quarantine of Kalar. Nothing could be done. Even killing himself would be no solution, would bring no relief, no escape, no deliverance. They would simply kill Tina if he did that. There was no one he could trust, no one to help him. The choice was no longer his. He would do whatever they asked. Anything. He had to.

Ash broke contact and returned to himself. He felt no weird aftereffects from Walters’ whisky. Good. The alcohol had not been unpleasant, but any loss of control risked sending him into blind panic. It felt good to be in his own body, under control once more.

Ash lay on his bunk, his thoughts on Walters. Walters had once been an honest man. No wonder the man had such a temper. His ship had been subverted by a competing shipping firm. It astonished Ash to think of the lengths these people had gone to in order to destroy Minavera Mover. Captain Dal Walters was suffering from the unalterable circumstances of his present and the Dark Sankomin of his recent past.

Ash got up to use the toilet and prepare for bed. He washed his hands and looked into the mirror over the sink. The person in the glass surprised him. He had lost the innocent visage of a boy. The man staring back at him possessed dark hard eyes, dark hair and dark thoughts. A week away from Lindha and already Ash felt burdened and blocked. Was it the Dark Sankomin? Being with Lindha had cleansed and refreshed his spirit, like bathing in a fresh, clear, mountain stream. But now …

All souls suffered the Dark Sankomin. Offworlders called it melancholy or depression and knew that it could lead to insanity or suicide, but those born on Delian were prone to extremes of madness and despair that those not of Delian descent could scarcely imagine.

The people of Delian had been given a great gift, and like all such gifts it was balanced by an equally great flaw. Passionate and powerful, they could be heavily influenced by the Dark Sankomin. No Delian could avoid madness without mind-touch to heal them. The histories spoke of a dark time in their past, before the Delian people knew how to mind-touch. Mass suicides, wars and sudden homicidal violence were frequent occurrences before the natural evolution of mind-touch. It was why the Testimonials and the Interpretations were important for every Delian to understand.

“All become marred in time,” the Testimonials warned. Ash had been saved from the Dark Sankomin through mind-touch with Lindha. Without Lindha, he would have gone mad.

But who would save Captain Walters from despair? Not to mention the mess he had gotten himself into. Could Ash do it?

Hmm. Blackmail, gambling and drugs. Such an old story. Ash changed into his sleepwear and brushed his teeth, all the while turning the problem over in his mind. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same. Back in bed he rolled over, willing himself to sleep. He set an Icom alert to waken him early.

Walters was backed into a corner. Tomorrow, before his work period, Ash would visit the good Captain. Maybe he could help the man out of the mess he had gotten himself into. The idea cheered him.

If I can right a few small wrongs, then the United Freeworlds will be at least that tiny bit better. With that wholesome thought he fell asleep.

3. Betrayal and Trust

Betrayal after trust is difficult to endure, yet self-betrayal carries equal if not greater weight. Under the indifferent aegis of the Dark Sankomin, an individual will typically be found to deceive themselves first. No one is safe from such subtle malfeasance. Thus it is wise to keep Suman’s advice in the forefront of one’s thoughts: In life, be kind. Everyone is fighting a hard battle.

Professor Les Miller, The Interpretations

An Icom wake-up song blasted inside Ash’s head, loud and getting louder. Groaning, he stirred at the sound of the alert, and mentally slammed it off. The music stopped.

Ash woke on board Minavera Mover, well before his work period began. He pulled on his “Mover” jumpsuit and left his shoes off. The grooved flooring was cold as he ducked into the galley, where he grabbed a warm, buttery crispbread, downed some coffee and slipped out in search of Captain Walters’ room. Senses alert, he padded soundlessly down the corridor in bare feet, breathing in the tang of recycled air. There were no footsteps, no sound of breathing or talking only the constant thrum of propulsion.

Good. He was alone.

The door to the Captain’s quarters was nondescript except for a jaunty insignia. Ash stared at the representation of a green cap with the black anchor of a sailboat on it. Strange. Civilian vessels were not allowed fleet insignia, but to revert to sea trappings seemed absurd.

He swallowed. Was he procrastinating? Stupid. He had read Walters’ mind. He held all the cards. So why should he feel nervous about this meeting? He tapped softly on the door.

“Who is it?” a voice asked from within. There were scuffling sounds and Walters appeared as the door swished open.

“What do you want? he demanded gruffly.

“I beg your pardon, sir. I wanted to speak with you before shift. It’s a personal matter, sir, of some importance.”

“What gave you the idea that anything personal to you could be important to me?” Walters snapped. “I can tell you right now, I don’t care.”

“It concerns Tina,” Ash said in a low voice.

The Captain stumbled backwards, eyes wide. This startled pause lasted only a moment. He recovered, rushed forward and grasped Ash by the front of his Mover jumpsuit. With a careless yank he dragged Ash into his quarters, banging and scraping him against the doorframe. The door slid shut.

“What are you talking about?” Walters demanded with hard, angry eyes. He gave Ash a shake.

“Sir, please believe me,” Ash said evenly, hands open in front of him as though to say, See? Not armed. Friend here.’ “I know of your troubles,” Ash continued, “and I want to help.”

“Bastard!” Walters screamed. The solid man balled his big hands into fists, drew back with a skilled stance and started swinging. Ash recoiled, recalling too late that Walters had once been an experienced boxer in his youth.

“This is for Tina!” Walters crammed a furious fist into his stomach, then caught him with another in the face as Ash jackknifed. Ash gasped, breathless and astonished, the wind knocked right out of him. “And this is for my ship.” Another blow smashed him in the mouth, cutting his upper lip against his teeth, drawing blood. Ash spun on his heel to escape this punishment. This was a mistake, as Walters continued to rain physical blows in a steady stream, each strike punctuated with words that Ash hardly heard. “Threaten Tina, will you?” One punch gave him an agonizing jar to the kidneys.

Incredibly, the fresh onslaught of pain cleared Ash’s mental confusion. I’m getting a beating. And I have done nothing wrong!

A surge of fury moved through him. Like switching on an electric charge, heat and adrenaline made his blood boil. He had come here to help the ignorant fool.

Something raged and tore from deep inside.

Without conscious thought or awareness the wolf took over.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash sprang away in a defensive crouch. With monstrous speed he grabbed two fingers of Walters’ hand, painfully twisting them, wrenching them back behind the man’s torso. Ash’s other hand grasped the back of Walters’ neck, pushing the man down with considerable force, striking his head against a wall and breaking his nose. Only seconds had passed. With a sweep of his leg, Ash knocked the Captain’s feet out from under him, leaving him at a disadvantage, breathing heavily, lying in an agonized heap on the floor.

A flood of emotions crossed the man’s face, with astonishment the most evident. The pain seemed to bring Walters to his senses. Minavera’s Captain obviously hadn’t expected him to fight back or to be such a capable opponent. Walters’ eyes narrowed and his expression became sly and calculating.

Walters’ pulled a slip-blade from his pocket, a pencil-sized, razor sharp weapon the assassin’s choice. Was he going to try to jab that little knife between his ribs? With his nose dripping blood, Walters regained his feet and began to advance. Fierce pleasure and perhaps unrestrained madness lit his eyes.

Walters’ intends to kill me. Does he think I’ll back away in fear?

Ash didn’t move. The sight of the knife, an unfair advantage, didn’t frighten him. It enraged him. The wolf within snarled.

Ash struck with speed. One bare foot knocked the blade out of Walters’ hand before he was even aware that Ash had aimed a kick. The speed and force of the kick would have broken wrist or finger bones if Ash had been wearing shoes. His next impulse, instantly executed, was a wolfish killing blow to the throat. Ash’s human side pulled back from completing that move.

No. I don’t want to kill him.

He ducked Walters’ desperate punch it missed yet the glancing blow split Ash’s lip again.

This new pain fueled his fury. With the full weight and force of his body, Ash elbowed the unfortunate Captain in the gut. Walters grunted and bent over with the sudden explosive agony, his hand moving to his stomach and his head swinging downward. At that precise moment Ash’s knee came up to meet the man’s face.

The collision of these two swiftly moving forces Walters’ face and Ash’s knee resulted in a strike to the exact spot where Walters had been hit before. Ash heard the man’s broken nose make a grating sound. The Captain screamed in an unexpected high-pitched tone. Then he dropped like an axed boar. He lay on the deck beside his bunk, panting and bleeding.

Walters didn’t move. Maybe, Ash reflected, Walters had blacked out. Was he unconscious? Ash found he didn’t care.

Ash grabbed the knife and fell upon the man. Wrenching his arm painfully and with unnatural strength fueled by fury, Ash raised Walters and threw him against the wall. He held him there by the neck. He felt the man’s breath on his skin. He felt the man’s bounding pulse under his hand. He felt the texture of the man’s clothes rub against his arm. Antagonists face to face, Ash held the blade tip against the pounding carotid pulse in Walters’ throat. Teeth clenched in a black rage, Ash felt his lips pull back with an inhuman snarl.

He smelled hot, fresh blood.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Moments passed. The room was quiet except for the sound of both men panting to regain their breath. Fully conscious and aware now, Walters gasped, eyes wide with panic. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He stared at Ash.

Unknown to Walters, Ash was wrestling with the wolf within. Ash fought his initial instinct, the strong animal impulse to plunge his knife in and watch the blood of his adversary pump and flow until it stopped. This internal battle raged in silence. Ash’s heart thumped fast and heavy in his chest. His ears rang as his lungs rose and fell in gasping breaths. Walters’ scent filled his nostrils, the tang of strong whisky, blood and sweat. Ash could taste his fear.

The fight with his beast ended suddenly.

I am not a murderer. Walters did not deserve to die.

With a violent force similar to that with which he had repelled the wolf, Ash lifted the Captain of Minavera Mover up by his tunic and with unrestrained fury threw him across the room. Walters fell solidly against a corner of his compartment, a half bench, but miraculously remained standing. Unbelievably his legs held. Ash’s glare seemed to pin Walters to the wall.

The two men stared at each other.

Ash gripped the knife. “I’m not going to kill you,” he said, his voice laced with mocking contempt. “I have no intention of falling to the depths that you seem to have reached. Unlike you, I thank the Goddess that I can control my rage. Blood from a blameless man does not wash off.”

Taking a cloth from the pocket of his jumpsuit, Ash began to wipe the bleeding gash in his forehead. An irritating flow ran into his left eye, inhibiting his vision. He pressed on the cut until it stopped bleeding, then dabbed at his split lip. Taking stock, he sat down on the Captain’s bunk, contemplating his enemy in silent glowering wrath.

Walters stood, back and hands against the wall, leaning heavily for support. He continued to pant, breathing in and out heavily.

Ash’s eyes narrowed. “What is it with you, Captain Walters? Have you been betrayed so often that when someone genuinely offers you help, you know for certain that they actually intend harm? Or could it be as it states in Jana’s Parables? You gauge others using your own behavior as a measure? Perhaps you are certain that I cannot be trusted, because you yourself are not worthy of trust. You seem to have instantly judged me guilty. Could it be that it is you who are irretrievably consumed by guilt?”

He stood up and with shocking blinding speed threw the knife across the room. The blade landed in the wall to the left of the Captain’s head, within easy reach. Walters quivered, but remained still. He made no move to grasp the weapon.

“I came to offer help,” Ash said. “The offer stands. If my assistance isn’t wanted I’ll leave. It’s up to you.”

Walters’ mouth opened in surprise, then shut. After a moment he said, “Why would you help me?”

Ash raised his eyebrows and then laughed out loud. “Why should I help you? A very good question. Stupidity should not be ruled out. I can help but you’ll need to trust me.”

“Why … why should I trust you?” Walters asked in a bewildered voice. He raised a hand and touched a trail of blood. He reached into a pocket and took out a cloth, holding it to his nose.

Ash laughed with ringing sarcasm. His said sharply, “What a question! I should be asking why I should trust you. You who have shown me physical harm. You who might have successfully taken my life. I will trust you because I consider that you are, despite all evidence to the contrary, worthy of trust. You could do the same for me.”

Ash’s words seemed to trigger complete capitulation.

The man trembled, unsteady on his feet. Walters slid down the wall to the floor as if his knees had been knocked out from under him. Bloody and beaten, he looked like a man on his way to the gallows, given an unexpected reprieve. Ash could tell from the expression on his face that Walters wanted it to be true, but couldn’t still his doubts.

Well, Ash thought. Perhaps the big fellow might be beginning to believe him.

“Why do you think you can help me?” Walters asked in a wooden voice.

Ash recognized the sound of despair. He let out his breath with a sigh. He hadn’t realized that he had been holding it. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. Walters tried to kill him and now he felt sorry for him. What was that about? These extremes of emotion confused him.

Ash studied the pitiful creature on the floor before him. Walters was not a young man. He had suffered too many shocks in too short a time. Perhaps after all he had been through he had lost the ability to recover. Ash lowered his voice and addressed the Captain in a neutral tone, “I know why Minavera is in such a reduced state. I am aware of the blackmail and intimidation. I know someone has threatened Tina’s life. I’d like to understand the entire account from the beginning. I swear that the information will go no further than this room, although my word is worthless unless you choose to believe it.”

Intuitively Ash felt it would be unwise to tell the Captain he had read his mind, not because he was afraid that he would expose him, as he was certain that he wouldn’t. Somehow he knew that Captain Walters could not be helped unless he told his secrets of his own free will. It was a personal choice, one he needed to make for himself.

Ash remembered his mother talking to his fourteen year old cousin Amie. The young woman had been crying, saying, “No one likes me.” His mother had calmly replied, “Why don’t you try being likable?” This situation wasn’t dissimilar. Amie had created her own circumstances not unlike Captain Walters, who needed to be trustworthy himself in order to trust another.

Ash cleared his throat. I will help him … but only if he chooses to trust me. Walters needed this leap of faith in humankind. Admitting one’s faults never came easy; not to anyone. After being on the receiving end of Walters’ punishing fists, he wouldn’t back down. A full confession was the price of his help.

How did you find out about Tina? Did Tholl contact you? How do I know you aren’t part of this somehow?”

Ash smiled an ironic, twisted grin. “You don’t.”

Walters’ eyes widened. He looked as panicked as when Ash held a knife to his throat.

“I can give no assurances,” Ash said. “You will simply have to believe me. If you can bring yourself to confide in me I swear I’ll try to help both you and Tina. But no half measures here. I want to know it all. If you find you can’t trust me, and refuse to unburden yourself, then I’ll leave now.”

“But why?”

Emotions flew across Walters’ features, shame, guilt and fear. Ash remained silent.

“Why do you want to know?” Walters said, rubbing his hands across his face. “Sons of Taro, boy. I just tried to kill you. I … I’m not myself today. Perhaps it’s best if you just go. We’ll both forget the whole thing.”

Ash shrugged. “It’s your choice. Do you want my help? The fact is, it can be frightening being alone and more so when there are enemies to face. Eventually you shall have to trust someone that is, if you want to survive.” He smiled crookedly. “No one can make it on their own. Surely not everyone intends you harm.”

The Captain turned away. He rubbed his chin. “That much must be true. But with my recent track record, it seems as though everyone is against me.”

Walters turned to face Ash, jaw clenched. Once again Ash found himself feeling sorry for the man. Stupid to do so, for the Captain had brought these troubles on himself. And he wanted to kill me. But Ash had been within Walters’ flesh, within his mind. He had touched the man’s soul. What he had found there was good a little tarnished, to be sure, but definitely good.

Walters stared at Ash with a peculiar expression on his face. It pleaded for understanding for all the things he so completely regretted. Did he want at least one person to witness his remorse, sympathize with his grief or learn from his failure? Confession was supposed to be good for the soul. This was Walters’ chance to find out.

The Captain gave a jerky nod and said, “It’s true. Everyone can’t be against me. I’m going to trust you,” he said with a caustic smile, “if only because you didn’t kill me when you had the chance.” He wiped his nose once more.

Walters took a deep breath and began to tell his story. Ash listened patiently. With long pauses and stuttering hesitation, it became obvious that his was a difficult tale to tell. Captain Walters felt ashamed of what he had done. The man had a dam holding back long hidden secrets and pent-up emotions. The pressure on that dam had to be enormous. When the dam broke, a flood came pouring out. Words flowed from him as he gestured, paced, stood still and sat down throughout the telling.

Ash was the perfect listener. He prodded from time to time, asking the right questions to help Walters reveal every secret. Ash had the advantage, because he knew what Walters was hiding. Consequently, his promptings were pointed and exact. Like nanosurgery separating diseased cells from the healthy, Ash helped cut any contamination away. Walters covered every detail: his greed, lust and stupidity, including the consequences of his actions. Once he had started down that darkened road of transgression, pretense and hiding, there had seemed to be no way back. He was trapped in his own deception. Walters knew there was no one to blame for his problems, no one except himself.

In the end he retold the entire account, which Ash already knew. He revealed everything except the situation with Tina.

“And your granddaughter?” Ash pressed.

“Gods, Tina.” Walters covered his face with his hands and rubbed. Ash waited for him to collect himself. Walters, who had been pacing moved to the bed and sat down heavily. In the end he told the entire account exactly as Ash knew it.

When Walters finished, Ash said, “Thank you for telling me and for trusting me. You were set up. I think you know that now. Anyone might have made the same errors in judgment if they had found themselves in similar circumstances.” Ash’s words soothed like water to the man’s burning soul. The Captain’s facial expressions had gone through many transformations, but now they lit with relief.

Walters nodded gruffly. “Thank you, boy. I’ve gotten myself into a mess. I have only myself to blame, but you don’t know how good it feels to get that off my chest. You’re the only one who knows.”

Ash smiled. “Good, but I didn’t plan to simply talk about your situation.” He reached into a fold in his green “Mover” jumpsuit and pulled out a number of jewels. “It may not look like it, but I am a wealthy man. I trust these will pay your debts?”

Walters took the jewels from him, staring at them in his open palm. “Souls of Perdition,” he swore. “Are these real?”

“Most definitely.”

Walters inspected the stones. “These will not only pay my debts, but they could pay for a refit of the Mover.”

“Good. I very much doubt if you’ll be gambling after this. I am going to Kalar. While I’m there I’ll find and keep Tina safe. Next time you make orbit you can take us both offworld.”

Walters’ face shone with astonishment. “You’ll go to Tina? Protect her? And you’re giving me these?” he said in disbelief.

Ash shrugged. “I do need a way on and off Kalar. As you said yourself, with the quarantine I could be stuck there unless somehow smuggled out. I’m sure you can manage that.”

The jewels flickered in Walters’ hand. He said, “How will you do it? Have you done this kind of thing before? How can you protect her? These people have power behind them. I’m sorry if it sounds like I’m backing out. I’m not. It’s just … I just can’t risk Tina. Not for anything.”

Ash shook his head. “Don’t concern yourself. I have connections with the High Temple of Jana on Kalar. You know the Temple Sisters?”

“Of course. Who doesn’t? Formidable, educated women. I could never afford to place Tina with them.” His eyes gleamed with hope. “Seriously? You can send her there?”

“That’s the plan.” Ash raised his brows and gave a silly self-important smile. “I have connections. The Sisters will pick her up. They can do it without creating comment or speculation. I just need an authorization from you indicating that you are enrolling her to their boarding school. She’ll be safe at the Temple until you return.”

Walters said, “This is too much, this and protecting Tina. I don’t understand. You don’t even know me. Why? Why would you do this?”

Ash’s expression became distant, preoccupied with the small holo wall in Walters’ quarters. It reflected a country vista. It hadn’t cycled since he arrived, but Ash wasn’t really looking at it. His flippant manner disappeared. The sudden intimate question caught him unawares. He had no control as his mind began to automatically answer the question. Why was he helping Walters? For a moment he shut his eyes, caught in his own memories, recalling his time as a captive when he had lost his power.

Death had seemed attractive then.

Ash had healed his own pain of the Dark Sankomin with Lindha’s help. The Captain’s particular brand of suffering had been similar, an echo of his past, of his own dark despair. Ash said in a low voice, “I suppose because I, too, have known torment from which there was no relief, grief that could not be eased. I also longed for the peace of death and yet had not found even that possibility to hold comfort.”

Walters had considered suicide, Ash knew. Not the preoccupation of a rational man. But sometimes there seemed to be no other way out. Ash remembered the large and stupid twill bird. The creature seemed so unaware, but knew about pain and death very well. Life could be cruel. All living things know what it is to suffer. He recalled the words of the Testimonials: “For all become marred, in time …

“I don’t understand,” Captain Walters said, his eyes blinking rapidly. He stared at the jewels, clearly astounded at his deliverance. “How can I repay you?”

Ash gave him a half smile and shrugged, attempting to lessen the debt. “Just be there to take us both off Kalar when the time comes. And perhaps now you won’t feel compelled to attack people out of hand.”

The Captain’s eyes were full of water. He wouldn’t be able to control his emotions for long. And then, before Captain Walters that seemingly hard and unfeeling man could break down with tears of relief, Ash left.

As he strode down the corridors of the Minavera Mover, Ash felt exhilarated, despite the minor physical discomfort he felt as a result of their combat. Of what importance were a few bodily aches? The flesh seemed insignificant when the spirit felt carefree. He recalled his own rage, how he had picked Walters’ up and thrown him across the room. His smile grew. Such a tough old guy. And heavy. It had been a most excellent fight!

Ash nodded a greeting as he passed a crewman in the corridor.

The man stared, clearly taken aback by the blood on Ash’s forehead and clothes. Ash wondered what he looked like, torn tunic, bloody and grinning like an idiot. He smiled so wide his split lip started to bleed again. Ash licked it. He smelled and tasted salt and iron. His heart filled with purpose, something beyond personal pleasure, beyond duty. He had helped Walters with no thought of his own benefit. He had done it for …

Ash paused to consider the matter, frowning. Why had he done it? Was it because of an inborn desire to help? Perhaps he had done it for the joy of the thing, for the pleasure of giving a gift to someone desperate. Or because he had undergone similar pain and couldn’t bear to watch another suffer. It had seemed a little like throwing a lifejacket to a drowning man a natural, unthinking action. Ash listed his response to the question and felt each answer had the clear ring of truth. Yet it was more than that. Why had he done it?

Somewhere behind my actions was something indescribably beautiful, something pure. I could even describe it as love. Love. What a word. It encompassed so much. It seemed wrong to bandy it around, even in his mind. He knew what he felt for Lindha. Her happiness was his happiness. How odd that after mind-touch with Captain Walters he felt so completely connected to him.

He and Walters had shared a soulful blaze of joy and redemption.

And that, he realized, was the right answer. He had done it for grace and love. Interestingly enough, with no thought of payment, he had been given ample repayment anyway. It was just like the parables advised concerning honest intention. With a pure heart he had made a friend and had thereby found a solution to his own problems. Kalar would not hold him.

His feet barely touched the ground as he walked. Ash snickered as he realized he still needed to put some shoes on.

Ash had been taught from an early age that he should always be grateful. With a little pang of memory he heard his mother say, “Offer thanks, my son, regularly and often. We are only truly alive in those moments when we are conscious of our riches.” He certainly felt rich right now, and alive. He shut his eyes for a moment and thought, Thank you, Jana.

He came to his quarters and opened the door, scanning. No Jed. He would probably find the big man in the galley eating shuttle-loads of something sweet. Ash washed up, changed his clothes, put his work boots on and walked toward the galley.

All the while Ash continued to turn things over in his mind. He had used his power to heal another. It was like two-way mind-touch and almost as satisfying. He recalled the Testimonials: “With mind-touch we see the Truth. We see all. Understand, love and heal, and even enemies can become friends.” At last that cryptic verse was comprehensible. Truth. Love. Understanding. Heady stuff, he thought with a smile.

Captain Walters had been a threat, but now he was an ally. Ash touched the cut on his brow, reminded of the man’s punishing blows. Curious, this new friendship, forged from violence. Ash helped Walters take responsibility for his mistakes. In doing so he had gotten back his pride. Dal Walters would do anything for him now.

In the galley Ash found Jed, as expected, consuming a bowl of a disgustingly sweet children’s cereal. Ash smiled and lifted the container. Empty. He wondered if Jed had three bowls or four. He helped him tidy up, and then they moved off together to attend their duties. Despite the small amount of sleep, Ash worked with boundless energy.

That entire day he experienced a sweet and quiet peace within himself.

4. Quarantine

Survivor’s guilt involves a pattern of symptoms including anxiety, depression, social withdrawal, self-blame, sleep disturbance, nightmares, physical complaints and emotional instability. Sufferers often divert their guilt into helping others deal with traumatic situations. As the Parables of Jana so rightly point out, guilt is a self-imposed burden, but it is not always correctly imposed.

Chancellor David Quincey

“Warning! Quarantine! Quarantine! All vessels stay back. Bio-containment Emergency Category Five Warning. Quarantine! Quarantine!”

The message buoy made these announcements when Minavera Mover entered Kalar’s orbit, and they echoed loudly throughout the ship before they were muted.

Mover docked at the orbital space station, preparing for goods transfer. The Captain notified port authority and a shuttle arrived to collect his consignment. Robots would complete the transfer. Ash shook his head at the carton and gave a sardonic smile. He was going to be packed up and shipped off with the rest of the cargo.

After his memorable fight with Captain Dal Walters, the rest of the trip was uneventful. Ash spent hours talking with Dal. Their friendship grew, with Ash confiding almost as much to him as Walters had to Ash. Captain Walters was still gruff, but his gruffness commanded respect, not fear, now that the man’s own self respect was restored. Already Dal had instituted a few small changes and the crew was more cheerful and productive.

Ash mind-touched Jed and found his friend’s uncomplicated psyche seemed to leave more room for the essence of his soul. Contact with Jed was calming, like time spent in a quiet, desert oasis yet this simple man suffered in his own way. He needed something to care for and love. Luckily, Jed’s problem was easily remedied. Ash obtained the Captain’s permission for Jed to buy a cat. Walters swore that, at the next port they were in, such a pet would be found.

Ash smiled, remembering the simple beauty of Jed’s expression when he told him about the animal.

“You mean it?” Jed asked, joy transforming his features.

“The Captain promised and here is the money to buy it,” Ash said, handing him a few credits to cover the purchase of the cat, cat food, toys and such.

Jed beamed.

“You know, Jed, you’ll be able to choose the animal you want yourself. And you’ll be able to name it, too.”

“I can name it?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Of course. It’s going to be your cat and it will need you to look after it.”

Jed frowned with intense concentration. Ash waited, watching as thoughts formed in Jed’s mind. A sudden triumphant smile indicated that Jed had solved the problem. “I’m going to call it Sinto, after you,” he announced.

Ash patted him on the back. “That’s a good name, Jed.” The cat would be named after his old school friend, now long dead on Delian. He nodded his head. Sinto would have approved.

Ash, dressed in a space-certified fullsuit, waited near his metal container. No one would hinder his arrival on Kalar. The transfer would take only hours, but he wore a fullsuit for warmth and oxygen. The address on his crate was marked in red and yellow, indicating first class shipping priority. It said: URGENT THIS WAY UP HANDLE WITH CARE. TO: THE PREFECT, HIGH TEMPLE OF JANA, KALAR.

Captain Walters himself helped Ash into his carton, taking a few moments alone with him. “Look, son,” he said, grasping Ash’s arm. Ash smiled curiously up at the older man. Walters, who looked nothing like him, was beginning to remind him of his father.

Walters hesitated. “Now that the pressure is off, I’ve been able to think things through a bit more clearly.” He licked his lips. “I don’t know for certain that this man Tholl was from another freight company. What if he wasn’t? Honestly, what company benefits by Minavera’s ruin? None that I’m aware of. So who is behind all of this?” His features seemed strained as he continued, “Do you see what I’m saying? Someone on Kalar has enough credit to search my background, plan all this, and take my granddaughter hostage. I’m just telling you, boy, be careful. Tina is staying with good people, but we don’t know who is watching her. These enemies I have may be more capable than we think.”

“I’ll keep my eyes open.”

Walters patted him gruffly. “Do. Take good care.”

Ash wasn’t really concerned. “I will. You can be certain of it. Just be sure to contact me when you’re next in orbit around Kalar.”

“You aren’t worried about the plague?”

“I’m staying at the Temple. Do you imagine the Temple Sisters are victimized by this illness? It has been some months. They will have it under control by now, I am sure.”

Walters nodded. “All right, then. I’ll be back in port within two months’ time. I swear I’ll have the old girl take a permanent spot at the orbital transfer station until I hear from you.” He gripped Ash’s arm again.

“Don’t worry about Tina,” Ash told him.

“I won’t. Not with you and the Sisters looking after her. If it can be done, you’ll fix things,” Walters said. “And, son …” He placed a large hand on Ash’s shoulder, gazing at him with gratitude. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, sir.” Ash cocked his head to the side and looked the Captain up and down, as if settling something in his own mind. He nodded and grinned. “You growl like a pig-dog, but I knew you were soft as butter underneath.”

Walters’ eyes flashed. Insulted, he snorted and struck out with his right fist, but Ash ducked, jumping backwards. Moving far too fast for the Captain, Ash laughed. “You still can’t take me, old man.” Ash put on the helmet of his fullsuit, and it switched on. The no-smell scent of multi-filtered recycled air and the barely audible hiss of atmospheric movement were comfortingly familiar. Walters sealed Ash in the container which rocked and moved as it was placed aboard a conveyor belt.

Alone in the dark, confined space Ash recalled his passage on Assurance with his mother. Finally. After five long years, he would complete that journey, arriving, at last, on Kalar.

Ash lay on his back in the carton and tingled with anticipation. Forseth is here. I know it. Ash felt drawn toward the man. Perhaps he had a connection left over from mind-touch with Forseth all those years ago. Ash consciously pushed away those memories and images, that terrible time when he had been in Forseth’s body, making love to his own mother.

Instead Ash shut his eyes and fantasized killing his enemy. He envisioned endless scenarios involving knives, disrupters and bare hands. He stunned, tortured, stabbed and slaughtered the man, each time experiencing the sweet rush of revenge.

Nothing would stop him.

Ash’s imagination returned again and again to two attractive possibilities: first, strangling Forseth, which would satisfy a desire to kill him personally; and second, ripping the man’s throat out with his own teeth. This option was entirely impractical, but Ash had to admit that it would satisfy the wolf within. The graphic image of tearing Forseth’s throat out shocked him. Still, the mental picture stayed, despite any attempt at banishment. In the end Ash didn’t care.

I will do what I came here to do, he vowed. I will kill Larren Forseth.

The naked young man screamed loud and long and then he died.

Larren Forseth, who held the boy down during a particularly vicious spasm thought, I wish I had earplugs on, or at least had two more hands. His ears rang.

The young man became still. Others on bunks near him displayed a variety of expressions, depending on their circumstances: relief at the lack of noise, shock, grief, or insensibility. Larren rubbed his ears, and settled any disturbed patients. He checked the boy’s pulse and looked for signs of breath. Nothing.

A familiar flood of sadness filled him. Such emotions he buried deeply, out of fear of being overwhelmed by the deluge. Larren sighed. Everyone experienced an emotional breaking point at some time in life. He couldn’t afford to go down that road. Maybe after the plague was over he would deal with the cost. Meanwhile, this young man was gone. Forseth took an Icom picture, with date, place and time stamp, including relevant tags for sex, approximate age and hair color. He sent it off to be included on the list of dead. Some relative somewhere may then know what happened to him.

A few years shy of forty, Larren had a solid build with broad shoulders. He found this useful as he boosted the youth up in a fireman’s lift and trudged past the barracks. He carried him to the burial pallet for transport, placing him on top of the other corpses. At the pallet he held his breath to avoid the smell. I should add nose plugs to my request for earplugs.

“Peace be with you, buddy,” he said, and for a moment shut his eyes. He tasted something bitter as warm saliva flooded his mouth. He swallowed a number of times until the nausea passed and he recovered his composure. “May you be born again, finding purpose, understanding and love.” He made the sign, touching his hand to his heart and forehead, and started back.

While Ash was being delivered to the High Temple of Jana on Kalar and contemplating the excruciating death of Larren Forseth in graphic detail, ex-Galaxy Police Captain Larren Forseth himself had absolutely no idea that the young man was nearby. Nor was he aware that Ash’s mother Sartha had been dead for five years. He would have been astonished to find out that Ash blamed him for the death of his parents and the genocide of his people. Forseth was only three hundred kilometers away from the High Temple, unintentionally hidden but out of harm’s reach just the same. Larren resided where no one would find him indeed where few would wish to search working in a Quarantine Restriction Area.

The quarantine compound covered hectares and contained large, hastily erected barracks, made from light, insulated, prefabricated materials. Row upon row of cots stood in every building, each containing those unfortunates infected with the fatal disease. Further up, on top of the hill, was a well-equipped hospital, staffed with robots and volunteers. He chose to manage the intake area. Larren, having already survived the virus and thus having acquired immunity to it, was capable of working with those afflicted.

Larren stopped walking abruptly as images from that time rushed into his mind. He had been one of the first to get the plague and had never been so ill in his life. A strange lassitude flowed over him as he thought about it and he slumped to the ground, weak with memory. Suffering didn’t even begin to describe it. He shook his head. Torture came closer.

With no one prepared for such a crisis, real organization and assistance wasn’t available. He lay in a compound with hundreds of others similarly afflicted, a sight that would have been terrifying to anyone. Cries, screams, moans and prayers. A rank scent of blood, combined with acid bile and the stench of vomit and diarrhea from people soon to die. These powerful smells combined to create a distinctive aroma of death. There were dead bodies that had not yet been removed and living ones that were half dead. Writhing, jerking, throwing up, crawling and lying still. All these people who no longer seemed quite human. Head pain, cramps and dry retching that continued even when there was nothing left to come up. Sheer misery.

The plague had hit with a ferocity that left the people of Kalar in shock. It didn’t start from one location; instead it was suddenly everywhere and anyone could contract it. Symptoms varied depending on primary or secondary infections, but the most significant characteristics involved cramps, vomiting, diarrhea, dehydration and internal bleeding resulting in death. Larren tried to become hardened, but it was impossible. Who could forget or ignore the moans of the sick and dying?

Larren took a deep breath, clambered to his feet and walked back to his self-appointed task of washing and hanging bed linen. The washing machines were on the blink and this calming occupation gave him respite from sickness and death. He hefted a basket of sheets, walked them to the makeshift clothesline and began to hang them. Another beautiful day, but his clothes were already sticking to him.

He squinted at the hot bright sky and saw a woman in his peripheral vision. She lay on her side, looking uncomfortable. Was she thirsty? He stopped what he was doing and walked toward her.

She gazed up at him.

Larren held out a bottle of water in silent query, and her face lit with relief. He bent over and squeezed the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed and moistened her lips. They were cracked and dry. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“No problem.”

She opened her mouth, she wanted to speak. He waited patiently. “How could you tell?” she whispered.

“That you were thirsty?” he asked. He could see that is what she wanted to know. He shrugged and gave her a faint smile. “I’ve been doing this awhile.” As he worked most of his life as a policeman, he missed little, but he didn’t tell her that. He sat down on the narrow cot beside her. She was so wasted that there was lots of room, even for a man of his size. He took her hand. It felt like bones covered by soft, dry, wrinkled silk.

She gave a faint smile and said, “You have nice eyes … dark brown. Kind.

Oh, yes, he thought. His eyes were dark with the weight of experience. He was still processing all that those eyes had seen. He teased, “You’re not hitting on me are you, now? If so, it’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

She gave a little choke, kind of a laugh. Her other hand fell on his arm in silent thanks.

Larren patted her hand. “I think you’re going to survive this damn thing, you know that?” He was serious; he would never lie on such a subject. This woman seemed as though she was through the worst. She gave a small smile and shut her eyes. Their exchange exhausted her.

Larren stood up and gave a nod to a couple of men who were passing through his section on the way to the burial pallet with a corpse. He thought of that recent death, the handsome boy he never really knew. The Lady Sartha, Larren recalled, had thought he was handsome even with his close-cropped brown hair that was already streaked with gray. He smiled. Sartha didn’t mind his ill-set broken nose and unsightly scar that ran from his left ear to his chin, either. His scar was the result of a laser burn he gained while on the job that had left his skin pink, waxy and melted across one cheek. He never bothered with the cosmetic repair the service offered.

Larren checked everyone in his makeshift ward, offering drinks, medication and comfort. He sighed. What did it say about him that he didn’t avail himself of such simple cosmetic repairs? Routine physical adjustments that the Police Service provided and encouraged? Was it a lack of vanity? Or his secret rebellion from his structured life of following orders, if not always following the rules?

He smiled and felt the slight pull of his facial scar. With his patients settled he returned to pegging sheets. Whatever the reason, his lack of cosmetic repair proved to be an unexpected boon. He fit right in on Kalar. While “body beautiful” was the accepted norm across the Freeworlds, Kalarians despised those who employed genetic sculpting. As in all things human, some intemperate Kalarians went too far the other way. They possibly even scarred themselves, actively seeking imperfection.

Larren recalled a sociological course, “Beauty through the Ages,” an astonishing insight into history. Before the advent of body sculpting and genetic alteration, beauty was sought in choosing an employee or even a partner in marriage. Physical flaws of any kind were discriminated against in harsh and punitive ways. The ill-formed, odd, disfigured, too small, too big or ugly often became mentally ill through rejection. They had no self-esteem, becoming what others believed them to be. Only the most stubborn survived, and of those, few flourished.

The tail of a sheet he was pegging dropped in the dust. He swore and shook it out. Nope. It was still wet enough that the dust turned to instant mud. He threw it on a bench, for re-washing.

If everyone believes you are ugly, then are you in fact ugly? Apparently the answer is yes. This phenomenon was termed the “observer effect.” Research proved that the act of being viewed can change or create realities.

On the opposite extreme, beauty was a short-lived tyranny. Even those gifted with physical perfection wondered if their partners really loved them or were merely drawn to their bodies. Thus, at the other end of the scale, low self esteem also ran deep, resulting in mental imbalance. He supposed that back then it would have been best to be neither beautiful nor ugly but just passably good-looking.

With his washing hanging limply in the windless heat, Larren picked up the soiled sheet and walked back. These days, with beauty and handsomeness the norm, it certainly leveled the playing field, and in his opinion that was for the best. When someone was camouflaged by physical perfection, who were they really? Figuring that out had become a form of art. The challenge was to discover the person themselves, as exposed through their actions and words.

Larren returned to his dirty linen and threw the soiled sheet in the pile. He had already collected the bodies of the unfortunate, wretched souls who had died the night before and vaporized the kitchen and dispensary rubbish. The sheets were a respite. He could sit while working. Of the last forty-eight hours, he had spent less than ten of them resting.

He scanned the hazy horizon and sighed. He had been diagnosed with “survivors syndrome.” No real surprise there. He felt guilty for not going down with his well-loved ship the Darla Wu, not to mention having lived while his men had died. He slept fitfully, felt irritable and depressed, but he refused to let it interfere with his life. This too shall pass, he told himself. Besides, with the coming of the plague there wasn’t time to think of his problems. First he had nearly died himself, yet he had once again survived.

And now here he was. Why am I still alive? Why? This secret little question looped around in his mind as it had for five long years. His method for dealing with it was to acknowledge the infuriating little thought and then ignore it. He was told to let it pass through him. That is what his counselor said. Ha. It didn’t matter what he did; he still felt guilty and that fact aggravated him to distraction.

He stood up, gazing directly down the inside of one of the buildings. He frowned and his expression turned hard. The endless succession of occupied beds always gave him a devastating sense of hopelessness. He couldn’t get that strange vision out of his head. Each cot with its unvarying white sheets vividly conjured up pictures of the massive Fleet burial grounds of his homeworld. It seemed to him that every bed was uniformly standing at attention, lining up. Just like all those straight white crosses.

Larren shook his head and rubbed his eyes, trying to wipe the vision from his mind. It was as if each occupant were already dead and buried.

Despite the tremendous area allocated to this particular quarantine zone, there was never enough room. Even now a few newcomers lay under tents, waiting for someone to die, so they could be moved inside to take their place.

A thin man drove up on a speeder flat back, the trailer section loaded with equipment. Larren waved. “Hey, Troy.

The driver’s side window was down. The man held out a wrapped parcel.

Larren grinned and felt his spirits lift childishly as he took it. It’s just like Christmas here in quarantine. “What did you bring me?”

“Just some clean clothes.”

Larren took the parcel and nodded. “Thanks.”

Troy surveyed Larren head to toe and shook his head. “You need to look after yourself better. I know you were set to ship out before the plague. Sorry about that, by the way, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Larren gave a faint smile. Just my luck. To think, I could have missed this party. Just before the virus hit he was booked for passage off Kalar. For five years he traversed this planet and no one at any time had seen a woman fitting Lady Sartha Chayton’s description, or a boy like her son, Ashton. They were in hiding from the government, just as he was. Every day for five years he woke up tormented, wondering where they were. Were they still alive? His only consolation was that, according to broadcasts, neither Sartha nor Ash had been found. For that matter, neither have I.

“Ah, well, there are worse places to be,” Larren said. He threw the parcel over near his chair, and rested his arm on the driver side window.” How’s it going up top?” He meant the main hospital, a cleaner, more mechanized place to work.

Troy shrugged. “There will be space for some of your lot soon. Not as many deaths now more seem to be recovering lately. Once they get their health back, with their immunity to the plague, we’ll enlist them as untrained workers. Rough sort of recruitment scheme we have going, but it’s pretty effective.” The man smiled. “I brought you something else.” He handed a small tray wrapped in silver out through the window. “Home baked peach tart …”

Larren held his breath.

” … with fresh whipped cream.”

Yes! Larren swelled with an absurd sense of joy. And there we have it, folks. Little things do make a difference. While stuck down in intake he was unable to get up to the eatery. The brought-in stuff was nutritionally complete, but it was a bit like sawdust in texture and mostly tasteless.

“I owe you,” Larren said fervently.

Troy stiffened. “No, you don’t.”

The man’s reply was heartfelt, instant and ill considered. Helplessly caught in the almost palpable intensity of Troy’s misery, Larren stiffened too. Their eyes met and too much honesty passed between them. For a moment each soul was bared.

Troy said in a low voice, “You owe me nothing and we both know it.”

Larren nodded and looked away. He recalled Troy’s older brother, Shaw. The siblings had been close. The older man, a large, toughened farmer, was gifted with resilience and health. These factors had worked against him during his illness as the man had fought hard to live, prolonging a painful death. Caring for the big man had been exhausting. To Larren’s shame he gave heartfelt thanks when Troy’s brother finally lost the will to live and passed on.

After a tense moment of prolonged silence, Troy added in a more normal tone, “You need anything else?”

Larren snorted, successfully lightening the moment. “I need everything else. It doesn’t mean I’ll get it.”

Troy grinned. “Good. That means you’ll be happy no matter what I bring. I’ll be back later, when I come to remove …” His voice drifted off and he directed his gaze toward the piles of bodies that lay on a nearby pallet. “I’ll be back,” he said, with a note of finality. “I’ll scrounge up some more people to help down here. You need a break.”

“Thanks, Troy.” Larren rapped twice on the speeder door and gave Troy a semi-salute goodbye.

The speeder softly hummed and Troy left.

No one knew what the death totals were worldwide. Here in Tamar, a major population center of Kalar, the dead numbered in the thousands, with more dying every day. A biological antidote had arrived from the UWG. Microbes, taken internally, targeted and ate the disease organisms. This treatment was extremely effective, with most people receiving it recovering from the illness within three days. Unfortunately, there was only enough of the antidote for about ten thousand people, and no one knew if more would be forthcoming. The biotechs worked hard to duplicate it, with some success, but it was slow going. Who would be saved and who wouldn’t? Larren was glad the decision wasn’t his.

Steadily washing the badly soiled sheets, Larren’s mind wandered, offering him a momentary escape from the present. He was drawn back, recalling the last five years. Aboard Conqueror, his crew had been tortured and killed in front of him. Thanks to his best friend, Drake, he had escaped Kalar on a courier shuttle. During his escape he watched Drake die, blown apart while piloting his cherished police vessel, Darla Wu.

When he arrived on Kalar, Clinton and his wife Em had rescued him. Larren figured he was a little mad when Clinton found him. An individual could only take so much. He had discovered his limits.

Larren was a wanted man.

Five years. For five years he searched for Sartha and Ashton, to warn them, to help them. Admiral Neopol wouldn’t give up the hunt.

A woman cried out with pain, shaking him out of his momentary reverie. He quickly stood up, wiped his hands and walked over to her. He pulled some patches out of his back pocket, yellow for cramps and nausea, green for relief from strong pain. He wiped her neck, pulled the backing off and put a green patch on, rubbing it down to stimulate adsorption. Then he took the warm rag from her head, wet it, and placed the cool cloth back on her forehead. Comforting her with a smile, Larren appeared both competent and reassuring. It was a pretense that was becoming more and more natural to him since he had arrived in quarantine. It was all he had to offer.

The woman lay covered in perspiration. She was past the initial fear and desperation; now a sort of anxious exhaustion seemed to project from her unearthly, sunken eyes. She was a newcomer and after two days she hadn’t been given a bed inside the barracks. The way she was going, it didn’t appear she would get that far.

She was young and blonde, and for a moment he was reminded of Lady Sartha. He could not remember a time when he had been happier than that one day he had spent with her. Sartha was goodness and light, quite the opposite of the darkness that was currently present. Were she and her son both dead? Once, he walked the pallets searching fearfully for her amongst the bodies. He trolled worldwide Icom pictures of the dead, using search terms like “young,” “blonde,” and “woman,” always watching for a familiar face, for her.

That was why he chose to work intake. He wanted to be there in case Sartha was brought in. Many times he experienced both relief and panic when he received a patient that looked like her. Relief that he had found her, panic that she could die of the plague. This false alarm had happened again just the previous week. Every time such an event occurred his chest pounded so wildly he was astonished that he didn’t collapse from a heart attack.

Where in the world were Lady Sartha and her son Ashton?

The woman smiled weakly back at Larren, and her tension eased. Soothed by his presence, she closed her eyes. Relieved, Larren dismissed her from his thoughts. That was another ability he had gained through repeated experience. He returned to his washing. There never seemed to be enough clean sheets.

The UWG hadn’t found him and he doubted if they ever would as long as he stayed on Kalar. He had many friends here, people who would risk their lives to help him. He could evade the authorities indefinitely.

He relaxed back in his chair. He certainly had come a long way since he was a policeman. Back then his path lay clear, without any confusion of loyalties. That was when he was young and idealistic, when there were no gray areas.

Larren shut his eyes, which was a mistake, because it made him notice how tired he was. Within moments, before he was aware of it, he was fast asleep and falling back into his past.

Clinton said, “First I saw this large snake. It was fat and evil and it was reaching out, destroying and swallowing all of the United Worlds, one by one. The snake was being controlled, sent to consume and exterminate, by a gigantic, armored giant. Then you came along. I know it was you and there was a wolf with you, too. You tried to slay the snake, but the snake soon had you at its mercy: the snake was going to swallow you.”

“The wolf was watching not moving. Then suddenly, without warning, the wolf rose up and killed the snake. The armored giant stumbled, but didn’t fall. Instead it stood up again, but this time … it had lost its right arm.”

Clinton came out of the absorbing memory. “That was the dream. Reckon that to you it don’t carry much weight, but you mark my words. That dream was sent by the good Lord, yes indeed. And I know it was you in the vision. You’re the one that’s important now. You and the wolf. Together you’ll seek out and destroy the snake … and the giant will lose its right arm.” Clinton’s words echoed, chanting through Larren’s consciousness.

“You must wait for the wolf. The wolf is coming, soon, soon …

“You are important now. You and the wolf. Beware!”

Larren heard a scream that sent tingles down his spine. He jerked awake, cursing under his breath. He must have drifted off. He had been dreaming that same memory over again and it still seemed as incomprehensible as ever.

Standing up, he stumbled over toward where the sound came from. It was the same sick woman. He realized with grim conviction that she was dead. She must have had a last painful spasm, to make her call out like that. He recalled the death of the young man earlier, and hoped this last breath’ screaming wasn’t going to be the start of a new, unpleasant trend.

He bent down and felt the women’s pulse, confirming what he knew to be true. He took an Icom picture, tagged it, and sent it off to add to the list of dead.

He lifted the woman gently in his arms she weighed little and carried her to the burial pallet where he had recently placed the young man. He set her down next to him. He held his breath once more and made the sign, touching his hand to his heart and forehead. “May you be born again, finding purpose, understanding and love.”

The woman and the others would be taken away shortly as the stench would only get worse in this heat. The dead would be covered with an enzyme compound to speed decomposition and be buried in a communal grave. The transport would be back, making room for others. Kalar was in Changeover. It would be Wet Season soon enough. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

Careful not to disturb the woman unduly, Larren removed her sheet. He watched in alarm as she rolled over, partly covering the young man’s corpse, her warm leg and arm thrown possessively across his cooling body. In any other setting it would have been a lover’s embrace. Larren took a deep breath. He didn’t think she would mind, either cuddling the man or his taking the sheet. The woman didn’t need it where she was going. He started to walk back, trailing the sheet behind him. Walking slowly, he brought it back to the basin.

Then, as if in self reproach or penitence for some dark burden or deep regret, he bent down and continued washing, removing all evidence of sickness and death.

5. The Prefect’s Dilemma

The Book of Jana states that to realize life’s abundance one must first till a fertile soil and sow seed. The seed must provide a viable crop that thrives in the environment. Time passes as one weeds and waters. Diligence, industry and patience will result in prosperity. However, to those with a superior mind, wealth can occur without such toil. These gifted few should rather seek cunning and power. Abundant wealth belongs to those who find a way to safely reap what another sows.

The Book of Taro the Deceiver

Black. Burnt. Devastation.

The city looked like it had been leveled by an incendiary. The landscape was gone. It was clear that there had been a real inferno. Foliage, buildings, fencing, speeders … Ash hoped the area had been evacuated, because nothing could have survived. Such a waste.

After boarding the shipping crate on Minavera Mover, Ash spent twelve uncomfortable hours travelling to the High Temple of Jana on Kalar. He kept himself occupied by skipping in and out of a number of minds. One technician had vivid memories of his once thriving city. At the initial outbreak of plague, the populace used a scorched earth policy of cleansing contaminated areas by fire. Later, scientists found that the contagion was transferred via contaminated air, and the scorched earth policy was abandoned. Quarantine zones had been established, and those who tried to leave them were stunned and imprisoned.

Once Ash was certain that he had arrived at the Temple, he removed his helmet and set it down in his carton, rubbing his head and scratching his nose. With all the technology in the Freeworlds today one would think they could come up with a way to scratch one’s nose while in a fullsuit.

He lay back and sought his power. Heat. Pleasure. Yes.

He reached out, mental fingers mind-touching the Temple Prefect, Rositha. It was a light touch as he did not intend to read her mind. While contact with an offworlder was perfectly acceptable, Rositha was a Temple Sister, and thus one of his own. He would never violate her privacy like that. He reached out just to check, for safety’s sake, that he arrived at the right place.

Ash found that Rositha had held the Prefecture since she was sixteen, the usual age to acquire the duty. She was twenty-two years old. He liked her instantly as she reminded him of Lindha. Two deep breaths eased the ache in his chest. How he missed Lindha. In two months’ time, he would be on Minavera Mover when she broke orbit. By then the man he dreamed of, the person he hated most in the world, would be dead. Larren Forseth. How I despise that name. Ash also intended to rescue Tina. Everything seemed simple now that he had actually arrived on Kalar.

Ash heard the sounds of women moving, chatting Prefect Rositha and the Lady Samantha, Second Lady of the Temple. He imagined their shock at seeing him here and suppressed a chuckle. It wasn’t funny. They might stun him on sight. He had chosen not to notify them via Icom for fear of Icom communications being monitored as he traveled through customs. After all, he was breaking the law by smuggling himself here. Certain he had arrived at the Temple of Jana, he left his weapon at the bottom of the carton and raised his hands.

With a click and a hum, the locks on the shipping crate disengaged. Light flooded in as the lid was removed. Bright light momentarily blinded Ash. Tense and guarded, he squinted into the glare. Would they stun him without giving him an opportunity to explain himself first?

“For the love of Jana,” one woman exclaimed. The other drew a stunner.

“What is the meaning of this, sir?” the woman with the weapon snapped. Her voice was calm and stern, but a faint tremor betrayed her emotion. Was she angry or afraid? Ash was certain that it was Rositha who had spoken.

He stood with his hands up, indicating his weaponless state. His eyes adjusted to the sunlight and he gave them an ironic half smile. He bowed politely first to Rositha and then to Samantha. “I’d like to apologize for arriving unannounced and in such an unusual manner. It couldn’t be avoided, I’m afraid. My name is Ash. May I step out?”

Rositha responded with a curt nod, her weapon still trained on him. He stepped out of the carton, pleased to be able to stand. “This,” he said, glancing toward the shipping carton, “is not a pleasant way to travel.” He grinned amicably, but the women did not appear impressed.

“Well, sir? Are you going to explain why you have smuggled yourself here?”

“Prefect.” He turned to Rosalita and gestured at the release tab on his fullsuit. “If I may?”

She nodded.

Ash pressed the tab on the suit and it retracted automatically, leaving him in a sleeveless Minavera Mover jumpsuit. The Delian talisman adorned his upper right arm, its rich blue jewels shining in the reflected sunlight. The largest jewel, the King’s Guard in the center, reflected their images as clearly as a mirror.

He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Jana, save us,” Rositha whispered.

Both women touched their hearts and foreheads. Rositha lowered her weapon, holstering it under her skirts. “Trueborn.”

Ash gave them a faintly ironic smile. “I’m afraid so.” As Prince of Delian he had always known he would be King, but he had never dreamed of the circumstances in which he would rule. He had now acquired a status among the Temple Sisters as a kind of savior and their almost religious deference to him still felt odd. Probably it always would.

Rositha gave him a formal bow. “Welcome, Trueborn, chosen of Jana. How may we serve you?”

Ash smiled. “For a start you can call me Ash.”

“As you wish, Ash. I am Rositha, and this,” she gestured toward the woman beside her, “is Lady Samantha, Second Lady. You honor us by your presence.”

He said, “The honor is mine. Most importantly for the moment, I need to find a six-year-old girl named Tina.” He studied Lady Samantha. She was taller than Rositha, older, with long brown hair braided and curled on top of her head. There was wisdom and confidence in her face. She was perfect for what he needed.

Ash pulled a data device from a pocket. “This holds the formal notice of consent from her grandfather, her only living kin. I need one of the Temple Sisters to retrieve her. From now on she’s going to reside at the Temple. Fetching her must be done with extreme caution. The people taking care of Tina are well intentioned, but there is someone who wishes her ill. I don’t know who, or how many, but someone is watching her, planning to harm her or perhaps kidnap her. It is only fair for me to warn you that rescuing her could be dangerous.” Ash paused. “A woman with a steady mind and unquestioned reputation should manage the details.” He raised his eyebrows in question toward the Second Lady. “Perhaps you would be best for the task, Lady Samantha?”

The Temple Prefect nodded her approval.

“Of course, Ash.” Samantha took the proffered device. “We board young women all the time. The action will not be questioned. I will take another Sister with me. We will be armed.”

Ash relaxed. He hadn’t realized how tense he was. “I’m sure Tina will be safe in your hands. I’m indebted to you, Lady.”

“It is my honor to serve, Trueborn,” Samantha replied. With a slight inclination of her head she left the room.

“Lady,” Ash said, “would you be kind enough to provide me with a good meal, a hot bath, and a change of clothes?” He grinned. “Preferably in that order? I haven’t eaten for some time. For garments I’ll need something that will blend in, something common.”

“Of course, Ash.” She looked at him over critically, presumably assessing his measurements. “I recommend the clothes of a landsman. Kalar is primarily pastoral. You will easily pass unnoticed in such garb.”

“Fine. After that I’ll need to see you in private.”

Rositha’s expression remained neutral, but Ash’s acute observation took in a slight widening of her eyes and a rise of color in her cheeks. She seemed surprised or embarrassed and he wondered why. Did she think he planned to ravish her? Or was it some other misunderstanding? He would have to go softly here while on Kalar. One could give offence though unknown or misunderstood cultural differences.

She nodded. “As you wish, of course.”

“You’ll have no trouble accommodating me?”

Rositha stiffened slightly. What had he said now? She smiled and said, “No, of course not. Both men and boys board at the Temple. It is customarily believed that the Trueborn … should take the room adjoining that of the Prefect.”

He gave a perfunctory bow. “That will do nicely, I thank you.”

Rositha gestured to the door. “Please come with me True … ah, Ash,” she said in a tight voice. “I’ll show you to your room and have your supper brought there.”

Ash went to his new quarters, a palatial space with separate entertainment areas overlooking formal gardens through a large bay window. After substandard crew fare, he was impressed with the meal. Rositha drew his bath and brought him his new clothes. After his bath he tapped gently on the adjoining bedroom door. He could call the Prefect on Icom, but knocking seemed more polite.

“Hello, Rositha?” Ash said softly.

Rositha opened the door and smiled, but she appeared … nervous? Ash with his wolf senses was well aware of the reactions of others. But Rositha’s curious behavior didn’t really interest him for the moment so he didn’t pursue it. He had eaten and bathed. Now his mind was focused on his mission to kill Forseth.

“Greetings, Ash. Is there something you require?”

“Yes, come to my quarters, will you? We have much to discuss. Have a seat.”

Rositha walked through into his room immediately, moving toward the window. Stopping at the opulent dining table and chairs, she sat down gingerly. Ash noticed she had changed into a more formal gown, one of those subtle outfits that looked simple but probably cost a fortune. She had obviously taken care with her appearance.

He said, “You are lovely, Rositha. Blue suits you.”

“Thank you … Ash.”

Ash sat down next to her, and poured a glass of red wine. He noticed that Rositha had an unusually large jaw, a square jaw that really belonged more on a man than on a woman. That was surprising when the Temple had such rigorous standards of beauty. On the other hand, they were on Kalar, a world full of naturalists and traditionalists. He handed her the glass.

“No thank you, Trueborn.”

Ash nodded, and took a sip. It was an excellent wine, full bodied, with a rich, almost chocolate flavor. “First, consider yourself free from your oath of chastity. That is an unnecessary sufferance in my opinion.” He laughed, then noticed Rositha’s heightened color and was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Rositha. I didn’t mean to mention your vows if you find it disconcerting.”

Rositha regained her composure and looked calmly into Ash’s dark eyes. “Please excuse me, Trueborn. I was acting like a child. I do not wish to fail in my duty to you in any way, whatever your requirements.”

“How could you fail me?” He was puzzled, unable to appreciate the significance of her comment. “Unless of course it is the fact that you continue to call me Trueborn. Please, do call me Ash.”

“Of course, Ash.”

Rositha’s smile displayed her straight white teeth, which Ash found entrancing. Any vestige of seriousness disappeared with that smile. The woman was lovely and charming as all Temple Sisters were.

He slouched back in the comfortable cushioned chair, taking his wine with him and sipping slowly, enjoying the taste. “Now, as you are Temple Prefect, I’ll let you know of my purpose. Jana may wish more of me, but for now, there is a man here on Kalar. My intention is to find him.”

She brightened. “I have lived here all my life, Ash. If I don’t know this man, then someone I know will know him, or one of our Sisters’ contacts will. This is an easy task.”

He paused and gave her an intent look. “Once I find this man I intend to kill him.”

Rositha paled, her smile evaporated. “To kill a man, Ash? Are you sure?”

Her innocent question irritated Ash. His voice lowered dangerously, “Prefect, I am Trueborn. Do you doubt my purpose?”

“Oh. I am sorry, Trueborn. Please forgive me.” She swallowed. With a deep breath she added, “It is my duty and honor to assist you, of course. It is just that to take the life of another, to commit murder except in extreme and unusual circumstances is against all Temple beliefs. The subject is a common theme in the parables of Jana.”

“True.” His eyebrows rose in what he knew was unmitigated hauteur. It was an expression and demeanor he had learned from his formidable valet as a child. The man, Henry, had always impressed Ash in his management of other Imperial Staff. He said, “Did you imagine I didn’t know this? Yet also in the parables is the story of The Faithful Woman Who Made the Exception,’ proving the need to judge each circumstance with a fresh, unbiased point of view. There are no absolutes. It’s not always wrong to kill another. In some, admittedly rare cases, it is the right thing to do.”

Rositha bit her lower lip.

“What?” he asked, unable to hide the annoyance in his tone.

“It is just that the parable you refer to has to do with personal security and accidental death. From an ethical point of view the young woman had no clear right or wrong option. As I recall she made the decision to kill, a difficult choice that circumstances forced upon her. From a multi-valued logic, her choice was between one wrong and an even greater wrong. Omission was not an option.”

“So?”

Her brows drew down in a frown. “Um … deciding with forethought to commit murder appears to me to reflect rather a different set of conditions.” She cleared her throat. “Trueborn. I would have thought …”

Ash put his wine glass down with a thump. Lindha had been nagging him, querying his judgment in subtle ways ever since she knew of his plans. That Rositha challenged his purpose as well was suddenly too much. He was the Temple leader. This was his decision. He wouldn’t tolerate it.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash pinned her with his gaze, his anger cold and hard. “Prefect, I must kill this man. I’ve been shown this in a dream.” Unable to remain still, he jumped up and began to pace. “This man is an escaped criminal. He arrived on Kalar about five years ago. I am certain he is still here.” He stopped pacing, abstracted, and shook his head. “No,” he said softly, almost to himself. “No. He is here. I would know if he wasn’t.” He gestured to her. “You can’t know all the evil he has done. His name is Larren Forseth.”

“Mother of Jana,” Rositha whispered.

“Do you know him?” Ash demanded.

“No,” Rositha replied in a small voice.

“I … I just thought you might have known him,” Ash sat down, disappointed. “I’d have been glad to know where he is.” After a time he smiled and the tension of the moment lessened. “Never mind, there is always tomorrow. Please get any reliable Sisters to search for the man, beginning at first light. The sooner I find him, the better it will be.”

“Certainly, Ash.” She stood up and swayed a little, clearly shaken.

He jumped to his feet and steadied her. “Are you all right?”

“I … I’m fine,” she said. “It’s just that I feel a bit unwell today.”

Ash took her by the arm and propelled her toward her room. “You’d best get some rest. I’ve probably kept you up far too late and no doubt it has been a shock for you, having me arrive.” He grinned in a purposefully engaging manner. Ash knew he frightened Rositha, as he sometimes did to others. He was too quick to temper. It was that damn wolfish upbringing he’d had. He hadn’t meant to upset her and was sorry for it. “See you in the morning,” he said, leaving her in her room and shutting the door firmly behind him.

Ash returned to the table, picked up his glass and drank the rest of his wine in one swallow. Strange girl, Rositha. She seemed so nervous but who could blame her? In the end, it didn’t matter what she thought. Rositha was bound by her vows. Her clear duty as Temple Prefect was to assist him as Trueborn, to achieve his purpose. Thus she would help him find and kill Larren Forseth. It made no difference if she agreed with him or not. Rositha’s unquestioned compliance was all that really mattered.

In her bedroom next door to Ash, Rositha undressed, put on sleepwear and got into bed. Her teeth clenched, causing her jaw to thrust forward in a most unwomanly manner, despite her genetically sculpted cheekbones.

There had been much discussion in the Temple about Rositha’s mouth and jaw they were irregular, unusual, and clearly not illustrative of conventional beauty. Plans were made to extract some teeth, and moderate that jaw, creating a more traditional appearance. Even on Kalar every Temple Sister met rigorous physical standards.

Rositha vetoed the plan. She liked her jaw; it reminded her of her mother, a strong, stubborn woman. Rositha’s mother told her that beauty was not in one’s physical form. “True beauty, my daughter, is from the soul and the soul is reflected in one’s eyes.” Obstinate and willful, Rositha won the argument. She allowed facial sculpting, but her jaw remained unchanged. Strong and stubborn, it was not unlike the Trueborn’s jaw.

The Trueborn! Rositha trembled. She used Icom to turn out the lights and then allowed herself to give in to tears. Oh, Jana, she worried. Would this killer ask her to share his bed? At least she had held him off for one night. For the love of the Goddess. How could she sleep with that man? A murderer. There was hardness in his eyes, almost an animal madness in his soul that made him seem incapable of mercy.

The foretelling has come to pass. Rositha recalled the prophecy of that long ago Seer who foresaw the arrival of the one who would rule them all. The Temple Sister wrote a precise account of how the future must enfold. But at that moment all Rositha could remember were two lines from the prophecy: “With the Trueborn comes a two-edged sword, one side for light, one side for darkness and shadow” and “The beast that slays the snake.” No wonder he reminded her of an animal, an inhuman predator. He surely was a beast.

I am lost. I am forsworn. I lied to the Trueborn. And she had done it instantly, naturally, and without thought or hesitation. In that one moment Rositha, for the first time in her life, broke her oath as Prefect of the Temple, her sacred vow to Jana, the Goddess of Truth. For not only did she know the man the Trueborn sought, she also knew where he could be found. How could she not know? When she loved him as she did?

Rositha recalled Larren Forseth, the quiet, gentle man that she met in the quarantine area months ago. Larren assisted her to nurse the Temple Sisters, some of whom had succumbed to the plague. He was like a foundation, which all good things could build upon. Capable and understanding, he was also a listener. With calm goodwill he had shared her burdens. Rositha had been deeply distressed at the death of her Temple Sisters especially little Lana, such a happy child. Rositha had trained Lana from five years old to hold the Prefecture when she grew up.

When Lana died, Rositha was inconsolable. Larren put his arms around her and held her close with his big warm body. Like a supporting pillar he held her up, preventing an almost spiritual downfall. He said nothing, not really just nonspecific murmurings that soothed. He spoke no platitudes, no meaningless words. His presence was a restorative to her soul. The man knew grief and loss. He understood. Somehow, in his arms she had been comforted. His actions, his presence, his quiet understanding and compassion had been by far the best cure.

Rositha wanted to remain in contact with him, connecting via Icom, but with careful courtesy he demurred. She had been left wondering if it was because she was Prefect and they could only enjoy an unconsummated friendship? Or was it something else? She imagined this reticence was not his choice, more likely something he had done on her behalf.

Fascinated with him, Rositha spoke to many people, even complete strangers, longing to find out more. She hoped to see him again. Larren worked tirelessly to assist the unfortunates struck down by the virus. He was loyal and honest. He had many friends. There was also a rumor that he was in hiding and that someone wanted to kill him. Rositha was told that if she had any care for Larren at all she would never mention him to anyone; she would not think of him again. It was best to forget his name.

Now she knew why he chose to stay away and why he was in hiding. The Trueborn wanted him dead. Wet tears streaked her face and she felt nothing but solid determination. In their short time together, Rositha had given her heart to Larren. He was, in her mind, the ideal man. To this day she had never mentioned him to anyone. She would never forget him and had never stopped thinking of him. Rositha wiped her eyes.

Oh, Jana, please forgive me. For I have broken my vows, of my own free will. I won’t tell the Trueborn about Larren. Never. Though my soul be damned, I cannot betray so kind a man, so pure a spirit. I’ll do anything for the Trueborn, fulfill every requirement. She shuddered with the thought, the knowledge of what that promise meant. But I’ll never reveal the location of Larren Forseth.

Hands tightly clasped over her face, she indulged in another bout of weeping. The Trueborn was in the adjoining room, so she was careful to cry softly, lest she disturb him. Rositha was certain that Ash’s decision to kill her friend had come from the Deceiver. Such cold blooded murder could not be Jana’s intent.

She had to stop the Trueborn from finding and killing Larren. But how?

6. Temple Traitor

There is a long held practical truth of diagnosis by association. Depressives associate with depressives; criminals associate with criminals; psychotics enjoy the company of, and can relate to, other psychotics. If you want to know who someone really is, simply observe who they are with.

Instructor Megan Day, Holistic Health

Ash mounted the stallion. With a loud scream, the enraged beast reared up.

Caught off guard, he swore. With powerful thighs, Ash gripped as the animal turned, twisted and attempted to put its head down to buck. It took all his strength to keep the horse’s head up but the creature continued to kick and spin. The red roan was named “Fury,” a demonstrably appropriate name. The stallion jerked and reared, its front hooves pawing the air.

Ash was in light mental contact with his mount, the scorching fever of its tension pressing down upon him. A mare had come into heat in the stables and the stallion’s thwarted urge to mate surged into a roiling combination of irritation, rage and sexual frustration. Ash reined the creature in as it snorted and pawed the ground restlessly and wondered why he found it so difficult to control the animal. Was it because he was of much the same temperament as the maddened stallion?

For three weeks he had mind-touched the people of Kalar, but no one seemed to know anything about a man called Larren Forseth. Ash had walked, flown and traversed the countryside, all to no avail.

Minavera Mover would return in five weeks and, unless he found Forseth before then, he would be forced to stay on Kalar. He wanted to be with Lindha on his eighteenth birthday. For the hundredth time he wished that he had been able to take her with him. She was not allowed to leave Opan something about her vows. He could never figure out the silly rule that imprisoned her. She couldn’t marry and she couldn’t leave Opan for six months. A long ago Seer had adjured it, but why?

Ash’s own frustration leaked into the stallion. The angry red roan reared, plunged and pawed the ground once more. Ash clenched his jaw. Sleeping and waking dreams of killing Forseth plagued him. In them he was ripping open the man’s throat, tearing and rending him, pulling his enemy apart like a maddened wolf. Ash’s hands clutched white on the reins, his chest tight with anger.

He felt he could explode.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash loosened and flicked the stallion’s reins, touched the animal’s ribs with his booted heels and made a fierce “Hup” sound. The horse shot forward across the Temple grounds. Together they galloped headlong, with no real interest in their destination, just to run, to get away. As if possessed, intent and unfulfilled, they ran through the short grasses and cacti and up a steep incline, reaching the top of a plateau covered with mountain wildflowers.

They ran until exhausted.

The stallion trembled, spent. Its great sides heaved, lathered with sweat. In a light mental rapport with the animal, Ash experienced blessed relief from its lassitude. He sent it a soothing thought and leapt off, letting the stallion loose to rest and graze.

Kalar had three seasons: Dry, Wet and Changeover. In summer it was a parched pastoral world, managed by extensive irrigation systems. Hearty short grasses and cacti covered non-irrigated soil. The Wet season caused flooding, marshlands and inland seas. Ash arrived on Kalar on the southern continent during Changeover, a time of magnificent thunderstorms and torrential rains, or desert dryness for days on end. The air was charged, an electric tension that created tingling goose bumps on his skin.

It might not break for days, but a thundering tempest was coming.

With primal animal awareness, both he and the stallion sensed the coming storm. The morning dawn had been red as blood. He remembered the childhood saying, “Red sky, souls fly.” Ash slid down onto the short toughened grasses and lay on his back. Has my journey to Kalar been pointless? Is Forseth already dead?

Only one thing occurred that was a change from his everyday frustrations and that had been three days earlier, when the intruder came. Staring intently, Ash recalled the events. He woke, instantly aware that something was wrong. Unconsciously he sought his heated ocean of power. There was a stranger prowling within the Temple.

Ash shut his eyes in recall.

Mentally reaching for Rositha, he found her asleep. With the stealth of a predator, he crept into her room and placed a hand over her mouth least she scream and frighten the prowler away. Rositha jumped. When she woke he felt her terror.

“Shush,” he whispered and then, without meaning to, he heard her thoughts. The heat of his gift enveloped him, and when he touched her it … just happened. Rositha projected terrified mental images of him coming to beat her, to kill her, and to rape her! Was it some sort of dream she had been experiencing? Yet she seemed awake.

He dismissed her extraordinary mental images in favor of the more pressing concern.

“Quiet,” Ash commanded in a low hushed voice. “There is an intruder in the Temple. He is armed. Get up quickly and Icom alert your Sisters. He’s in the lower hall. I plan to hunt him, but may need assistance.”

Rositha nodded and jumped up silently to obey him.

Ash took a few moments to contact the trespasser with mind-touch. The man had come to kill Tina! Ash had begun to think that perhaps Walters had been unnecessarily worried on her behalf. Now someone had come to destroy her.

Probing deeply into the intruder’s mind he became rigid with surprise. Tholl, Walters’ blackmailer, had sent this man. And Tholl had given the intruder a vial of contagion. One drop, administered to bare skin, would cause little Tina, a sweet child with brown hair and solemn grey eyes, to die of the virus. Was it possible to do such a thing? The evil intent sent him into a terrible rage.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

The thrill of the hunt came back to Ash as he pursued the man through the dark, empty passages of the Temple. Long Fang would be proud for he stalked silently, knife drawn, reflexes alert. The quarry, however, was as dimwitted as the Opan twill bird and unaware of his approach. Ash sprang, landing on the man’s back. The intruder screamed with fright as Ash brought him down. Ash disabled him instantly, painfully twisting his arm behind his back, holding him against the floor.

“Why are you here?” Ash demanded.

“I wanted food,” the man replied.

“Liar,” Ash snarled. He may as well have added “child killer,” such was the fury and disgust in his tone. He twisted the intruder’s arm further and pressed on a sensitive nerve. The stranger screamed for a long time before Ash loosened his hold. “Now. Tell me the truth,” he ordered. “I know you’re here to kill Tina. Why?”

Other than whimpering the man remained silent.

“I’ll hurt you again if you don’t tell me,” Ash promised savagely. Ash shut his eyes, disregarding the sensuous heat and pleasure of his power. Perhaps he could find the answers to his questions from the intruder’s mind.

“All right, all right, I’ll tell you!” the man squeaked. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll tell you everything. I’ll tell you anything. My name is Blunt …”

While the intruder spoke his mental images flooded into Ash’s mind: A warehouse. A number of cartons and containers. The place where Blunt met Tholl to do business. Credit changing hands.

“Good,” Ash said, letting up slightly on the pressure in Blunt’s arm. It was difficult to manage, but a large part of him stayed in touch with the man’s mind, while he held the intruder’s down. “Who ordered you to hurt the child?”

Blunt said, “Tholl, and another man … a stranger …”

As he spoke the answer began to enfold in mental pictures in Blunt’s mind. Ash watched intently. And then Zap! Pain! Something … something “other” flooded into both Ash and Blunt with a cold throbbing spike that froze all thought.

Ash reeled backwards, confused, unable to grasp what was going on. An explosion struck Ash’s head in a sudden icy blast.

Burning! Freezing!

He screamed so loud his ears rang and his vocal cords burned. Anguish licked over Ash’s skin, both inside and out. The bizarre hot-cold sensation held everything motionless, bringing Ash’s mind-touch to a halt, stilling the viewer as well as the thoughts and pictures he viewed.

An intruding power pulsed and ignited. What was this energy and where did it come from? Perdition! It came from within Blunt’s mind.

Death! The fatal flash exploded like lightning.

Goddess protect me! Help me!

Ash, still trapped inside Blunt’s perceptions through the power of the mind-touch, felt his soul slip from his body and knew then that all he had, his plans, his dreams, his life … everything was gone.

The Temple Sisters found the Temple intruder lifeless, with Ash lying beside him in a coma. It took ten hours before Ash regained consciousness. Once again he had been caught experiencing the death of another.

I could have died.

The intruder was about to reveal something important and then, without warning, he perished. The pictures in his mind had been the trigger. The truth shook Ash. The intruder had been implanted, an outlawed technology. Yet only an implant could cause that manner of death. Such an embedded command would destroy someone who was going to reveal certain information, whatever information the implanter wished to remain hidden.

Ash returned to the present. Eyes shut, he slowly withdrew from the memory lest he trigger that well-remembered pain. He shook his head and breathed deeply from the dry mountain air. His nostrils filled with the arid smell of desert grassland and flowers. He heard birds, insects and the sound of his horse ripping and chewing grass.

He opened his eyes and sat up. Whatever the information was, it had been there. For a moment he almost knew it. But the knowledge had been lost in the shock of the man’s death.

Ash ordered the vial destroyed in its entirety. Now he regretted it. Had the man carried the infection, something that could cause the virus? Now he would never know. It seemed that whatever Captain Walters was involved in, it was bigger than either of them imagined. But why kill Tina? Just thinking about it made him tense and uneasy.

Ash stood up and moved to his horse. He took hold of the stallion’s mane and easily swung into the saddle. The large reddish animal snorted and danced, more from habit than intent. Ash patted it, soothing it both physically and mentally. He chose this horse because of the color. Its glossy red coat reminded him of the Opan wolves.

Thoughts of Seeta, Long Fang and Teella made all tension disappear. A wash of affection spread to the stallion, effectively gentling him. He loved his wolf family. Long Fang, wise and complacent, would be amused by Ash’s concerns. “Don’t hunt deer in the mountains with a red sky,” would be his cryptic reply to Ash’s anxious need for a solution. Deer migrate to buried valley grasses in winter; to hunt in the mountains would be stupid. In other words, wait. All answers come at the right time and place, and at the right season.

In the confusion he forgot about Rositha and her odd thoughts. Well, he would go and confront her, at least getting to the bottom of that mystery if not any of the others. Now that he thought of it, Rositha had been avoiding him of late. She had also been walking around like a worried twill.

He grinned, amused. Beat her? Rape her? What an idea. Pleased by the decision to solve at least one mystery, he pointed his horse toward the Temple stables and nudged his horse into a canter. Peculiarly refreshed from his maddened ride on a fractious stallion, Ash arrived just in time for the evening meal. Striding into the Temple main hall, he encountered Lady Samantha.

He brightened. “Any luck, Lady?” he asked hopefully.

Lady Samantha shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Ash.” She added, “Come and eat. You’ll feel better.”

“No, thank you. I’ll not eat in the main hall tonight. I smell like horse and I need to wash and change. Please send dinner to my room and ask the Lady Rositha to attend me there.”

Samantha nodded. “As you wish.”

By the time Ash showered and changed, Rositha Icom vid-messaged, asking if he was ready to eat. He sent back, “Starving.” Moments later three novices arrived with a trolley full of dishes and respectfully bowed. Ash could discern each unique and wonderful smell. His stomach growled. As they loaded his dining table they asked if there was anything else they could do for him. With nothing else required, they bowed and filed out the door. Rositha arrived just as they were leaving.

Ash and Rositha sat down at the overloaded table. Ash, an active and growing young man, virtually inhaled his first heaped plate full of food. He sincerely intended to try every course, despite the large number of portions. After years on a diet consisting mainly of meat, he had become fascinated by culinary artistry. The Temple cook, a Sister of some standing, excelled herself on his behalf. Ash spent much time in the kitchen, teasing, laughing and taste-testing her gastronomic delights.

During his second plate-full he slowed down a little and kept up an aimless, courteous banter. He tried to engage Rositha, but she failed to contribute her share of the conversation. To Ash’s mind she appeared preoccupied, strangely quiet and apparently not hungry.

There could be no mistake. Rositha’s soul was burdened by the Dark Sankomin. Unlike his protégée Dorian, the young boy he freed from sexual slavery, or even Captain Walters, Ash had no idea what could be causing a blockage in the river of her mind.

Ash rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and cast about for promising openings. “Lady,” he began, “I wanted to discuss something of a personal nature with you.” He ate a second pepper and chocolate-flavored cream éclair. Now, how had he planned to begin?

“Yes?” Rositha returned. “Trueborn, it is my duty to answer any question, personal or not. As Prefect I am pledged to obedience, as you know.”

He pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Lady, it is not my intention to offended or distress you, but alas,” he cleared his throat, “I must bring the subject up to both our dismay. It is in the nature of, er, clearing the air, or perhaps settling a misunderstanding.”

Rositha breathed in deeply and her brow furrowed in a worried little “v”. “Of course, Ash.”

“Good. Would you like wine? No?” He poured himself a glass of the red. Maybe he should be drinking something stronger. “You see,” he hesitated, uncertain, “on my homeworld, my people are capable of reading another’s thoughts.”

Rositha face whitened. She went still at his disclosure.

Ash didn’t comment on the change of her demeanor. To put her at ease he looked away and studied his red wine, staring into the reflection it made through the glass. He shifted, uncomfortable, ashamed and embarrassed. He had read her mind without her agreement. He had not intended to, but such would be considered a grave offense on Delian. What happened was an accident, but it was still wrong. A familiar feeling of guilt came over him, knowing he had gone against his conscience.

Ash read Dal Walters’ mind, and Jed’s, but that was before he knew them. Now that they were friends he would never read their mind without express permission. It was more than discourteous by Delian standards. It was against Delian law. He had been raised with these cultural imperatives, and more than that he believed in them. Accidently reading Rositha’s mind had violated his own moral code.

He took a fortifying sip of wine. “It is a firm rule I follow to always ask permission before I read the mind of someone close, like you for example. I consider the Temple Sisters to be my people. So you see, on my world for me to read your mind without permission would be more than poor manners. It would be a criminal offense.”

Ash shifted, raising his eyes to her face. “However, the night of the intruder, I inadvertently read your thoughts. You see,” he felt compelled to explain, “It wasn’t as though I intended to touch your mind.” Ash quelled a desire to squirm with shame. “When I woke you, your thoughts virtually shouted at me. As a consequence, I would like to know what gives you the idea that I would beat, kill or rape you.” He finished quickly, glad to have finally spoken the uncomfortable truth.

Rositha’s face paled further. She remained silent.

“Well?” Ash asked.

“I am afraid of you,” Rositha whispered, in a small voice.

“But why?” Ash was perplexed. “What have I done to make you fear me? True, I have been impatient about finding Forseth. True, I have called out in the night when dreams have afflicted me. Surely that isn’t enough to make you fear me.”

Rositha still didn’t speak.

“Rositha,” Ash began, “I’d like to read your mind, to help understand your fears. May I?”

“No.” She stood up hastily and backed away, her eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape.

Ash could see that Rositha was caught in some pattern; doubtless events in the present were coinciding with events from her past. As rational as her behavior seemed to her, quite clearly she was acting illogically. It was obvious to him that she was in the grip of something that was stretching her coping mechanisms. It wasn’t useful for the Temple Prefect to be less than capable in her duties. She needed to be freed from the Dark Sankomin. After his experience in helping the Captain of Minavera Mover, Ash knew he could help her. He knew he could understand and share her burden.

“Rositha,” Ash stood up and grasped her arm. She cringed back as if struck and for a moment she tried to pull away. Ash could see the rapid pulse in her neck her desire to flee, to escape, communicated to the predator within. His grip tightened and instinct unconsciously came to the fore. Ash would not release her. While the inner wolf came alive with interest at the sudden appearance of frightened prey, the human aspect of his personality said with calm conviction, “I want to read your mind. I am the Trueborn. I require it. It must be allowed.”

Ash’s upbringing on Delian was far, far away. The wolf inside him dominated. Permission was needed by Delian law for mind-touch, but that permission seemed like an echo, the merest formality now. Rositha’s direct opposition made him want to force her compliance. This overwhelming determination was instinctual and unconscious.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

He was pack leader, she was a pack member. She would do what he said. Ash had learned how to lead through his foster father. A snarl and a nip were all Long Fang needed to assert his authority. Ash held her by the arm and his lips drew back.

Rositha’s head bent down as she lowered her eyes toward the floor.

Ash tightened his grip. Raising her chin with his other hand, he met her gaze with a powerful, intense stare. “I said I require it.” He almost growled.

Rositha stopped squirming and nodded. She relaxed as though all her will had left her. Ash released her and she fell back into her chair as if broken. “As you wish, Trueborn,” she said in a toneless voice.

“Thank you,” Ash replied evenly. He had asked for permission and she had given it. Delian law was upheld. He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes. His power warmed and flowed, an endless sea of energy. Yes, yes. Jana, that feels good. The heat of it scalded him with sensual pleasure, taking the edge off his temper. Ash breathed in deeply, composing himself. Then he slowly, carefully reached out and made contact.

Ash was now Rositha, within her flesh. He breathed with her, feeling the rise and fall of her breasts: inhale and exhale, inhale and exhale. Her soft skin and subtle womanly scent seemed familiar. He tasted coffee on her tongue, a flavor he had come to enjoy.

Mind-touch with Rositha was not pleasant for she was solid and heavy in both body and mind. It was extraordinarily difficult to perceive her thoughts. It was as if nothing mattered. She had lost her will. Such pain, such sorrow. Her essence was buried like a village covered by a landslide. Rositha herself was not easy to reach, entombed in her own dark mind, in the Dark Sankomin.

Rositha had been Prefect for six years. She was a confident, capable Prefect and had been so in every situation, but there was something about the circumstances she now encountered that were out of her experience.

For her, the coming of the Trueborn had changed everything.

He heard her superficial thought: For the love of the Goddess, it’s true. He can read my mind. I am lost. But is he reading my mind now?

Ash was shocked by this disclosure. This was something he had not considered. Was she intentionally hiding something from him? Or trying to? He reached deeper.

The first thing he found was something silly, just sitting there, jamming the river of her mind. What was this early memory doing in the present? How could this be relevant? Ash frowned in concentration. Rositha’s dog had been put down when she was eight years old. It had killed some domestic animals. Rositha had known her dog was innocent. In her heart she felt that Toby would only ever protect farm animals and never hurt one. No one listened to the child. Her pet had been destroyed. Later, they had found the real culprit.

This painful injustice was cluttering her mind right now … but why?

Ash dug deeper again. Ah. Here was a large part of the weighty darkness. Here was the sudden unexpected death of her father, someone she loved dearly. Roger Guido, a kind man and a good, loving father had died twelve years previously. It had taken her months to recover from the loss. But she had recovered. Which left the question again, what was his death doing here now, sitting at this time in Rositha’s present?

More recent losses of loved ones followed, finishing with the child Lana who had died of the plague. “I cannot save them.” That seemed to be the common denominator of the thoughts blocking the river of her mind. But why?

Memories of him, the Trueborn, demanding to mind-touch her against her will came to the fore. Her fear of him. “Well, I have already broken my vows to Jana. I always expected punishment for that.” Rositha was prepared for retribution. “I am not sorry for my choice,” she thought mulishly. She was, however, terrified for a man she hardly knew but wanted to protect beyond all reason and understanding.

What? Ash wondered. What man?

Rositha reflected, “I’m trapped. No way out. I should never have tried to defy the Trueborn. But what else could I have done except disobey my upbringing and break my vows? If the Trueborn can read minds, and I do not doubt it, then Larren and I will both pay the price. This man, this animal, could kill anyone. Once he knows the truth, he probably will.”

The reason for Rositha’s fear and loss became blindingly apparent.

Larren Forseth.

Burning Worlds of Perdition! Ash swore. Rositha was in love with his enemy! She knew Ash planned to kill Forseth and she had broken her vows. Lying to him, the Trueborn, for the love of that Taro’s spawn. Incensed, livid, hot rage boiled up inside Ash, like a river of lava within.

A powerful all consuming wrath filled him.

Mind-touch contact blew apart.

Ash left Rositha’s body and slammed back into his own.

His eyes burned. He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over in his raging fury. Ash was a whirling tempest, a maelstrom of emotion. He staggered backward until he was against a wall. His whole body was shaking. Words caught in his throat. He opened his mouth and then closed it. His mind spun with minutiae.

He thought, Like seeks like and she had found him, both of them well versed in betrayal and perfidy. Forseth destroyed his world, and corrupted his innocence. He is evil. And all this time Rositha had known exactly where Forseth was. All. This. Time.

And now … so did he! The animal within clawed to get out.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

“Traitor!” he screamed, moving with fierce and frightening intent toward the Prefect. Possessed by unrestrained fury, without conscious thought or decision, Ash struck Rositha back-handed, a heavy blow with a closed fist, across her face.

Rositha fell out of her chair and lay unmoving on the floor. Her eyes fluttered but did not open she was not quite conscious. Ash stared down at her. Panting with feverish rage, he was shocked to absolute stillness by what he had done.

The words of the Testimonials flew into his mind: “Power and strength can be used for good and evil alike. Only a Trueborn, freed by mind-touch, can judge the difference. Remember well: those who work in aid to the powerful do so of their own free will and when willingness is gone, perverted or enforced, so vanishes the power.”

Ash became aware of an overwhelming sense of déjŕ-vu. I have seen this before.

This was that disturbing image he saw in his dreams that night he slept by Assurance. This picture of a woman he had struck. He was standing above her … and he was glad. She had flaunted her disobedience the woman was lucky that he had stayed his hand. The wolf in him felt that after such a betrayal he would have been justified in taking out her throat.

The man within wailed, What have I done? For the love of the Goddess, what have I done? This brutal reality competed with his newfound knowledge: That son of the Deceiver Forseth is near. Larren Forseth. I must kill him! I must. The internal cognitive dissonance was too much.

Ash’s mind automatically sought to justify his actions.

Rositha had forced his hand. She made me do it. She deserved it all for being in love with his enemy. The Testimonials didn’t apply. The Temple Sister was a traitor.

“You,” he breathed, “you are no longer Prefect.” Forgetting even the use of Icom, Ash stumbled to the door and yelled out. “Lady Samantha. Come here. Now!”

Samantha arrived, clearly startled by Ash’s urgent summons. She was slightly out of breath as she had run up the stairs. “Yes, Trueborn?”

Ash pointed to Rositha, still on the floor. A dark purple bruise seeped, already forming across her cheek. “Take this daughter of the Deceiver and lock her up. She is no longer Prefect … you are.” With ragged breath he lurched toward the hall in a drunken yet purposeful stride.

“Yes, Trueborn,” Lady Samantha replied in breathless haste. She stood at the door to his room, her face white with shock.

“Keep her locked up until I get back. I’ll decide what to do with her then,” he said.

“As you wish, Trueborn,” Lady Samantha replied. For an instant he saw the woman’s emotions roll across her features. She appeared confused and distressed, but in the end he knew she would be obedient.

Good, he thought with satisfaction. And so she should be. Ash’s boots pounded a rapid drumming beat as he moved down the steps and toward the Temple door.

He was, after all, the Trueborn.

7. Confrontation

Those who focus on revenge keep their own wounds festering otherwise such cuts, no matter how deep, would heal. Confrontation is courageous. Anger and hate exposed, examined, and discussed hurry toward understanding. Anger and hate concealed, harden into cold and empty revenge. And yet, unappeased, do you still seek vengeance? Then find happiness and live well. Such sincere prosperity will make one’s enemies gnash their teeth and weep.

Book of Jana, Goddess of Truth

Larren smiled. The pallet for the dead lay empty.

The savory he chewed tasted of sweet moss rounded with a tart jossberry finish. Not bad. The evening breeze cooled his skin as he finished the last of his pre-packaged supper. He swallowed a bit of brackish local water and patted his mouth with a quaint little packaged napkin.

The epidemic had been downgraded to category three no new outbreaks for weeks. Larren sat on a shabby isomer box, a makeshift cafeteria. A few others sat nearby on similar boxes, also eating. The staff of the intake area ate anywhere they found a quiet spot. No one spoke. Larren sighed. Speaking took too much effort and, besides, there was little to say.

Clinton discovered him there. “Lord, Larren, you look exhausted,” he said, his face strained with worry. “You’ve done all one man could, all one man should. There’s no need to work yourself to death.”

Larren snorted. He cocked an eyebrow, and his lips curled with a sardonic smirk. “No chance, Clinton. Don’t you know? I’m a survivor. Seems I’m hard to kill.”

Clinton gave him an irritated glare.

Oh, dear, Clinton doesn’t like my humor, Larren thought. He frowned. I’m not sure I like my humor anymore either.

“You’ve done enough. Good God, man. They’ll get on without you,” Clinton said, swinging his arms in a circle as if gesturing at all the people who didn’t need him. “Let someone else do the work for a change. Stay with us.”

“I don’t know …” Larren said without conviction.

“Come home with me. Em and the kids would be pleased as honey to be having you.” He gave Larren a sly, teasing glance and said, “Course, it wouldn’t be the first time we took in a sick old hound and put him to rights, Lord no.”

Larren chuckled and was surprised by the sound a hollow, empty noise. When was the last time he had really laughed? He couldn’t recall. He said, “Clinton, you’re right. I’m due for a rest. Ah, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather not stay with you and Em.”

Larren stared at the ground as if finding something of interest there. He didn’t want company. He didn’t feel like talking. After a long brooding silence he said, “Clinton, would you mind if I used your old hunting lodge for a while? It’s close enough and, um … you could come visit … but I want to be alone for now. Just myself, the bush … and that mountain.”

Clinton gave him a wide satisfied grin. “That’s the best idea I think you ever had, ya’ old boot. That’ll suit fine. Em and I will fix it.” Clinton appeared abstracted for a moment, the look of a man engaged in internal Icom communication A few moments passed, and he said, “You coming back with me now?” Clinton wore a stubborn expression. His words were phrased as a question, but he clearly didn’t plan on taking no for an answer. “Em is fixing things,” he said with a shrug. “You know how she does.”

Larren’s gaze took in the empty beds and those still occupied. “I don’t know … I don’t think I can leave yet. There are still a few things that need to be done,” he answered vaguely.

“Ah, God’ll look after it, mister. C’mon, you’re leaving here today right now, as a matter of fact.” Clinton took Larren’s elbow in a strong grasp and forcibly propelled him through the various details of his departure.

Larren ended up doing little, mobilized by his old friend. He seemed to have lost the ability to make decisions. Clinton’s powerful personality pushed him along like a leaf in a stream, barely giving him time to pack, practically throwing him into his speeder, taking him up to his mountain cabin, and depositing him there like so much baggage. With a hug and a handshake, he left him alone.

So there he was, at Clinton’s hunting lodge, enjoying the remedy of silence. He could still smell, in his memory, the ghastly miasma of sickness, dust and death, but such fevered ghost senses had begun to vanish. Now he was in a place of fragrant growing things and what he actually smelled was wild lavender; it grew like a weed just outside the front door.

Larren was unaware of the passage of time. A week went by before he suddenly realized days had elapsed without anything to account for them. So strange. It feels as if it’s only been one night since I got here.

It was as if he was coming out of thick fog, aroused from a waking dream or perhaps a nightmare would be a better description. Had he suffered some sort of adrenal overload? He didn’t want to move, or do much of anything. Larren was content to be alone for this gentle respite. It felt so odd to sleep through the night, with no interruptions, no people calling out, no one dying.

He sighed. Not that he ever slept through the night. He suspected it would be a few more weeks before he would be able to do that. The idea of returning to work at quarantine was unbearable. I can’t go back. He thrust the thought from his mind.

Larren stood up from the table and gazed around the rustic log cabin. A cheery fire burned in the heavy stone fireplace and there was a woman’s touch throughout. Em had taken pains to do it up right. Hand-sewn blue-checked curtains for the windows, and an abundant stock of food that included some of her gourmet home-cooked meals. Larren breathed deeply, smelling the savory aroma. He grinned. “I guess folks’ll be coming from miles away just to taste it,” he said out loud, mimicking Clinton’s broad speech and accent.

He walked out the front door, stood on the porch and listened to the nocturnal creatures, enjoying the fresh night air. It was a few degrees cooler here in the mountains. The first night here he had to get up for more blankets because he had been so cold. Larren remembered his surprise at feeling anything. He had been numb for so long. It felt good to be alive and animated again, not simply existing. Good meals, complete quiet, and that beautiful valley to admire. Larren breathed deeply.

His mood darkened. If only Lady Sartha were with him now.

Suddenly he heard a strange sound, a piercing, mournful cry. The eerie resonance sent a chilling tingle of fear down his spine.

Forsaken worlds, what was that? The howl of a wolf? There were no wolves on Kalar. Clinton’s prophetic dream flashed through his mind, chanting softly: “You must wait for the wolf. The wolf is coming, soon, soon. It is you who are important now. You and the wolf. Beware.”

It was uncanny. Larren shivered with foreboding and the hairs on his arms rose. The unreality of the situation overcame him. Could there really be a wolf here on Kalar? And what if there was? Was it friend or foe?

Larren hurried inside, shut and locked the door, and turned out the lights. He crouched low, below the windows. Then he fetched his stunner and checked its charge. He intended to be prepared, either way. It would be sensible for him to remain here, inside the safety of the cabin. Perhaps he should call someone. Maybe Icom Clinton.

The wolf howled once more, long and loud.

That chilling sound. Not a lament. Not a wail of lonely grief. That keening howl was charged with … rage? Hate? Larren’s whole body tingled with knowledge and awareness. Man or animal, an enemy stalked these woods … and it was hunting him. With incomprehensible conviction, Larren knew it. He should stay inside where he could easily defend himself.

Larren shook his head, knowing himself for a fool. What kind of idiot would go out into the dark of night when some wild creature was out there? Someone or something unknown was coming. He could be attacked. He could be killed.

This is stupid, he thought, crouched down on his haunches, one hand to the floor for balance. He slowly, silently opened the cabin door. What am I doing? But he felt drawn, compelled to go outside. It was illogical, yet it was as if something inexplicable, something close was calling him. It was coming for him, whatever it was. But he was ready for the confrontation.

Having been the victor in a hundred life or death encounters, the expertise of staying alive came easily to Larren. Like piloting a ship, that ability was an inbuilt memory, a gift he used without thinking and would never lose. It was a part of him.

Whoever or whatever was coming, Larren was confident that if there was a battle he would win. After all, he was a survivor.

Ash stood at the top of the mountain, looking down at the hunting cabin. He felt the connection. It was not necessary to mind-touch his quarry to know that Forseth was down there. He just knew.

After his terrible rage when he had discovered Rositha’s betrayal, Ash had drafted a frightened but compliant young Temple novice to fly him directly to the quarantine area. The many normal activities he missed out on when raised by the wolves often frustrated him. He had never learned to fly, something everyone else could do. He planned to remedy that as soon as possible.

He became further irritated to discover that Forseth was no longer in the quarantine area. Ash tried to talk to the staff about the man, but they all lied to him. For some reason, everyone wanted to protect Forseth.

After all he’s done. It made no sense.

After Ash left quarantine and returned to his speeder, he took a few minutes to mind-touch one of the people he spoke to, a man named Todd. The man still had Larren on his mind. He had been afraid for him. So he should be, too, Ash thought with malicious satisfaction. The man knew that Larren had gone to the farm of Clinton Williams, whoever that was.

Ash discovered the route to the Williams farm and instructed the Temple novice to fly him there. He made her hide the speeder behind a mountain ridge. He proceeded on his own and moved on foot toward the smallholding. Once in mental range he mind-touched the man called Clinton.

Ash’s brows drew down with angry uncertainty. Clinton’s thoughts disturbed him. Clinton had been talking to his partner about Forseth. They were worried about him because he had been ill. They believed he was a good man. In fact, they both loved him like a son. Could Forseth be good?

A small misgiving nagged at him, but Ash fiercely thrust the doubt from his mind. He knew The Truth. Forseth was simply a master at manipulation and honest people were easily taken in by sociopaths like him. The man had destroyed his world. He had been with his mother.

A loud persistent voice at the back of his mind intruded. Rositha. I shouldn’t have hit her. His conscience nagged and echoed. I lost all control and hit a woman. But she was a traitor, Ash consoled himself. Long Fang, his wolf father, would see the sense of his actions. Seeta, his wolf mother, would also understand. Ash reflected for a moment, considering what the King of Delian, his real father; and the Queen Mother would say. He knew they would be ashamed of him.

But his parents were both dead. Dead. Killed by the traitor Forseth, the man that Sister Rositha betrayed her vows to protect. She deserved it, Ash reassured himself.

Larren Forseth ruined my life and now I will make him pay.

Ash sent the girl home. He didn’t need the novice, but he wanted the speeder. The driver was a resourceful young woman; she would Icom some sort of transport. She ditched the speeder up the mountain from the cabin. Ash was pretty sure he could fly it if he had to. Maybe after he killed Forseth he would give himself a lesson.

Forseth!

Ash’s hate came alive like a vengeful spirit, filling him, possessing him. His mind cleared as all doubt left. Elated, he moved rapidly downhill toward his quarry. He could mind-touch his enemy as he had done five years previously. But he didn’t want to touch the gutter thoughts of Forseth, nor did he need to give himself unfair advantage. Killing him would be easy.

I am a wolf. Ash howled once more, punctuating the fact. His blood pounded hot and strong within him. I am invincible. Despite the dark, starless night his eyes saw everything. His nostrils flared, his senses soared.

Finally. Finally. His time for revenge had come.

Nothing could stop him now.

Slowly, silently, he began stalking his prey. He took the long way around, downwind from his prize. Ash called on every skill he possessed, savoring his abilities. He felt alert, alive and exhilarated. This is what he had come for. This was why he was here.

Hidden at the back of some dense, cactus-like foliage, Ash waited for Larren. He heard the man come out of the cabin, watched him move with stealth and precision. The man appeared to be a capable adversary, but Ash was a skilled hunter. And there was right on his side. The Goddess would be with him in this long awaited revenge. It was his sworn task to take the life of this destroyer, this enemy that was without honor.

Ash waited for his adversary to pass.

He intended to take Forseth from behind, knocking his weapon out of his hands. He crouched tensely behind a large thorny bush, waiting for the right moment. He could smell the man now, wood smoke, earth, sweat and coffee; there was no scent of fear. This surprised Ash, but did not deter him. The man would feel fear, he assured himself. He would know terror soon.

Knife held waist high, Ash’s vision sharpened. Had his eyes changed?

Had they turned the amber that signified he was more wolf than man? From experience he knew his pupils were large and round. He could see everything in the dark.

Larren Forseth was a big man, yet Ash saw he placed each foot with care and complete silence. Tense and alert, the man moved forward with graceful ease. Ash grinned. His prey, also, appeared to be hunting.

But he is no wolf.

Ash wanted to laugh out loud but quelled the impulse.

Yes. Now! Ash sprang, fast. He leapt with astonishing speed. A streak of movement and he flew over the tall bush. Ash arrived from out of nowhere.

It could only be instinct, or perhaps his enemy felt an onrush of pressure, of moving air, but only a moment after Ash’s feet left the ground Larren spun and shifted even faster. In one lightning movement he swung round, bent down on one knee and shot.

A vivid flash pulsed forward like a spray of blue and white fireworks from a flamethrower. The photonic beam exploded as it made contact with flesh, showering burning sparks of energy in a bright fountain.

Ash’s forehead took the entire burst.

The young man fell not on Larren’s back as planned, but chest to chest.

Despite the agony of what seemed to be a bursting sun inside his head surrounded by mental fragments of colored light shattering outward to infinity, Ash’s trajectory never altered. He landed on his quarry, knocking him down.

Ash’s arm thrust forward and his well-honed blade struck blindly toward his enemy. Larren knocked it aside with his forearm.

The knife overshot its intended target. Ash’s teeth, however, did not miss. Even though he was totally unconscious, Ash sunk them deep into Larren’s throat.

“Rotting mother whore of perdition!” Larren cursed in a harsh whispering rasp. He lay on the ground with the young man’s inert body on top of him. Ash’s jaws were fastened, locked into the soft tissue of his neck, pressing down on his larynx. It made it difficult to breathe or speak.

“Shit,” Larren murmured. “This kid must be part pit bull as well as wolf.” He pried Ash’s mouth open to dislodge him. Once he had extricated himself from the young man’s bite, Larren rolled the stranger off and stood up, shaking his head in bemused surprise. A tirade of soft invectives left his mouth as he pulled out a cloth and held it to his torn neck.

Larren went through the youth’s pockets and found nothing of interest. With months of practice he raised the young man over his back in a fireman’s lift, bringing him into the cabin and securing him with rope. Afterwards, when Larren had a chance to look into a mirror and put ice on his neck, he wasn’t really surprised by what he found. Bruised and torn, the skin on his throat carried a distinct imprint. Larren liberally applied a disinfectant.

Like the sharpened fangs of a wild animal, Ash’s teeth had drawn blood.

8. Caught

Why would a wolf talk of peace with sheep?

Admiral Neopol Jones, personal data file

When Ash awoke from the stun, he found himself in a sitting position, securely fastened to a pole in the center of the cabin. His hands were bound with rope, arms and wrists pulled together behind the post, legs and feet tied firmly in front of him.

Trapped!

Ash struggled and thrashed, suffering a long moment of devastating animal panic. His efforts tore the skin on his wrists before he realized how futile his actions were and he stopped. Rational once more, Ash took a few deep breaths, seeking calm. His fingers probed, feeling what he could of the bonds behind his back. No access there. His enemy, Larren Forseth, was taking no chances.

A pain stabbed in a regular rhythm within his head. The cabin fire burned brightly, throwing out a wave of heat. Beads of sweat ran down his forehead and into his eyes. “Too hot,” Ash voiced, unthinkingly, in protest.

His enemy walked up to him and squatted down on his heels beside him. “When you get hit with a stun, heat is the best thing for it. It kind of sweats out the pain. How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Ash said, absorbed by how unwell he really did feel. His instant involuntary answer resounded through the small cabin. His eyes were half shut, but they opened suddenly as he became aware once more of his circumstances. He spat, “Thanks to you, servant of Taro.”

Larren smiled amicably, apparently unperturbed by the insult. “Well, I don’t feel the greatest either, if it’s any consolation.” He pulled down his collar and showed Ash his teeth marks. “You did that while you were unconscious. I hope you’re not rabid.” He gave Ash a cheerful sardonic grin, as if he found the whole situation amusing. “Lord knows what you would have done to my neck if my aim had been off. I rather suspect you could have taken out my throat.”

Ash glared at Larren in a silent fevered rage. The hate he had for the man radiated in fierce competition with the heat from the fire. It was as if a furnace burned inside him. Without warning, Ash felt the blood leave his face. His stomach cramped and twisted. He was going to be sick.

His enemy, Larren Forseth, seemed to understand Ash’s expression instantly and had a bowl ready. Ash threw up and his stomach continued to heave and spasm long after it was empty. He was wracked with pain. After months of working in quarantine, Larren managed Ash’s nausea professionally, holding him and wiping him with a cool damp cloth. He held a glass of mineral water to Ash’s lips.

“This drink is warm, but it’s the best thing for it, believe me,” Larren informed Ash. His voice was calm and soothing. “I’ve given you an anti-emetic,” he said, glancing at the yellow patch on Ash’s arm, “but I don’t think they work that well for preventing stunner nausea.”

Ash drank the water without question, although it was warm as blood and tasted like stale iron and copper. The way he felt subdued his hate. His stomach continued to clinch with painful gut spasms. He was shivering, first too cold and then too hot. Somatic sensation rolled over him in waves. His physical sufferings were bad enough but they were nothing compared to his emotions. He felt degraded and humiliated. Ashamed.

Larren waited until the worst of Ash’s convulsions eased. “So,” he began, “why should the wolf want to kill me?”

Ash’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you call me that?”

Larren pulled his high neck tunic down, and displayed his throat. “Only a wolf would do this.” He grinned a wry pirate’s smile, only wincing when he let the cloth of his tunic slip back into place.

Ash hated the way his enemy smiled. There was nothing funny about this for him. He wanted to run his fist into that smile and break every tooth in the man’s face.

Larren said, “Besides, I heard you howling. That was you howling, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ash answered, resigned. Nothing mattered anymore. He had failed.

Larren laughed out loud. “You’re crazy, you know that? What were you thinking?” His grin was huge, as if this was all a big joke. “I gotta say, I’ve seen some things in my life, I really have, but your, um, unique fighting techniques were a first for me. You’re good, too. By the Goddess, you really are good. You very nearly succeeded in getting the drop on me. There aren’t many who have done that.”

Ash’s heart and mind were walled off behind a hard, hastily erected barrier that Larren’s praise couldn’t penetrate. He could barely contain his powerful rage. Ash bit his lower lip. He met his enemy’s gaze with fierce eyes and burning silence.

Larren asked, “Well? Why did you want to kill me?”

Ash said nothing.

“Did someone send you?

Ash remained sullen and silent.

“Did someone pay you?”

“No one sent me. I sent myself,” Ash snarled, incensed over this new insult. He was no hired killer, but the effects of the stun made him giddy. It acted like a truth serum and he spoke without thinking. “And if you’re smart, you’ll kill me now, before I can escape.”

Larren’s brows rose. “Really? Why?”

“Because if you let me live then I will return and the next time I will certainly destroy you. I would not fail twice.”

Larren shook his head. “Huh. Well, now, that is a worry. I may be a bit off my game at the moment, but honestly? It was only through incredible luck that I got a shot off this time and took you down. Even in top form I wouldn’t want to bet on an outcome for a one-on-one with you. Pretty clever, staying downwind. You were silent and fast and I sure didn’t expect you to leap out of that thorn scrub. That broad bush must have been two meters high. How did you do that?” Larren surveyed Ash’s thighs and legs curiously. Thorns had torn into Ash’s skin in various places, leaving large bloody gashes through his clothes. Apparently mystified, Larren shook his head again. “You’ve sure got skills.”

The pleasant banter and compliment did nothing to soften Ash’s hatred. He had control of himself now and held his tongue.

All right, then,” Larren said with a shrug, standing up. “You’ve convinced me. I can see that you’re dangerous and if you are set on killing me … well, I guess I don’t have any other choice except to kill you first.” He walked to the kitchen table and casually picked up a black-handled hunting knife, palming it. He circled his fingers around it, not gripping, holding it the way a professional holds a knife. Weapon in hand he walked back towards Ash and squatted down next to him once more. He placed the tip of the blade lightly against Ash’s throat.

“Any last requests or comments?”

Ash remained silent.

“Why don’t you at least tell me why you wish me dead? Surely you’d want me to know that. Really. What could I have done to you?” Larren asked reasonably.

“What could you have done?” Ash said, outwardly angry, but inside he was filled with grief and despair. He never thought he would meet his death like this, tied up and helpless. “Murderer! You killed my people, my home and my family. You murdered everyone everyone on my world.” His whole body shook; he felt out of control from this impassioned madness. It was too much. Ash’s eyes stung. He was horrified that he might start to cry, to weep like a child in front of the person he hated most. And wouldn’t that just make his enemy’s victory complete?

Larren’s eyes flew wide. He physically recoiled, stepping backwards. He dropped the knife.

Ash went on blindly, blinking back the water in his eyes, unable to comprehend the expression of shock in Larren’s face. “You destroyed my father and killed everyone I know. You ruined the integrity of my mother. You corrupted my innocence and forced me to live for years with the shame of it. You! You have done all of that. All I have ever wanted to do was kill you. To have the revenge I deserve. To make you suffer. To make you pay. Now I have failed even that. I wish I were dead!” For a moment Ash paused, realizing how stupid and childish his words sounded. But it didn’t make them any less true.

“Kill me,” Ash panted. His face burned with heat. “Why don’t you finish what you started?” There was bitter fury and hate in his voice. The pole was hard against his back, his hands tightly bound against it. His wrists hurt where he had torn them when he had initially pulled in vain against his restraints.

He tasted bile. He smelled his own vomit.

Ash couldn’t stop shaking. A part of him wondered about this strange bodily response. Was it a reaction from the stun? From the force of his pent-up wrath? That was when the tears began, betraying his grief and despair. They ran freely down his cheeks. He turned his head away, trying to hide his face from his enemy.

Of course, Ash thought in dismay. Why not? The final indignity. It hardly mattered. What was one more humiliation amongst all the rest? Regaining his courage, or perhaps his defiance, he turned back and glared at his foe.

White-faced, Larren stared at him.

Ash frowned, baffled. He couldn’t read his enemy’s expression. It was strange. The man looked really odd, as though Larren Forseth was the one who had been stunned.

Larren walked over to the table, slumped down heavily in a wooden chair, and pulled out a picture from his breast pocket. Ash reeled in surprise. It was a picture of his mother! It seemed tattered and worn with age and handling. Larren stared at the picture, and then at Ash.

“Ashton,” he said tentatively. “Is that you?” The possibility appeared to dumbfound him. He stared at his captive in awe. “Is it really you? I thought you were familiar. I felt I had seen your face before …” He seemed distant for a moment, gazing inward.

This unexpected behavior confused and calmed Ash. His breathing slowed. This wasn’t part of the script. What was his adversary doing? Accessing Icom?

Larren stood up. “Yes. You’re much taller and more robust than your Icompedia projection, but your face you’re Ashton Chayton, the missing Prince of Delian.” He jumped up out of the chair and moved toward him. “It is you! Son of Sartha and Jarith! Where is your mother? I swear by the Good Goddess, boy, I never destroyed the people on your world. Forsaken worlds, Ashton. That’s not who I am. That’s just what the broadcasts say.”

Larren picked up the knife and began busily cutting the ropes binding Ash’s legs. He moved further back, slicing the ropes that bound his captive’s hands.

Ash stared without understanding. “Why are you freeing me?” he asked suspiciously.

“Because we need to work together, you and I.” Larren grinned. “Tell me. Tell me everything. I have searched everywhere for you two. Where have you been? Where is Sartha? I can’t wait to see her. Is she well?” Larren studied Ash with anxious eyes.

The empty truth stood between them, held in Ash’s bleak expression.

Larren, in a crouch, sat back on his heels. “Sartha’s gone, isn’t she?” His voice was soft.

“Yes,” Ash said, wiping his tear-streaked face on his sleeves and rubbing his wrists where the rope had constricted them. “My mother is dead. She’s been dead for almost five years.”

“Dead? For five years?” Larren echoed. His face went blank for a long moment as he appeared to digest this, and then he sighed and said, “I see.”

“Well, I don’t “see,” Ash said, getting shakily to his feet, one hand on the pole for support, the other in a tightly clenched fist. Weak as he was after the stun, he still wanted to spring toward his enemy and strangle him with his bare hands. “Your feelings for my mother mean nothing to me. You still did everything you did and you still deserve to die!”

Larren jumped up taut as a bow, his eyes fierce.

Without conscious thought, Ash stepped back from his adversary’s blinding glare. What was that boiling emotion that shot from the man’s gaze? Was it anger? No. Grief? Ash couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, it was unexpected and it bewildered him.

Larren picked up his hunting knife. He took Ash’s hand, palm up, and slapped the hilt into it, blade pointing outward toward Larren’s chest. Ash gripped the knife immediately, holding it expertly like one would wield a hammer, just as he had learned to do as a child.

Larren stood in front of him making no attempt to defend himself. “If you believe that then you’re a fool,” he said in a savage voice. “Kill me if you want. Go ahead, Ashton. Go on believing whatever lies you know. But if you are truly Delian you could read my thoughts anyway and see the truth for yourself. Go on, read my mind. Fine by me. Why don’t you?” he demanded.

Ash stepped back. “I … I don’t want to … to sully my mind by touching yours,” he said. But he was no longer quite so sure of himself.

Larren’s tension relaxed suddenly, broken like Ash’s cords had been when cut by his knife. He snorted loudly and gave a derisive laugh. “Now that’s rich. My life is on the line here, but you don’t want to be sullied.’ Ha. What a joke.” He continued to chuckle with hollow mirth. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Ash. Then they grew wide with understanding.

“I know why you won’t read my thoughts.” His features gleamed. “You’re afraid,” he said, pointing a finger toward him. “You’re afraid to know the truth. You had everything figured out, didn’t you? I was the one responsible for all of your troubles. No doubt killing me was the solution to everything. Now when you find that that might not be the case you’re actually frightened. Trueborn of Delian.’ Ha. More like False spawn of Taro,’ Larren taunted.

Ash stood as if struck, the words of the Testimonials burning through his consciousness: “Fear crushes the power, and makes it useless and worthless to the fearful. Who can use the power if afraid of what he will see?”

“I cannot mind-touch you,” Ash admitted quietly. He regarded the knife in his hand. A moment of fury moved through his face and faster than the eye could follow, Ash threw it. It landed with a thud into the wood of a far wall. “And you’re right. I am afraid.” He pulled up the sleeve of his tunic, reaching for the Delian armguard, the King’s Mirror. He took it from his bicep and handed it to Larren.

Ash’s own flesh seemed foreign to him, heavy, and solid. The pain in his head had abated, all emotional upheaval disappeared. Nothing was happening as he planned. He felt numb. Was he in shock? Still, he was somehow taking it in. Everything seemed clear, crisply real with distinct outlines, as if time were moving slowly, almost standing still.

“Please,” Ash said. “This is a talisman of my world. Take it and hold it in your open hands. Then tell me, Larren Forseth. Speak the Truth. Did you destroy my people?”

Larren shrugged and held the talisman. He said, “All right. Fine. I swear it, by this jeweled armband of yours.” He peered closely at the blue stones for a moment and softly cursed under his breath. “This is the Damithst King’s Mirror, isn’t it? Sacred to your people and priceless. Worth a bloody fortune.”

He held it with both hands then and with more respect. He said, “All right, then. I swear by this talisman. The Deceiver take me if I lie. I did not destroy the people of Delian. I loved your mother, Ashton. I wanted to protect you both. I’ve spent the last five years searching for you and Sartha, to warn you … to help you.”

Incredibly, the Mirror began to glow, first slowly, and then with brilliance. It outshone the warm glow of the cabin fire with the incandescence of a sun.

Ash stared at the talisman and the shock was too much. It could have been from the heat of the room or maybe the radiance was too intense, similar to the burst of light from the stun. Perhaps Ash stood up too soon or simply hadn’t enough time to recover from the stun at all.

He swayed.

He saw Larren shift toward him, moving in a peculiar slow motion. The man reached out to catch him, as Ash felt himself fall. Ash slid away then, into darkness and the welcome peace of unconsciousness.

When Ash awoke he was lying in a large, soft, warm bed. He knew this place. It was the cabin on Kalar, the small hunting lodge owned by the man named Clinton, Larren Forseth’s friend.

Unbelievably, it was morning. He had slept, blithely unaware, like a dead man the entire night that is, if corpses slept in heavy, dreamless slumber. I slept like a dead man and this morning I feel like a dead man, he thought unhappily. Except perhaps the dead do not feel the number of aches and pains I do. Nor do they feel guilty and stupid.

He shifted and turned his head. He spotted Larren and shut his eyes. He wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t rather be dead at this point. He could hardly face the day. I am such an idiot. His whole life seemed empty and foolish. What had been the point?

The shifting sound carried.

Larren moved to Ash’s bed dragging a high-backed wooden chair. He turned it around and sat astride, laying his arms over the back of it. He said, “All sharp, pointed objects have been put out of reach, just in case, Ashton. But, er, I’m guessing your talisman confirmed that I was telling the truth? You no longer want to kill me?”

Ash breathed in deeply. “Call me Ash.” He raised his right hand and touched his armguard. Larren must have returned it to his arm while he slept. “And yes, that’s right. I believe the talisman. I don’t know why or how this has come to be, but you are not responsible.”

Larren gave him a faint smile, his expression neutral. “Okay. Good. Enough time has passed. I’d say the effects of the stun have worn off. So, how do you feel? Better?”

Ash turned away from his gaze. The morning sun filtered through the blue-checked curtains and sleepy motes of dust drifted lazily across the light shafts that pierced the shadows. A bird trilled in the distance and another sang a reply from near the cabin. A wave of birdsong echoed after that. An entire flock must be right outside.

“How would you feel?” Ash answered quietly, in a goaded tone, as if everything was somehow Larren’s fault.

“Ha.” Larren chuckled. “How would I feel if I were you now? And I had attacked someone who was on my side?” The thought seemed to amuse him. “I’d feel like a bloody fool, that’s how I’d feel.” He stood up laughing.

The embers of the fire were still glowing. There was a pot of soup warming over them. He walked to the hearth and spooned some into a mug. He brought it back to Ash. “But don’t worry, buddy,” Larren said in flippant consolation. “You’re still young. You’ll make a lot more mistakes, some worse than this before you’re through. Oh, sure. You haven’t finished yet.” He laughed cheerfully.

“Very funny,” Ash said, definitely not amused. “I suppose you know all about it because you’re so perfect. You’ve never been deceived. You’ve never suffered any lapse of judgment,” he said sarcastically, with no small amount of bitterness.

“No.” Larren’s reply was sharp. His carefree mood disappeared. Unexpectedly serious, his soft brown eyes were intent. “I know because I’ve made my share of blunders. I just hope to God that the worst of them are over.”

He handed Ash the mug of broth. “This is all you’d better take after that stun. If you keep it down okay, I’ll make you something more substantial.”

Ash sat up and took a sip. Surprisingly, it was exactly what he wanted, a warm, soothing broth. He drank some more.

Larren sat down on the bed beside Ash. His gaze was solemn. “I doubt if you’ve even discovered what a real mistake is yet, Ash. Sure you feel bad now, maybe embarrassed and maybe ashamed. Fine. But it isn’t tragic. For World’s sake, I’m not dead, Ash. And neither are you. You could have screwed up far worse than this.”

Ash finished his soup and handed the mug back to Larren. He lay back, arms behind his head. His jaw set in a sullen line. He felt a fool and didn’t want to talk about it. Larren stood up and put the mug on the table. “Trust me, you have nothing to feel bad about.” Hands in his pockets, he paced the room with restless energy. Almost talking to himself, he said, “Now me, I’ve made mistakes. Real ones. The kind I find difficult to live with.” He looked bleak, despair etched deeply into his features. “I’ve made tragic, grievous mistakes that have cost innocent people their lives. The kind of blunders that I remember every day when I first wake up and then I wish to the Goddess I could forget. Fantastic errors in judgment I would give my soul to undo, to somehow relive differently.”

This raw self-confession both startled and riveted Ash. Larren’s emotions radiated from him like sparks from a fire grief, self-scorn and despair.

Larren stared at a wall, remote and transfixed in a memory of his own. He turned around and walked back to Ash, sitting on the bed beside him. A large, crooked grin appeared and his serious mood vanished. “So, pal, if attempting to kill me is the worst goof you can come up with, you should be laughing. Lords of Perdition, even if you’d succeeded and I lay dead right now, it still wouldn’t have amounted to much.” He shrugged.

A tension Ash wasn’t even aware of eased. “Thank you. And I am sorry.”

“Apology accepted,” Larren said. “So,” he returned to his initial subject, “are you feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ash put his hand to his head and rolled his eyes. “But that stun!”

“Awful, isn’t it?” Larren chuckled. “Bad enough when it happens but, man, that initial feeling when you first wake up. You know I shot you a direct hit on the forehead, don’t you? I’ve never experienced a stun that got me in the head. Neck and shoulder, yes, but that’s as close as I’ve come. Bet that hurt.” Larren clicked his tongue in sympathy.

Ash’s eyebrows drew down in a perplexed frown.

Larren’s eyes widened with sudden insight. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been stunned before?”

“Never.”

“Well, you certainly are lucky. I’ve been stunned more times than I can count.” He studied Ash. “Of course, you’re still young. There’s plenty of time yet.” He laughed. “Something else to look forward to.”

“Oh, no.” Ash groaned, yet Larren’s comment did elicit a faint smile. “Once is quite enough, I thank you.”

Ash got up. He was in underclothes and singlet only. Larren had taken his tunic and trousers and dressed his thorn cuts while he slept. Wordlessly, Larren handed him a robe. Ash put it on, then moved to the table and sat down. Larren brought more broth and offered him a cold beer. Ash declined the beer, but Larren opened one for himself and sat across from him.

The two talked for some time, both skirting around major issues. Ash talked about his wounds, the soup, even Fury the red stallion. He avoided discussion of the Temple Sisters because his recent violence toward Rositha was weighing on his mind. Ash spent the last five years thinking of ways to kill Larren, so those periods in his life were also serious conversation stoppers. Larren told Ash about his good friends Em and Clinton. He discussed their farm, but his recent experience in the quarantine area was too painful to speak of. Nor did he want to bring up the subject of Lady Sartha, Ash’s mother. Thus their conversation was necessarily limited, neither able to converse much without running into sensitive areas.

Ash knew Larren wanted to know about his mother. That much was obvious. But he felt incapable of talking about any of it. Too much had happened. There was so much to explain. He felt adrift and uncertain of what to say or do. And then the answer came all at once.

With a deep breath Ash said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take you up on the offer you made last night.”

Larren tilted his head, one eyebrow raised in question.

“I’d like to mind-touch you.”

Larren tensed. He took a deep breath and sighed. A long moment passed. As if coming to an unpleasant but inevitable decision, he finally shrugged. “If you like. There isn’t anything I need to hide from you … now that you’re past the point of wanting to kill me, anyway.” He laughed hollowly. “So, what? Right now? Are you sure you’re up to it?”

“Yes, please. I’ll be okay.”

“Fine. Do your stuff. Don’t you need to shut your eyes or something?”

Ash nodded.

“Well, go ahead,” Larren said.

Ash crawled back on to the large bed, shut his eyes and lay quietly. Time passed.

Larren studied the young man with trepidation. Ash appeared to be asleep as his breath was slow, deep and regular. For the love of the Goddess, what had he been thinking, agreeing to allow mind-touch? Jana knew what Ash would do when he found out that he made love to his mother. Would he be furious? Would this passionate young man go back to attacking him? Jumping out from behind thorn bushes with knives? Not to mention those sharp choppers of his. Larren gingerly touched his sore neck. The boy’s teeth should be registered as deadly weapons.

Oh, well, Larren thought wearily. Truth has a way of being found out. Come what may, it was best to get it over with from the start.

9. Two-Way Mind-Touch

One way contact with an offworlder is always safe as they are mentally blind. Traditionally mind-touch is for partners. There is good reason for this: two-way contact, combined with physical attraction, will result in consummation. Be warned and take care. If there is physical attraction during two-way contact, a chain reaction will commence. This is inevitable and cannot be prevented. Soul-to-soul release; mind-to-mind release; flesh-to-flesh release. Mind-touch with a loving partner is the ultimate consummation. Only mutual climax will conclude such a joining.

Queen Bardsley, The Interpretations

Larren watched his young wolf visitor. Was Ash sleeping? Or only pretending to sleep while actually preparing to jump him? Larren glanced to where he had left his stunner on a table, close at hand. Just in case.

He stood up and paced around the room for a bit. Why was he so tense and irritable? He choked on a little laugh. Oh, no reason, really except perhaps because this kid was reading his mind? Or because he had made love to the boy’s mother? But he hadn’t just made love with the Lady Sartha, had he? He had done much more than that. But just how much would her son discover in his mind?

He ended up back where he started from, sitting on the king-sized bed near Ash.

Larren felt drawn to this bizarre young man. He liked him. It was irrational really. The kid was obviously crazy he thought he was a wolf and if that wasn’t nuts then nothing was. Ash had attempted to kill him and he had nearly succeeded. It had only been through incredible luck that he had been able to overcome the young madman at all. But why did Ash want to read his mind? Didn’t the boy believe him? He’d had nothing to do with the genocide of his people, the Delian race.

The Delian talisman glittered from upon Ash’s arm. Now that was another strange thing. Crafted along simple lines, alluring and enthralling, Larren had trouble taking his eyes off it. Why was that? He felt calmed by its touch and had been oddly reluctant to return it. The King’s Mirror was a warm, beautiful blue, a little like what he remembered of Sartha’s eyes.

Sartha’s memory took his breath away. For a moment he was filled with a profound grief. She is dead. I should have known. I feared it all these years.

He took a deep breath and swallowed. Now was not the time to mourn her. The situation at hand was too important, the outcome of this confrontation between himself and her son. That is if there was any significance to that strange dream of Clinton’s. Larren shook his head, unsure where events were headed. Perhaps he and the wolf would be together for some time yet. At least until they found the snake.

Ash lay motionless while the minutes passed. Irritated with the wait, Larren stood up and began to pace again.

Five years previously he’d had full two-way mind-touch with Ash’s mother, the Lady Sartha. Mind-touch was a Delian ability, but it was more than reading another’s thoughts much more. It healed the disquieted mind or wounded soul. Larren exhaled suddenly. It had been a unique experience, one he would never forget.

Larren stopped pacing and shut his eyes in recall. He had shared Lady Sartha’s body as well as her mind. From the moment of contact he was bombarded with sensory input: he was her. He felt his no her breasts rise as she drew in a long, deep breath. As a woman he was smaller, lighter, delicate and soft. He could sense her long hair curling around her neck, her delightful female smell, the feel of her velvety dress against her skin. He could taste what she tasted she had recently eaten something sweet, cinnamon and honey.

He was NOT in his own body.

In fact, he was staring back at his own male form, very, very aware of being within hers.

The Lady Sartha had exposed herself to him completely, body, mind and soul. And she had searched through his own memories, like flicking through a viewer, showing him events that he hadn’t even been aware of, things he had hidden from himself. Sartha had, in that moment, known him more completely than anyone. And he had known her. And loved her. That familiar tug of loss gripped him. Once more he pushed it away.

In frustration, Larren began to become annoyed. If he could read Lady Sartha’s thoughts, then why couldn’t he also know Ash’s? Surely that should be possible.

Larren shifted over. He stretched out on the bed beside Ash and shut his eyes.

Then he mentally reached out.

Contact!

Unbelievably, as he had with Ash’s mother, Larren touched Ash’s mind.

“Ash?” Larren thought, recovering from the initial disorientation. He had been in another’s body before, with Sartha. He felt the difference now this form was familiar. Male. He was inside Ash. Larren felt the youth, the power and vitality of him. But he decided not to open his mental eyes, preferring to remain psychically in the dark, so to speak. The idea of seeing his own inert form from someone else’s viewpoint was really quite unnerving.

“You have touched me!” Ash thought.

Larren felt a strange mental bubble, a tickle of Ash’s astonishment. Larren was not Delian, yet he had experienced full mind-touch with Ash’s mother. He assumed that was due to some gift or knowledge of hers. Now it seemed her son had the same ability.

Larren thought, “Have you read my mind?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Larren flinched, hoping that perhaps Ash hadn’t found out about his mother and himself.

“I know about you and my mother, Sartha,” Ash answered, apparently responding to Larren’s thoughts almost before he was aware that he had thought them. “I don’t mind … at least, I don’t really mind anymore. It was inevitable in any case: you had two-way contact and were physically attracted to each other, which would have created a chain reaction, a physiological imperative that must end in consummation.” There was a long pause. “Besides, it was right, for both of you.”

Larren heard Ash’s thoughts but was unable to comprehend them. They sounded like so much white noise. Thinking of Sartha had darkened his heart. He was filled with remorse. If he had done things differently she might be alive today. The same with Drake and the rest of his men. The dark burdens inside were layered upon even deeper, darker burdens. Self reproach, guilt and despair filled his soul. The desolation and misery of the quarantine area had provided the most recent avalanche of unresolved emotion and pain.

“No,” thought Ash. “Not guilt. That is a trap I know well. You can’t be responsible for everything. Look.

Like a mirror inside Larren’s mind, Ash reflected the unaltered Truth of Larren’s past back to him. His childhood, his parents, two younger sisters Larren loved them all. A loyal, kind and teasing big brother. Adolescent, idealistic, Service mad. A need to go off world because he wanted to help others. Even as a boy Larren had been a natural leader. People wanted to follow him, not through fear but from admiration. Larren inspired others with a desire to live up to his expectations and he had high expectations.

Larren heard an echo of Ash’s thoughts, Such a curious need, that burning desire that drove him as a young man. There was respect and delight there. It was obvious that Ash reveled in Larren’s youthful years; gloried in the promise of the young boy-child. Larren felt Ash’s emotion, was it … awe? Ash saw him so differently than he saw himself. It made him feel something … something he didn’t often feel.

What was it, exactly? Was he pleased with himself? Proud?

Good, bad, right and wrong, his mistakes, his failures Larren hurtled through his own life, drawn through his memories, pulled by the smoldering heat of Ash’s inexorable innate power. Larren had made many mistakes. He had failed many times, but he had always returned to try again.

“Please, Larren. View your past as it is. See the Truth of who you are.”

Larren did. He saw five years during which, time had not moved for him. It was as though he were an insect frozen in amber. The events of five years ago had sucked him in and held him. Betrayal, torture, the loss of his ship, the deaths of Drake and his men. The mystery of what had happened to Sartha and Ash. He had become a prisoner of his own making, punishing himself, not allowing himself to grow. All that time he had been static, no longer moving forward. He had wallowed in grief and regret.

Larren was astonished at the truth of it. Knowing was cathartic. A revelation.

“Yes!” Ash thought. Larren knew Ash understood.

Moment by moment, over time together they really looked, sharing Larren’s grief, guilt, loss and failure between them. And with this honest viewing all sorrow disappeared. Larren became angry. Why had he wasted so much valuable energy feeling bad about the things he could never change?

Why had he allowed himself to become fixated, trapped in the past?

His intentions were good. What was simply was. Explaining his shortcomings, rationalizing them, wallowing in them, or even being angry about them changed nothing.

Larren felt curiously released, poised on the edge of discovery.

Realization bubbled through him. Guilt, regret or shame wanting to alter the failures of before what a waste of emotion, a waste of life! Being here now was what was important. Lighter, suddenly unburdened, Larren had been set free.

He shared a quiet space with Ash. It was a silent, empty space. Had he touched the young man’s soul? The constant noise in his mind noise he had up until now been unaware of was gone. Larren felt … what?

Oh, he abruptly realized. I feel at peace.

It lasted for hours, it lasted for moments, it lasted for … for something that was beyond time. Consciousness. Stillness. Larren found himself in an eternal, timeless silence. So beautiful.

His pain lessened, his burdens halved … and then …

They were gone.

The Dark Sankomin, the heavy blockage in his mind, had released. Larren experienced an incredible lightness of being and an overpowering sensation of movement and freedom.

Larren fully viewed what was and what had been. He saw the Truth and with that the past weighed on him no more. The heavy, blackness of despair was replaced by light and carefree understanding.

“Yes. I know.” Ash’s thought was a soft whisper in his mind; his soothing power rolled over Larren with warm, sensual pleasure.

Together, they understood.

“I feel wonderful!” Larren mentally shouted out, bursting with well-being, cresting to the height of exhilaration, an exultation of the soul. “This is how it was with your mother. I feel light and carefree like a child.”

“You are a child.”

Enjoying the joke, their minds bubbled with laughter, united. Ash thought, “Do you know, I am extraordinarily pleased that I didn’t succeed in killing you?”

“Ha. I’d like to say you couldn’t have, but we both know my chances there. I don’t want a rematch.”

Ash liked Larren Forseth very, very much. This mountain of affection he had for him poured over Larren like gushing water from an enormous fountain. Larren heard … no, he felt Ash’s thought: How lucky I am to have Larren as a friend. With the habit of a lifetime Ash felt sincerely grateful. “Thank you, Jana.”

“Larren,” Ash thought after a time, “would you like to know my mind as I have known yours?

“Sure, but how?

“I’ll help you.”

“Good. But remember,” Larren’s good-natured ribbing translated as a mischievous bubble of light in Ash’s mind. “No cheating, I want it all. No fair hiding anything.”

Amused, Ash replied: “In two-way mind-touch it is the hidden thoughts that surface first. It is impossible to bury something so that it is inaccessible …” He opened his past to Larren, his mind … his memories. ” … as long as the person touching knows how to look.”

Larren’s thin childish fingers grasped the thick fur of his wolfhound, Tynan. A warm raspy tongue licked his face and he laughed. Tynan, I love you!

Ill and small, weakness dragged upon him with the oppressive weight of stone. With labored breathing he lay in bed, surrounded by physicians all gazing down at him with grave faces. His fever had gone, for now. So tired. So weak. So stubborn. I will not die. I want to live. Mother stroked his forehead with a cool cloth. Her melodic voice soothed and comforted him. Thank you, mother.

A large man carried him on broad shoulders. Father. The same man when he was older, teaching, explaining with endless patience in soothing cultured, resonant tones. “You must make your own choices, son, but I know you will choose the honorable path.” Doubts and fears. Attempts to hide his shyness. Will I ever be half the man my father is?

Larren experienced Ash’s life as he lived it, through a whirling display of mental pictures and perceptions. The pine-sea smell of Delian reminded him of Sartha, and suddenly he was above her. Her slim cool arms wrapped around his neck, Sartha’s fingers in his hair. His hands touched her face and stroked her soft skin.

Her scent made him dizzy with need and desire as, skin to skin, he made love to the Lady Sartha once more.

“Oh, by the God and Goddess! You were there, Ash!” Larren realized, mortified. “You were in my body when I … when we …”

Wrong! So wrong! No! This knowledge was difficult to face. Why? How?

Larren relived that precious time with Lady Sartha from the point of view of her son, the child Ash had been. The thirteen year-old, unpracticed in mind-touch, had heard no words. The boy knew no thoughts in that coupling between Larren and Sartha. There was only raw sex, the act of a man and a woman. The child had known a man’s lust.

No. Larren recoiled.

At the time Ash had little familiarity with mind-touch so his mind had sought out only the physical as an anchor. If he had been able to understand, if he had heard their thoughts and felt their love it would have changed everything, reducing the child’s humiliation.

Larren saw how his making love with Ash’s mother, Sartha, had colored Ash’s world from then on the guilt, the lust, the hate, the shame. It had been an innocent mistake, yet Ash had paid a dear price for this unexpected ability to mind-touch at such a young age.

Ash had burned three times: First, as a thirteen-year-old child caught in Larren’s aroused male body, he had burned with lust for his own mother. Then he had burned with shame for sin and the loss of his innocence. Finally, he had burned with the need for revenge and the desire to kill Larren Forseth.

“Forsaken Worlds, Ash. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”

“It is the past, Larren. Only a shadow. It no longer haunts me.” Larren tried to hold on to the vision but was swept away.

Larren felt Assurance fall and crash, knew the icy-cold, red skies of Opan, and felt Ash’s broken arm from the ship’s impact on the surface. His eyes stung and he blinked fiercely as he fleetingly glimpsed Sartha lying dead. Ash’s emptiness and grief consumed him, filling them both.

Oh. She is gone. They both had loved her.

Together they relived Ash’s life with his wolf family. There was affection and joy there and Larren reveled in it. The wolves were honorable, mischievous and playful. They were all that was right and good in the word “family.” He felt the nip of Long Fang’s teeth, when Ash scared game away. Ash had been a clumsy hunter at first. He tasted the sweet musky flavor of his wolf mother’s milk. Ash had nursed from her, to help heal her from the loss of her cub. He felt the thick red fur of his mother, Seeta, soft against his body, keeping him warm in the Opan frost.

Larren experienced Ash during the hunt and the mercilessness of the kill, and for the first time he became aware of real fear of Ash. It was the kind of terror that comes from the unknown. There was something inhuman inside the young man, something otherworldly and frightening and unstoppable.

“You are a wolf,” he thought, but Ash was silent.

Then came Ash’s time in captivity. Images circled into Larren’s mind the beatings, the loss of his power, the loneliness, fear, grief and guilt. He knew the damp loneliness of the cave; the smell of terror during the animal fights; shock when thrown into the pit with the maddened boar. He understood then Ash’s almost pathological need to be in control.

So much of his life had been out of his control.

The past came closer now, current events sweeping toward Larren like a rising tide. He saw a sea of faces: Temple Sisters, Captain Walters, Tina and Rositha. “You struck her?” He became aware of Ash’s regret and deep burning shame for the act. Larren was staggered by the knowledge. How could he have hit a woman? But through their intimate mind-touch Larren understood very well how.

Ash had lost control of the wolf within. Mistakes were made, oh yes. Larren had no monopoly on well-founded regrets.

Larren felt a strange sense of closeness to Ash, this courageous young man who had survived so much. It was a pure emotion, it was right, and Larren had no name for it. He could only think of one word to express how he felt toward the honest purity and integrity within Ash. The only word he knew for this feeling was love. Was it like the love of a father to a son?

Larren experienced a loyal, affectionate need directed toward Ash, a desire for approval. So odd. He couldn’t recall feeling like this before. A sardonic smile bubbled inside him, infusing him with an aura of colors, of light and joy. Perhaps what he was feeling was more like what a dog feels toward its master, and that thought really made him want to laugh.

It was funny, but it was also true. Larren became aware of the otherworldly power inside Ash and it was a revelation. It drew him, attracted him like a magnetic force.

I love this crazy kid.

Instinctively he reached for Ash, grasping him, holding him in his arms, chest to chest. He wanted to be closer to the unique spirit that had so honestly exposed itself, this matchless soul to whom he had bared himself without regrets, who had accepted him, first the thread and then the essence. Ash knew who Larren was, knew everything, every secret feeling, every flaw yet he still admired him.

Ash was in awe of the man he was and accepted him.

The flesh touch ignited him and a fire raged through him. Larren knew this familiar response. What was this? Lust?

No!

Larren did not want to feel lust. He loved Sartha’s son, yes, but not like that. Where had it come from? How could his own flesh betray him like this? But Larren was still in full contact with Ash. Ash felt the same, this peculiar … love? The young man reciprocated. He loves me, as I love him. Yet Larren was also aware of the young man’s fatigue.

Sleep. Rest. It was like a mental command.

Ash was exhausted. He was a focal point for this two-way mind-touch and the energy it took to maintain such a connection drained his already spent strength. Contact began to fade, and then fractured.

Their intimate link weakened … and broke.

Larren separated from Ash’s body and returned to his own. Ash’s head was pillowed against Larren’s larger form, upon his chest. Larren’s arms were wrapped around him. Larren had never held a man like this, yet it was a comfortable, natural position. His momentary feeling of lust had vanished so completely he wondered if he had imagined it.

So strange, Larren thought. He was not homophobic never had been. It was a rare condition this century, after all. Two of his good friends on the Darla Wu had been a couple, and he knew plenty of men who preferred to share a woman, or even another man with a friend. He never had the inclination to sleep with a man or perhaps he had never really had been pressed toward the opportunity. These were thoughts that he just hadn’t considered much before now.

Here, with Ash pressed close against him, Larren was completely at ease. There was no thought of embarrassment or shame. He knew Ash. He went through this unusual bond once more, turning it over in his mind, still seeking to identify their precise relationship. What was it? He felt a strange, compelling love for Ash but was it like a father to a son? Or perhaps like a teacher, toward a promising student? Like a subject to his king?

Larren smiled a crooked, pirate grin. No, it was as he thought before. It was probably more like a dog toward his master. He was older and inarguably wiser than the young man, but there was something powerful, something “more,” in Ash. Strange as it seemed, that was the relationship that seemed to bear the clearest sense of “rightness.”

Wherever it was, he didn’t care. Had he been entranced by some sort of Delian mind-control? Larren had no answer to this utterly unimportant mental maundering. All he was aware of was a giving kind of love.

Ash drew back heavily from Larren, and lay on his back. The fit young man was sweating. He was drained and breathless as if from vigorous sex. Ash smiled a weary yet peculiar smile. Larren couldn’t interpret it.

“Ah, Larren,” Ash said. His lips twitched mischievously.

Happy to be in his own body once more, Larren stared at Ash. “What? What is that smile for?” he asked curiously.

“I was just thinking how pleased I am that you do not actually find me physically attractive.”

“What?” Larren said with a frown.

Ash continued to regard him with that unreadable smile.

“But I do find you attractive, Ash.” Larren had always been an honest man, but after such an intimate event he was incapable of lying even by omission. In a euphoric high and without any attempt to moderate his words, he blurted out, “Not just your body I mean, you are a handsome young man but it is your soul that shines for me, Ash. I know you. You are flawed, but your flaws do not disturb me in the least. Nobody is perfect. We are only human, after all ” Larren knew he was babbling now, but felt unable to stop ” except I suspect you are rather more than human. Either way, I know and respect the person you are.”

Ash smiled joyously and his eyes radiated affection. He touched the waxy disfigurement on Larren’s face. Larren recalled the firefight when he got that scar. He was certain Ash was aware of exactly when and how Larren had received that burn, too.

“I know you, too, Larren,” Ash said. “And I thank Jana for sending you to me.” His head tilted and he gave a thoughtful grin. “I am also thankful that you do not find me physically attractive.” He laughed out loud.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Larren, during two-way mind touch, if there is physical attraction the mental contact must end in consummation. That was why you and my mother ended up having sex, you know. There was no choice. Once joined in two-way contact it could not have been prevented.”

“Consummation?”

“Mutual orgasm.”

Larren’s eyes widened, reflecting his surprise. “You mean then that you … that we … we could have …”

Ash raised his eyebrows in inquiry. “Honestly? I’m not sure. I mean, if one of us had been attracted and not the other? I really don’t know what would have happened. Either way, we both managed to dodge that missile. We both are attracted, we are drawn to each other, that is a given. And that is, I suspect, as it is meant to be. But luckily for us, we are not sexually attracted.”

Larren rubbed his chin, feeling the stubble. He was quiet for some time, considering the matter. Then he gave a wry quirk of his lips. “Wow. Well, don’t take it personally. You are kind of cute and all but, let’s face it, it would never work.”

Ash just laughed. It was a good, honest laugh, but Larren saw how tired he was. Exhausted in fact. Larren eyed him with a serious, frank regard. He said quietly, “I never knew about … you, me and Sartha. You were just a child. I am so sorry, Ash. No wonder you hated me.”

Ash’s face was white and strained. “I understand what happened now. It may not seem like it, but seeing your viewpoint was healing for me, and while you were unable to fully touch me, you saw enough.” He breathed out deeply. “It was enough.”

“Are you all right?” Larren asked.

“Are you destined to say that to me repeatedly, from here on out?”

Larren’s smile widened. “I certainly hope not, but at the rate we’re going … maybe. Any worry I have for you may shorten what may be an already short life, what with half the authorities in the known galaxy after me.”

Ash smiled faintly, to acknowledge the joke. “Then to answer your question, no, I’m not all right,” he said. “I badly need rest, in my mind, body and soul. If you will excuse me.”

Larren jumped up, put an arm around Ash’s waist to support him, and helped him move more into the middle of the bed. He covered him with one of Em’s patchwork quilts.

“Sleep well, young wolf,” Larren said in a quiet voice.

Ash offered a small, contented smile at Larren’s wolf comment. He shut his eyes and, with the habit of a lifetime, said out-loud, “Thank you, Jana.” Within moments he was fast asleep.

Larren gazed at Ash fondly. So, he thought, you are the wolf. Welcome, welcome wolf. He grinned. For a moment he considered what someone would think if they saw him smiling for no apparent reason.

I am the village idiot.

He touched his irrepressibly beaming smile. Envisioning what he must look like caused him to grin all the more and soon he began to laugh, convulsing with delight. He held his mouth, trying to be silent in consideration for Ash who needed his sleep.

Yes, the wolf had given him much to think about, as well as much more pleasant thoughts.

Larren walked to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee, still snickering. He sat down and savored the taste. Incredibly, it somehow tasted different, better than it ever had before. And for the second time in the last forty-eight hours he thought, It’s so good to be alive. The first time had been because it was a relief to escape, to flee the suffering of the quarantine area. The second time was for exactly the opposite reason, because there was so much to look forward to. He no longer felt as though he was running away. His survivor’s guilt had been cured. Those irritating “why” thoughts would no longer afflict him.

After reassuring himself that Ash was all right, Larren went outside.

He stood on the deck, completely content. He was drawn in by the wonder of the timeless granite cliffs and the dark beauty of the green knot of the well-irrigated valley and forests below. The scenery has changed. This entire world is so much more beautiful than I ever realized. I am glad I survived. There is so much to live for.

Larren felt happy just to be there, to feel the morning sun, to breathe the mountain air and, of course, to fully and completely enjoy his coffee.

10. Concerning Plans, Intentions Evil

Rarely do I find a worthy adversary but when I do I relish such a challenge. More often than not there is no consuming fire, no unyielding rock, and no force of sword to test my strength. Without these, how shall I enlarge my experience, hone my skills and define my limits? Strong adversaries are not only necessary, they are vital in order to keep one strong.

Neopol Jones, private files

The middle-aged man screamed.

The sound pierced Neopol’s ears, causing slight discomfort, yet he didn’t mind. Using Icom control he mentally flipped the power off. The scream stopped.

Music could be heard then, a soft choral composition in the background.

Aboard the battleship Conqueror, within the soundproof, sterile white detention section, Admiral Neopol studied his subject closely. His current guinea pig, Doctor Joel Slater, was proving to be a surprising treat. The sixty-six year-old man was strapped in feet, hands, waist, forehead and neck, quite unable to move. The straps were firm, but soft and comfortable.

Dr. Slater sat in a chair raised to Neopol’s standing eye level. Neopol never sat during an interrogation. He was too excited, too restless; he needed to move.

A hand’s width apart, Neopol stood face to face with his subject. Beautiful, he thought. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, like watching someone suffer. Pain stripped away all camouflage, exposed every facet. It was remarkable, intense … perfect.

Neopol touched his victim’s face and his fingers traced a wet, glossy sheen of sweat. He raised his hand and placed the sweat on his own lips and tongue. It tasted of salt, yet to him it seemed as sweet as fresh fruit. Rather apropos, really. For this was the fruit of his labors, all this knowledge, this experience. He sighed and felt strangely moved. At this precise moment in time he felt no need to strive or fight. He was fulfilled.

“Sir,” Dr. Chang said, “This subject needs rest. He is not young and his heart is not strong.”

“How long?”

“Perhaps thirty minutes.”

“Fine.”

Dr. Slater breathed in ragged gasps, but his panting began to slow. The man had emptied his stomach already and his associates had cleaned up the mess. The doctor’s eyes were shut. They eventually opened, gray with pain.

“How am I doing?” he whispered.

Neopol smiled and provided him a drink to sooth his ravaged throat. “Rather well for your age. Remarkable. I have the nerve oscillation probe only set at two, but I rather think anything more would cause unconsciousness. You are not as young as you used to be. Is there anything you would like to tell me? Something concerning the Delian Prince, perhaps?”

The man gave a faint smile. “We have been over this. I know nothing, for if I did know I would have told you. I’ve never seen the fellow, dead or alive. My predecessor must have dealt with the matter.”

“I believe you,” Neopol said. “Yet there is still the issue of your breaking point Doctor.”

“Ah, well, just go on as you are and I’ll certainly crack. This pain is intolerable.”

Neopol chuckled. “That would show a distinct lack of finesse, dear Dr. Slater. Or may I call you Joel? I feel that I can, for we are getting to know each other, aren’t we? Well, Joel, I know your male partner died two years ago, you have three grown children from artificial wombs, and five grandchildren. You find fulfillment as a medical doctor. You enjoy helping others. You do not fear death. I could, of course, break you by threatening your progeny. That would be a simple way to manage the thing.”

“Yes.” The doctor gave the Admiral an appraising look. “But you don’t want to do that, do you?”

“No.” Neopol gave him a fatherly smile. “That would be far too easy. Do you like this music?”

The doctor’s eyes lit. “Oh, yes. The Renaissance Choir, singing from “The Parables,” in French. I recognized it immediately, of course. Simply outstanding. One cannot mistake the tonality and texture. There is an interesting history to this piece, too. Are you aware of it?”

Neopol chuckled good-naturedly. “Oh yes. I know its history. We have a love of music very much in common, my dear Joel. Now tell me why you don’t fear death. Is it your religion?”

“I suppose so.”

Neopol crossed his arms, waiting.

Slater took a deep breath in and out. “There are so many choices in life, Neopol. I found the parables of Jana useful to guide me. I may fall short at times, but I have sought to be a good man. My conscience is clear. If there is an afterlife, I have nothing to fear from it.”

“And suicide?”

“A sin. I would never do it.”

Neopol gave him a wide predatory smile. “You should never say never, dear doctor.”

Doctor Slater’s eyes widened. Neopol saw in them what he rather suspected was alarm.

He walked toward a cupboard filled with the medications and instruments of the medical trade. Constructed in spaceworthy fashion, the cupboard had a place for each item and was locked down in case of freefall conditions. Neopol took out a vial along with a long, thin syringe and needle. He put the needle in the vial and drew up the chemical. He discarded the vial and held the syringe behind his back as he turned toward his subject.

“Ah, my good doctor,” Neopol said. “It has been such a pleasure working with an intelligent and educated man. I’ve enjoyed our little chats, and thus have been in no hurry to complete my task.” He shook his head. “Innumerable circumstances and situations would break you, sir. An unfortunate consequence of your idealistic nature I’m afraid. But I wanted to find the one thing that didn’t touch your conscience, your morality … your sense of right and wrong. I want the thing that actually terrifies you. I know what that is now.”

Doctor Slater swallowed as Neopol came closer.

“Some people fear permanent blindness. Some may kill themselves after losing their legs. A pianist may commit suicide if he or she lost their hands. And you, my dear doctor? Well, you tell me that you would never kill yourself. If that is so, then you will suffer for the rest of your life.” He produced the syringe from behind his back, with a little flourish. He held it out for the doctor to observe as if presenting him with a gift.

No,” the doctor whispered, his voice barely audible.

“Oh, yes,” Neopol said. “You recognize it, don’t you? A few drops of this will cause irreparable deafness. You would rather be blind or dead, wouldn’t you? You don’t fear those things. But to never again hear music? Ah, that you fear.”

“No!” the doctor screamed and after a moment screamed again. But Neopol just laughed.

Two days later Neopol stood on the ship’s bridge and stared down at the planet of Opan. Green and red, it was rather a colorful world, spectacular really.

The Delian Prince had been confirmed dead on Opan, but the medical officer who had taken his genetic scans had also passed away. He had been an old man and died of natural causes. Neopol found this inconvenient, but at least his successor, Dr Joel Slater, had afforded some scientific entertainment when brought on board and studied. Slater had been subjected to the probe and mindtap and had made no attempt to lie. He was a true scientist and Neopol had been rather gratified by the amount of interest the fellow had shown concerning his studies of human tolerance.

After torture, the doctor had been given a memory erasure and implant and sent on his way. Not a strong individual, but quite bright.

His studies concerning the good doctor Slater were ongoing. Just that morning an Icom feed had arrived concerning him. The man was depressed, but Neopol knew it would be a few more weeks before Dr. Joel Slater overcame his aversion to suicide and actually killed himself.

Neopol frowned.

There was something wrong about all of this. It was just too convenient. The prince’s corpse could not be found, having been placed or should one say misplaced in a common grave. The prince had apparently stumbled, jumped or was pushed off a cliff, but who discovered the body? The records were inconsistent or nonexistent. Was it due to human error or human intent? Well, the search was taking longer than planned, but he knew that the answers were on Opan. The Lady Sartha and Larren Forseth were here, they had to be.

For weeks now, Neopol’s men had traversed the planet. He had instituted a detailed grid search and the hunt was proceeding as planned. Assurance was here. It had to be and he would find it. But it was taking longer than he thought. Was it somehow shielded?

Neopol remembered his first moments on this oddly colored world. Through UWG orders he had been treated as well as an officer of High Command itself. Upon his arrival he had been led to the upper chambers of the Planetary Head of Opan. There had been none of the usual waiting for an audience with the Vice Regal.

The Planetary Heads of each of the United Freeworlds were officially titled Vice Regals. The word “Vice” was defined as substitute and “Regal” meant king, or total ruler. In theory, the undisputed head of any of the Freeworlds was the UWG council, but as the council could not be present on each of the Freeworlds, the Vice Regal generally stood for them in absentia.

The UWG Council was the unbiased, neutral party that could mediate on any Freeworld concern. If one had been treated unjustly and found no satisfaction by petitioning their Vice Regal, one could take the matter up with the UWG council.

Neopol grinned maliciously. In theory the idea appealed to the naive colonials of most Freeworlds. The One Hundred Year War had been a stroke of genius by his superior, Lord Andros. It affected every individual on every Freeworld to this day. No one wanted a repeat of those disastrous times, the Age of Perdition. They wanted and needed to believe in the integrity of the current system and in the Age of Accord.

The UWG council was separate from any one world. Consequently, one could assume it would have no vested interests, so real justice could be obtained. The council, ultimately senior to any Vice Regal as well as having the UWG Fleet at its command, could easily enforce its decision.

But High Command controlled the UWG Council. High Command was the military arm, in charge of the Police and the Fleet. And, unknown to the fools who sat on the council, Lord Andros ensured that council rulings followed his purposes.

In fact, it was difficult for an ordinary person to get offworld and visit the council. In theory the Fleet or the Freeworlds Police would provide transport, but if the High Command didn’t want the UWG council to be seen then transport would not be provided. Or, better still, the dissidents would receive transport directly to the Prison Planet of Ciriani.

His direct superior, Lord Andros, was resourceful, Neopol thought with admiration. He allowed the appearance of justice while in actual fact covertly manipulating and controlling all of the United Worlds according to his own design. Neopol sighed. Such intellect and duplicity inspired him. Surely he should rule beside Lord Andros. Neopol had been studying Andros, researching everything there was to know about him. It was an extremely dangerous task he had set himself.

Neopol took his data device from his bracelet and studied it thoughtfully. He knew many of Andros’ secrets. He knew the name the man had been born with, as well as a number of his different incarnations as Andros altered his body through sculpting through the years. Neopol swallowed. Andros would have him killed if he knew, but he needed this information. He needed to know everything about him in order to best serve him, and to best manipulate him. Oh, the details he was acquainted with! The information he had documented on this little device about the most powerful man in the galaxy.

Neopol took a deep breath. With his superior intellect and cunning, combined with years of study and experience in domination, prediction and control of the human animal, Neopol had much to offer Andros. And his time was coming. Andros alone had the secret to immortality. Neopol knew that he would, in time, share this secret with him.

Neopol moved to his comfortable recliner and lay back. Conqueror’s captain, Pagett, was alert, available as needed. But Neopol didn’t need Pagett. Sub-Lieutenant Janson stood beside him, also waiting like an obedient and well-trained dog. Nothing ever affected Janson. The man was part of the scenery, as nondescript and emotionless as the bulkheads of the ship. Janson stood motionless, his eyes rarely blinking.

A white-faced, taciturn man, Janson always seemed to know exactly what Neopol wanted. He followed orders exactly, never questioning and never offering anything either. If Neopol told him to take out his weapon and shoot himself, he probably would do so without hesitation. Such a mystery, this man. How did he do it? He had been Neopol’s aide for nine years, an amazing record.

Neopol located an Icom tag, “Service Personnel, Personal Aide, Sub-Lieutenant, Janson,” and hit start. A recording began to play inside his mind. It was of Conqueror’s shuttle landing on Delian after it had been gassed.

“You’ll be the first on Delian, Janson,” Neopol informed him. “I want you to test the air. The atmosphere may still be contaminated. If it is you will die. Begin immediately. A mask or fullsuit won’t be necessary.”

“Yes, sir.” Emotionlessly, Janson took the testing equipment and, without even a break in stride, went through the lift locks unprotected.

Janson stood still as a statue outside the shuttle.

Neopol narrowed the recording to “diminutive view” to take in the smallest change. Nothing. No twitch, no pupil dilation or alteration, nothing. Janson didn’t react. If the air had been tainted, a real possibility, then the man would have died. Yet if Janson thought of pain or death, it didn’t show. Why hadn’t he reacted?

Neopol frowned and bit a lip, his mind searching. What would it take to break Janson? He needed a lever, but the man had no one, no wife, no children, no family and no friends. Yet there must be something that would break through the man’s calm exterior. Every attempt Neopol made to disturb Janson glided off him like water on glass.

If Janson were dying, would he react then? Or would he simply expire, with no observable agitation? Just once Neopol wanted to witness fear, anger or hate displayed on the man’s face. Someday he would penetrate that calm exterior, expose a tender nerve, and achieve a definite reaction, just as he had with the other sub-lieutenants who had served under him.

I need a lever!

Neopol mentally switched off the Icom vid link and smiled. He had nothing particular to do this afternoon while waiting for reports to come in. He would take Janson back to his room and discover if, just this once, he could get a reaction out of him.

He had a few ideas about that.

“I’ll be in my quarters,” he said to Captain Pagett. “I don’t want to be disturbed.” His mind streaming with possibilities, Neopol left with Sub-Lieutenant Janson trailing obediently behind him.

On Opan, the Lady Lindha finished conducting her class for the day.

She thought of Ash, as she often did. Love did strange things to a person. Wonderful things. She remembered how they had met, how she thought him an uncivilized animal at first. Yet even then, filthy and injured, she had felt drawn to him. Lindha smiled. She loved the Trueborn. And he loved her. He would return to her soon. Ash, Ash, Ash!

Lindha hummed gaily while she walked out to visit her favorite horse, Bethan. The dark chestnut stallion whinnied from across the yard the moment he saw her. Ears pricked, full of interest and spirit, he trotted over to his mistress.

“Hello, my friend,” she said, stroking his nose. Bethan smelled wonderful like fresh-mown hay. He took a deep breath and snorted with contentment. Bethan nuzzled toward her and his soft nose searched. He sniffed at her hands.

“You greedy fellow.” She giggled with indulgent good humor. From a fold in her gown she brought out an apple that she had saved from the noon meal.

Bethan took the morsel daintily from her open palm and began to grind it with his large, back teeth, dark liquid eyes half closed with pleasure. Lindha smiled and put her cheek against his neck and stroked his soft skin.

“Whatever would I do without you, my fine, big fellow?” Lindha picked up a curry brush, slipped through the fence and began to groom him, her mind deep in thought.

The Trueborn’s plans concerning Dorian and Anton had been progressing, although not as she had expected. The twins had been used as sexual slaves until they became indentured to the Temple, after Ash had freed them. Dorian, a seemingly confident, impish rogue, had stubbornly refused to become close with any Temple Sister. He guarded his true self. Lindha felt rather apprehensive about him. Dorian had a cancer within, a malignancy filled with anger and hate. He trusted no one and deflected personal questions better than an experienced fencer with his blade.

However Anton, the shy, isolative twin, had blossomed when Sister Carrah had become part of his life.

Strangely, the Lady Carrah, five years his senior, had also benefited. The Lady Carrah had steel under her delicate and vulnerable exterior. She was on a list to have her freckles removed. Twice she had forgotten’ to attend her facial alteration appointments. She had never suggested that she might not look approvingly upon the obligatory physical alteration; she had just failed to turn up. Her manner of getting her way was subtle and unassuming. Lindha suspected that those freckles would adorn her face until the day she died.

Carrah and her brother Dwanne had been orphaned in early childhood and forced to sign an indentureship with a private enterprise. Their overseers were cruel and had made them both work like slaves. It was luck that a Temple Sister had seen her and bought out her indentureship. Even as a child she had sobbed, pleading that she would die without her brother, Dwanne. The Sister concerned had relented, and so Dwanne’s indentureship had been purchased as well. Carrah’s brother had died in an accident, about the time the Trueborn had come to the Temple. The timing of his fatality was propitious, as it was Dwanne’s body that had been used to falsify the Trueborn’s death.

Lindha smiled when she thought of how Carrah and Anton interacted. For Carrah, Anton seemed to be a replacement for her brother. For Anton, Carrah was someone that he could be completely himself with. She frowned. It was odd how they were utterly attuned to each other, finishing each other’s sentences, laughing at jokes no one else understood. If someone else came into the room with them they often both went quiet. Exceptionally secretive, those two.

Lindha began to work on Bethan’s mane, combing out the knots. She had no idea what they talked about, and had intentionally left matters to Carrah. Ash had told her to leave Anton and Dorian in the hands of people she could trust and let them get on with it. The abuse of those twin boys and the resolution of the damage done would take time. She trusted all would be well and things would progress as the Trueborn planned. Meanwhile, she had to find another Sister who hopefully would be a suitable match for Dorian.

Blessed Jana, Lindha thought happily. She pulled a pick out of a pocket and began cleaning Bethan’s hooves. Everything is wonderful now that she had seen Captain Walters, anyway. Before then she had been out of her mind with worry. The newscast concerning the quarantine on Kalar had been most disconcerting. How was Ash to get on or off that world? And would he contract that terrible disease?

It had been almost four weeks since the Captain of Minavera Mover visited Opan. Lindha smiled, recalling her visit with him in offworld segregation. Obtaining the necessary pass for the highly restricted area hadn’t been easy, even for her. But it had been worth it. It was just as well that the Temple carried a lot of weight on Opan. We were ordered to become powerful on every world, and on Opan the Sisters of Jana have certainly achieved that.

The Captain had set her mind at ease. He had sworn that he wouldn’t leave Kalar without Ash. Captain Walters would bring him home to her. Soon Minavera would return to Opan’s orbit, and then she and Ash could be formally wed. A few short months later they would be having their first child.

Lindha touched where the child might be. “You are surely blessed to be the daughter of the Trueborn, dear one,” she said out loud. In her heart she felt confident that the baby would be a Sister of the Temple. She was still deciding on whether to have her child placed in an engineered uterus. She would have to discuss it with Ash. It would certainly make life easier to have her child complete its growth from a replicated womb as was slowly becoming the custom. Safer, too. The Traditionalists and Naturalists were all up in arms over the matter, so those who used such technology usually kept it quiet. The Temple’s reproduction center remained off site.

No one knew about the child yet, except for the Lady Jeeha and, soon, Ash. Ah, Ash, Lindha thought with a shiver of excitement. How she had missed him. Lindha had sent a holo message to Captain Dal Walters via Icom for Ash. She tried to imagine his expression when he opened his message and found he was going to be a father.

Of course it would have been more fun to tell him such tidings in person. But Ash had gone to Kalar to find Larren Forseth, planning to kill him. So confusing, this vendetta of his. Was the Trueborn’s purpose simply to destroy this one man? Lindha shook her head in disbelief. The idea had unsettled her from the start. It simply didn’t make sense. All her life she and thousands of others had built up the Temples, had made them powerful, and had done all that so that Ash could ignoring their scriptures concerning hate and revenge take someone’s life?

Forseth had been a policeman and had years of combat experience. He was a capable and experienced fighter. Could he harm Ash? Lindha swallowed and fear cut through her cold as ice.

Lindha froze suddenly with a chill of foreboding, staring ahead as if hypnotized. There it was again, that strange premonition, that perception of overwhelming danger. Instinctively she reached out with her mind as though attempting to contact Ash. Yes. The danger seemed to hold her. Lindha clenched her fists. Never in her life had she been aware of a premonition, yet she could not assuage this strong feeling. It didn’t seem to come from within her. It was an evil thing, a vile abomination that somehow stretched from somewhere outside herself, from afar.

Was Ash in danger?

She shut her eyes. Blessed Jana, she prayed. Please protect the Trueborn.

The fleeting premonition left as quickly as it had come, releasing its stranglehold. It was like a coiled rope unwrapping itself, a snake that had suddenly, for reasons of its own, left its prey.

Numbly, Lindha shifted, white and trembling. Now that the feeling was gone she became aware of a weird sense of unreality. Had she really felt something? Or was it her imagination? She took up a soft-haired brush and began to give Bethan long hard strokes. She forced herself to relax. Slowly her limbs began to thaw from the icy fear that had numbed them.

No. If there was a danger it was not directed toward Ash. For some reason she felt confident of that. The Trueborn would achieve his purpose, such as it was. The thought gave her strength and relieved her considerably.

The Lady Jeeha strode up behind her. “Hello, Lindha. I thought I might find you out here with Bethan.”

“Yes.” Lindha smiled in greeting, deciding not to mention her premonition or her uncertainties. “I’m afraid to ride him now for fear I may fall and harm the unborn infant. It’s silly, really. I haven’t fallen from a horse since I was a child. Still, it is better to be safe. But I wouldn’t want Bethan to feel that I am neglecting him.”

“Neglect Bethan? Ha.” Jeeha changed the subject with a conspiratorial whisper. “It won’t be long before the child’s father returns.” Her eyes danced with pleasure. “Do you know that besides a few short occasions in the infirmary we’ve never had a baby raised at the Temple? Will yours be the first, do you think?”

“T’is a scandal truly.” Lindha gave a snort of laughter, and Jeeha hugged her in delight.

“Oh, Lindha, you’ve done well. Undoubtedly Jana chose you because you are the best Prefect there ever was, on any of the United Worlds.” She said this with unconcealed admiration.

“Only after you, of course.”

“Of course.” Jeeha laughed.

They sat down on a nearby bench. “And tell me,” Lindha asked, “how are the welcoming preparations coming?”

“Well along, I can assure you. Ash will receive the welcome home of a king. Many of the Sisters have handcrafted items in his honor.” Her voice lightened and her eyes lit up with enthusiasm. “The Lady Martha, knowing his love of animals, is painting the most colorful and realistic portrait of Ash standing amongst quite a menagerie. It is highly intuitive. He appears as a God with every creature looking toward him. The picture is simply inspired, alive with hawks, wolves, horses she even painted boars and twill birds. You must come see it.”

Lindha smiled, enjoying Jeeha’s absorbing interest. “The Lady Martha is renowned for her perception and ability. If only I had something like that to present. I have no idea what to give Ash,” she said wistfully.

“But you, my dear Lady Prefect, have provided him the best gift of all,” Jeeha said, eyes wide in surprise at her comment. She glanced knowingly toward Lindha’s midsection.

Lindha grinned. “I think more that he himself has given that gift to me.” Their eyes met and they both laughed. Amusement subsiding, Lindha returned to the problem. “But what shall I give him?” Suddenly she recalled one of the last moments she and Ash had shared. His comment at the time seemed as clear to her as when he had first said it: “We must retrieve the Testimonials from Assurance. I think they’ll remain safe where they lay until my return.”

“Of course. The perfect gift,” Lindha exclaimed, clapping her hands. “I’ll recover the Testimonials. He’ll be so surprised. I had quite forgotten about them with all the worry concerning his safe return.”

“Do you know where his ship rests, then?” Jeeha asked.

“I know exactly where it is.” Lindha recalled the time she and Ash mind-touched a whitehawk and he had made it fly over Assurance. She would never forget that beautiful but forbidding mountaintop. She stood up and said, “It’s no more than a half-day’s journey by speeder. We’ll go tomorrow. I’ll need to bring specialized equipment the sacred volume is locked away in a security console and we have no identity pass.”

Lady Jeeha rose also, ready to assist her.

“Lady, would you make the necessary arrangements?” Lindha asked politely. “I myself will see to the personnel. It would be best if only a small party went on the expedition the fewer, the better. One of our Sisters and one of the Temple students will suffice. I believe that Deson would be a suitable choice, don’t you?” The boy was in his last year of schooling. He was seventeen and built like a boar, stocky and strong. He would afford whatever strength might be needed.

“Indeed I do.” Jeeha grinned.

Lindha’s attention returned to Ash as she and Jeeha walked back toward the Temple. She couldn’t wait to see his face when he first set eyes on the inheritance of his people, the long-lost Testimonials. He wouldn’t be expecting that, and he had wanted to read the Interpretations for so long.

If Lindha had known the consequences of her intended actions she would certainly have altered her plans. Instead of retrieving the golden records she would have left the priceless volume aboard Assurance … to rot.

11. Concerning Plans, Intentions Good

The Age of Perdition altered the relationship between the United World Government and the populace of every Freeworld. The UWG demonstrated its power by making an example during the civil war on Cadell using “The Device.” Icom replay of the instant disintegration of over 20,000 people over a 100-kilometer radius remains a useful deterrent. A primary mandate of the UWG is preventing war. Such conflict is not profitable and does not contribute to the expansion or future of mankind. Murder is under the jurisdiction of local governments, but war is prohibited by the power and force of the UWG.

General Alexander Bradley, After Perdition

The savory smell of stew, combined with the unique aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air of the cabin. Early afternoon sunlight filtered in through curtains and smudged window panes, leaving colorful trails in a pattern of light.

Larren didn’t notice the sun, or the smells. He had showered, hand-washed dishes, put some clothes on a line, swept, and repaired a wooden cupboard door with some tools he found. Now he simply wandered around impatiently waiting for his guest to awaken.

Ash’s eyes opened and he groaned. Larren poured a hot cup of coffee and took it to him. Ash sat up and took a sip.

“Thanks. By the Goddess, that tastes amazing.”

“Good,” Larren said. He sat down on the bed beside him, holding back a barrage of questions that had been building up while Ash slept.

“I’m fine, if that’s what you were going to ask,” Ash said. “Being the focal point of a two-way mind-touch is quite a drain, both physically and mentally. I think I’ve fully recovered from the stun, however.” He gave Larren a wry smile, gingerly touching his forehead. “How about you?”

Larren searched for the right words. “I feel … different.” What could he say? He felt invigorated, more himself, more alive. All of his attention was here, in the present. He was no longer stuck in the mistakes and regrets of the past. “It’s difficult to explain. Even my body feels lighter.” He looked at Ash intently. “Sartha left me feeling much the same way. What you have, this ability, it must be a gift unique to your people. Has anyone noticed your healing powers before?”

Ash said, “Oh, yes.”

Larren studied Ash’s face, feeling close to him. Really, really close. It was an intimacy and understanding that he had only ever shared with one other. It was too personal by the light of day. He cleared his throat, stood up and moved to the fireplace.

Ash said, “You realize, of course, that in our two-way contact you have helped me, too? I have been healed in many ways. It was such a relief to finally understand the truth about my mother.” He added, “You know, you do look younger.”

“Thanks I think,” Larren retorted sarcastically. “I’m not yet into my declining years, cub.”

They both laughed and then Ash put his hand to his empty stomach. “I’m starving. Do I smell food?” he asked hopefully.

Larren bowed low, imitating a royal servant. “Indeed it is, Oh Trueborn. A culinary delight especially prepared in your honor.” He completed his bow and then straightened, frowning at Ash with irritation. “But I had nothing else to do. For world’s sakes kid, you certainly do sleep a lot.”

“Ha. Well, I’m refreshed and ready to go now. Let’s see if you can keep up.” He stood and pulled on the robe that hung on the wall hook near his bed.

They sat at the table. Larren brought over a huge bowl of stew. Ash ate “just like a wolf,” as Larren teasingly told him. In fact, it took three large bowls to satisfy him. The two men spoke to one another as if they had known each other all their lives, and after two-way mind-touch that could be considered to be true.

“It seems so strange for me to no longer want to kill you,” Ash said.

“Ah, now. There’s a weight off my mind.”

“No, really.” Ash spoke seriously. “You see, for the last five years my only plan was to destroy you. I could never imagine past that point. If I had killed you,” Ash said, looking gravely into Larren’s eyes, “and the Goddess be praised that I didn’t, I think I would still be dissatisfied. Surely there is something more? Do you see? What am I supposed to do? I am The Trueborn’.” He frowned, clearly unhappy about it. “Anyone born of Delian blood was named Trueborn when they came into their mind-touch powers. The title didn’t mean anything special. Did you know that I have some vitally important destiny to fulfill? According to the Legends of the Sisters of the Temple of Jana I do.”

Ash stood up and began to pace. “It’s an obligation that I don’t want. Do you realize that I’m the unquestioned superior of every Temple of Jana? There are Temples on every Freeworld. Some of the more populated worlds have hundreds of Temples. What am I supposed to do with all this power?”

“Ash,” Larren said. He waited until Ash stopped pacing. “Why am I here? What is my purpose in life? Probably everyone asks themselves the same questions. Take me for instance. Why am I alive when my men are all dead? Why did I survive the virus and not someone else? And for what unknown destiny was I saved?”

Larren stood up. “What can I do to make my life hold some meaning, so that those who died in my place didn’t die in vain? Believe me, Ash. I am plagued by the same nagging questions.” Larren hesitated, apparently sobered by the thought. Then he finished, his voice full of mischief, “and the Goddess knows, I wasn’t born anywhere near Delian.”

They grinned at each other, the serious mood broken.

But what should they do now?

Ash disagreed with Larren on the subject of conspiracy. “Why does the UWG have to be involved for world’s sake?” Ash protested. “This man, Admiral Neopol, is crazy. Why did he commit genocide on my people? Because he wanted to. He picked you and your men as scapegoats, and then spread his lies via the broadcasts. That is all there is to it.”

“No,” Larren said. “I sent notification to the UWG Council via High Command concerning Sartha and Assurance. Neopol had that information before I boarded Conqueror.”

“Perhaps he intercepted the message.”

“Almost impossible.” Larren grabbed his duffel bag and started throwing his things in it.

“But it could have been done,” Ash argued. “Conqueror has the equipment to intercept. Insane people like Neopol often have an uncanny ability to wreck other people’s lives. Neopol intercepting your message is one logical explanation.”

Larren slammed some shirts into his bag, making no attempt to hide his irritation. He closed it, set it on the floor and said, “You are positively fixated on the idea that Neopol alone is responsible for everything wrong in the Freeworlds. And you’re just saying that because you want to kill the man and be done with it,” he accused, pointing a finger at him.

“Insults now.” Ash rocked back in his chair. “Just because you have no evidence or proof that it isn’t Neopol.”

Larren’s eyes narrowed. “First you want to solve all your problems by killing me. Then you want to solve all your problems by killing Neopol. Did anyone ever tell you that you have a one-track mind?”

Ash roared with laughter at Larren’s words. Larren didn’t think what he said was that funny. Ash calmed down and explained, “No, no one told me that I have a one track mind.” He clapped his hands. “But you know what? I think I learned that from Long Fang. Now there is a predator dedicated to the hunt. You can’t distract Long Fang. He will follow the scent of one animal and one animal only. Nothing can deflect him and sometimes just for fun I tried. He always caught on to what I was up to.” Ash smiled, his eyes remote with some past memory. “Wolves are absolutely uncanny in their perceptions. I’m lucky Long Fang never gave me more than a few nips for discipline. But he has the most all-consuming focus. I admit I always admired him for that.”

Larren went to the fridge and got out a beer. He offered one to Ash, who accepted, taking a long, deep swallow.

“So is that what has you so wound up? Is this a wolfy need to only go after Neopol?” Larren asked.

Ash put his beer on the table and spread his hands. “All right, I admit it. Wolf logic gravitates to the simple solution. I want to kill Neopol and live happily ever after. The UWG has done nothing but good that I can see. I like the UWG, the Fleet and the Freeworld Police, exactly as they are. Or do you want to go back to interplanetary wars, galactic anarchy and the Age of Perdition’?”

“Of course not.” Larren sighed. “But there are too many things that don’t add up.” He sat down and rubbed the back of his neck. “Why did the crew of Conqueror seem so certain that Darla Wu was responsible for the destruction of Delian?”

“Only one explanation for that,” Ash said. “Conqueror gassed Delian, so its entire crew must have had a memory wipe and false memory implant. Why they committed genocide in the first place, only the Deceiver knows. But to implant so many …” He shook his head.

“You see?” Larren rapped the table, making his point. “Neopol has the equipment and medical personnel necessary to carry out an enormous operation like that. Surely the UWG would be aware of what staff and facilities Neopol maintains. The surgical equipment alone would be blatantly obvious, far beyond the normal running of a battleship.”

“But why should anyone notice?” Ash shrugged. “There are hundreds of Fleet ships. Why would the UWG Council question anything one Admiral on one vessel requested? They don’t see the acquisition orders.”

“All right, I get the point,” Larren said.

“Does your friend Clinton of the Alliance have any actual evidence of a UWG conspiracy?” Ash asked.

“No.” Larren said. “The only evidence they have is definite proof of false broadcasts. They have nothing conclusive otherwise.” It’s always a friend of a friend of a relative’ who had their entire family enslaved’ or was never heard of again’.”

Ash took another pull on his beer. “This is like searching for tadium in an asteroid field without detection equipment. Every rock seems promising, but it would take a lifetime to find it.” Ash pursed his lips. “And I don’t want to lose sight of Neopol, who in my opinion is our main objective.”

Larren could almost feel hate radiate from Ash. He envisioned the wolf within salivating at the thought of ripping out the Admiral’s throat and chewing on fresh Neopol meat. This delightful image raised his spirits and made him quite cheerful.

Ash smiled bitterly. “My bet is that it is Neopol alone who is responsible for the death of my people. However,” he said, raising his hands in truce, “I’ll keep my mind open.”

Larren finished his beer and threw it into the waste bin with a perfect overhand shot. He grinned and bowed after this skilled display. He said, “Ash, in all honesty, I hope you’re right. If the UWG are involved in a conspiracy and if we expose the truth …” His voice trailed off. “At the very least there will be riots on many Freeworlds. Humankind was dangerously close to the brink before. I hate to think there is a possibility of us all reaching that point again.”

Ash asked, “What do you think about us joining the Alliance?”

He shrugged. “What do you think?”

Ash said, “I can’t say they have been too effective, not that I know of, anyway. They must certainly pose some sort of threat. Why else would the UWG try to have them eliminated?”

Larren nodded. “Good point. I assume you discovered Clinton’s vision in my thoughts when you looked through my mind?”

“Yes,” Ash said. “The man is a Seer. He predicted my arrival, and our joining forces. I’m going to make a note of that dream. What do you recall? I want to get it recorded on Icom.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll take you to meet Clinton and we can get it from him, but this is what I remember,” he grimaced. “And I ought to know, since I’ve been dreaming the damn thing for weeks ever since Clinton first spoke of it.” He cleared his throat. “So this snake has been sent by an armored robot, but I can’t kill it. In my dreams I try.” Larren blew out a breath. “It is frustrating and frightening. The snake is swallowing all the Freeworlds when along comes this wolf.”

“Yes,” Ash said, “I remember that part during mind-touch.”

Larren nodded. “Right, well, the wolf kills the snake, and somehow once the snake is dead the armored giant loses its right arm. There’s kind of pathetic feeling coming from the giant, too.” He grinned. “That part of the dream is always extremely satisfying, because you know what? I just know that giant bastard is right-handed.”

“Huh,” Ash said. “My bet is that you and I will seek out Neopol, who must be the snake.’ I can’t think of anyone who more appropriately deserves the title, can you?”

Larren shook his head.

“The snake is the only one we know who took part in genocide.”

“Right.” Larren nodded. “The giant is the person behind Neopol, I imagine. They are possibly high up in the UWG, part of some scheme but not necessarily a UWG conspiracy.”

Both men were momentarily silenced.

Neopol was formidable on his own, but as far as Larren knew, Neopol still had Conqueror at his command. And right now the Police, the Fleet, and the civilians of most United Freeworlds were hunting for Ash and Larren.

“It’s just you and I, Ash. Working on our own. It’s not surprising really. We are a couple of lone wolves,’ don’t you think?” He grinned broadly.

There was no warning.

“Ahhhoooww!” Ash howled quite realistically.

Larren jumped in surprise and then burst into laughter. “That is amazing! Seriously. I can’t believe a human larynx can make such a realistic wolf sound.”

Ash grinned. “It isn’t that difficult. I’ve had years to perfect it. That was my, Let’s hunt’ call. I have a number of different ones.” He stood up and took off his robe. He rummaged around for his clothes, pulled on his trousers and half boots. “Maybe I’ll teach you sometime. Hey,” he said, his face lighting up, “when we get back to Opan you can meet Seeta, Long Fang and Teela.”

Larren nodded, “Of course.” He made his tone of voice mocking. “I’d just love to meet your whole family.”

“You’re really going to like them.” Ash gave his friend an earnest smile.

Larren thought Ash seemed very young, just then. The kid had no idea that Larren was teasing him. The boy claimed wild, adult Opan wolves as kin. Larren certainly wasn’t looking forward to meeting the huge and no doubt vicious brutes. He knew Ash loved them from mind-touch. It was just that, despite this, Larren couldn’t feel anything except extreme caution and fear. He envisioned one of the large predators baring its teeth in a welcoming smile, and hid his automatic wince.

Ash pulled on his tunic and said, “It’s only about a week now before Minavera Mover will be back on Kalar. I wonder if we could find Tholl before then?”

“Are you sure that he’s on Kalar?”

“No.”

Larren smiled. “Well, I know a few people. We’ll trace him, if he’s here.”

“Good,” Ash said. “I hope Minavera Mover has Opan as its next immediate destination after Kalar. One of the first things I want to do when I get back is have the Lady Lindha as my bride. She is the Prefect of the Temple of Jana on Opan. Were you able to see much of her during mind-touch?”

“I certainly did,” Larren grinned, his voice full of meaning. “Probably more than I should have, I’ll admit.” The Lady Lindha was the classic Temple Prefect extremely attractive, with or without her clothes.

Ash rolled his eyes at Larren’s innuendo. Then his face fell. “Depravation. I also have to sort out this, er ” He cleared his throat. ” misunderstanding with Rositha.”

“Rositha? The High Temple Prefect here on Kalar?” Larren remembered Rositha in great detail. They had spent two weeks together, during the worst of the epidemic, as she nursed a dying Sister. Even suffering such loss, Rositha had been a light for him when he had been surrounded by so much darkness. Larren often wondered about her. She had sent him a handwritten letter, of all things, thanking him for the support he provided to her Sister and herself. It had been a gracious gesture. Larren declined to give her Icom access and he hadn’t replied to her letter. He was a wanted man and she was better off not knowing him.

Ash explained in a rush how Rositha had broken her vows in an attempt to protect Larren. He disclosed details of how he lost his temper and struck her. “Rositha is locked away by my command and will remain so until I return.” Ash blew a breath out. “I’ve got to go fix this mess up. I hope she’ll forgive me.” He hunched and winced. “I still can’t believe I hit her.”

Larren picked up his bag and moved to the door. What was this hold Ash had on him? The kid had hit a woman. In a normal world, the one prior to mind-touch with Ash, Larren would have no tolerance for such an act. He still didn’t tolerate it, yet he almost felt sorry for Ash; for his inexperience, his unrestrained, impulsive stupidity, and for … the wolf.

They left his cabin, moving at a brisk pace.

It was some distance to the speeder. The route was almost all uphill through untouched scrub. To add to their complications, a thick bank of cloud had moved in and it was beginning to rain. The Wet season was coming. Heavy droplets echoed hollowly through the bush as they fought their way through thorny vegetation. Larren was cursing Ash for his stealth by the time they found the speeder.

When they arrived back at the Temple, it was a nervous Acting Prefect, the Lady Samantha, that met them. They both took off their wet coats as they came inside.

“Lady Samantha,” Ash asked, without preamble. “Where is the Lady Rositha?”

“Imprisoned in the first underground level, Trueborn.”

“Good. Please be so kind as to take us to her.”

“As you wish, Trueborn.”

“We have reverted to calling me Trueborn, I see,” Ash muttered to Larren under his breath.

“Beg your pardon, Trueborn?” Samantha said.

“Nothing, Lady,” Ash inclined his head politely. “Please, lead the way.”

“Yes, Trueborn.”

They followed her down a long corridor into a little frequented section of the Temple. They came to a flight of stone stairs, where each footstep sounded unnaturally loud within the empty, dimly lit passage. The Temple Sister stopped beside a thick, wooden door. Lady Samantha inclined her head, indicating that this was where the Lady Rositha was confined. She held out an iron key.

Ash took the proffered key of ancient design. Larren raised his eyebrows. There was no touch pad for this old door. Ash nodded. “You may leave us now, Lady.”

Samantha hesitated, her face lined with concern.

Ash stared back at her with quiet, imperial dignity. His expression was plain, the stubborn young man had no intention of explaining himself. He expected the woman’s obedience. Larren could imagine Ash as a king. He had been raised to rule as a child, and perhaps that was why he could so easily order these high ranking Temple Sisters around as he did.

With what appeared to be silent resignation, Lady Samantha nodded. “As you wish, Trueborn.” Her steps echoed as she moved away, down the silent hall.

Ash’s dark eyes met Larren’s. “I’ve thought this over, Larren, and I think it would be best if you went to Rositha.”

Larren frowned, doubtfully. So this is what the Lady Samantha felt. It was as if he had been given a royal command. A large part of him wanted to instantly do as Ash said, just because Ash had said it. What was that about? Was it some sort of thrall the boy had him in? He wanted to resist. This wasn’t his mess.

“Me?” Larren protested. “Why me?”

“Because she loves you,” Ash said.

“Oh, sure, right.” Larren said sarcastically. “This is some cheap ass excuse to get out of a problem of your own making, Ash. You can’t involve me in this.”

“I can and I will involve you, Larren,” Ash replied patiently. “Rositha thinks she loves you anyway.”

“How could she? She’s young, she’s innocent and she hardly knows me.” He said, irritated. But his chest tightened as he thought of Rositha. The Temple Prefect. Could she seriously imagine that she loved him? They did have a connection. There was no question of that. He remembered her so clearly her sorrow, her pain, and the lengths he went to to help her deal with her loss. He often thought of her, wondering where she was and what she was doing. It seemed now that she had also been thinking of him.

Ash cleared his throat and broke Larren from his reverie.

Larren eyed him and scowled. “She’s just a kid. Besides, this has nothing to do with me. You got her into this mess Ash, not me.”

“Shhhh,” Ash said, putting his finger to his lips. “She’s no child, Larren. She is a grown woman, three years older than I am. It is because of you that she broke her vows. Sacred vows I might add. For you. I think you owe her for that. Whether you think so or not, it is because of you that she is in the situation she is in.

Larren glared his disagreement. A number of good reasons to turn and walk away came into his mind. He didn’t move and voiced none of them.

“Besides,” Ash said, as if settling the matter, “she’s afraid of me.” He sighed. “Jana forgive me, I don’t blame her in the least. I must have scared her to death, and I hurt her. She needs reassurance, Larren, and you are the best to give it. You’ve comforted Rositha before when her Temple Sister died of plague. You know exactly what to do. This is a task for you alone. If you think about it, you’ll agree with me on this.”

The two men stared at each other.

“Oh, all right,” Larren shrugged, giving in. He had a clear picture of Rositha, as he remembered her. She had been distraught over the death of a friend while in the quarantine area. Even with her features distorted by grief, Rositha had still been beautiful. Larren scowled. Wonderful. Another beautiful woman who had gotten herself into trouble. He just knew she was going to cry. Was he destined to always meet up with the opposite sex like this?

Ash passed him the key and whispered, “I’ll see you later, upstairs. And Larren …” Their eyes met. “Tell Rositha that she was right. Let her know she is reinstated as Prefect of the Temple.”

Larren nodded. “Sure.”

“One more thing,” Ash added, with a grimace. “Tell her … that I’m really sorry I struck her. It was a brutish and savage act.” Shoulders hunched, he looked away.

Larren knew Ash felt guilt and shame. Yet Larren had also touched upon something of the wolf inside the man. Larren trusted Ash implicitly, but the wolf … well. He was afraid of the wolf. No doubt Rositha would have been terrified. Larren gave a deep sigh. She had tried to protect him from Ash. He did owe her.

Ash faced Larren once more. “Tell her I beg her forgiveness, will you?” Ash spun on his heel and left without waiting for a reply.

Larren watched Ash quickly walk away. He shook his head. Stupid wolf. He was naturally sympathetic toward anyone who suffered with the soul-destroying emotion that he had experienced so much of, the utter helplessness of regret. It was difficult to forget one’s own mistakes. It was sometimes harder to forgive another’s.

Well, Rositha would pardon Ash, Larren decided, certain of the fact. Undoubtedly the entire incident would be forgotten in time. Meanwhile he still had to confront her. He shut his eyes and drew in a long breath. For a moment he envisioned a future that would involve regularly picking up after Ash’s screw ups. He sighed. Then, steeling himself for the worst, Larren put the key in the lock and turned the handle.

Face uplifted, Rositha was gazing toward the solitary window of her chamber, the only illumination and warmth in the room. She turned eyes wide when the door opened. In the dim light it was difficult for him to see.

“Trueborn?” she asked, naked fear in her voice.

“No,” Larren replied quietly. He stood still, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. “It’s me, Larren.”

“You,” she breathed. She swayed on weak legs. Larren strode briskly to her side to catch her from falling. He was just in time.

“Yes, it’s only me,” he said. His throat tightened at her obvious distress.

“I … I thought you would be dead,” she was incredulous. “How did you get here? Are you … a prisoner, too?”

“No.”

“Oh! Sweet Jana! Is the Trueborn dead, then?”

“No, he isn’t dead, Rositha. Here, sit down.” Larren took her arm and guided her to an upholstered couch. He sat beside her.

“Ash the Trueborn he asked me to come to you. He told me to tell you that you were right. He says he is sorry he struck you and had you confined.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. Not only that, but he has reinstated you as Prefect.”

“Reinstated me as Prefect?” she echoed stupidly. She was trembling. She seemed unable to fully grasp the truth. Moments passed while she looked down at her hands. They were clasped tightly in her lap.

Larren put a hand over them and said, “It’s okay, Rositha. Really it is.” Larren watched her, wondering what was going through her mind. Two days of waiting, alone and in fear. She probably thought he would be killed, and then the Trueborn would come back for her. Rositha began to cry.

Larren comforted her, holding her, as he had done when Lana had passed, sitting quietly throughout the flood of tears. “Shh. It’s all right now,” he said, stroking her hair and back soothingly.

Larren endured Rositha’s weeping, falling naturally and easily into the comforter’s role. Probably from all the practice, Larren thought ironically to himself.

After some time, Rositha sniffed and stopped her sobbing. “Can I leave here now?”

“Surely, Lady,” Larren said cheerfully, standing up and pulling her up with him.

“Oh. But I must look a mess.”

“Never,” Larren said, dismissing the idea. “But if you’d like, we can wait here a bit, until you feel more composed.”

“Yes, thank you. I think I will. Can you … can you tell me more? What happened when the Trueborn came to find you at the quarantine area? How did you escape?”

They sat back down and Larren came to life, happily relating what was now, to him, quite a comical story. He explained how Ash had originally been misled, and how he had been able to fell him with a stun. Larren cheered Rositha by giving an entertaining account of Ash suffering a stun shot directly to the forehead, and how miserable he had been because of it. Looking back, the entire incident seemed rather humorous. Larren ended up telling the story in such an amusing way that he caused Rositha to giggle and laugh time and time again.

“So, you see,” he finished, “we’re actually good friends now. Not only that, I feel that our lives are linked in some way. Did you know he was promised?”

“No, is he?”

“Yes. Ash is to marry the Prefect of Opan. Apparently the mandatory six-month wait is over in a few short weeks time.”

“I had no idea. Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He probably had other things on his mind, much more important things like finding and killing me.” Larren snorted.

“Well, then,” she seemed relieved. “I am so glad to know that he is to be wedded. As Prefect, I was … responsible for him. It was my duty to provide every requirement that he may have needed or desired. But then, as now, I do not think that I will ever lose my fear of him.” She shuddered.

Larren was shaken by her admission. What requirements? Was she supposed to sleep with him, too? Is that what she meant by that? And had she shared his bed? He hadn’t seen that in Ash’s mind, but he certainly hadn’t discovered everything. Without realizing it, Larren was angry and envious at the idea of any intimacy with Rositha.

“He still seems so much … so much like … like an animal,” Rositha said.

Ha. Truer than you know. Pushing his thoughts and emotions aside, Larren said, “Rositha, Ash is really quite amiable, not a brute at all. And he is genuinely sorry he hit you. He told me to ask no, to beg, he said. He wanted to beg for your forgiveness. He is ashamed of having struck you.”

Larren raised Rositha’s chin to see her cheek better in the dim light. He shook his head and lowered his hand. How could Ash have hit a woman? And with such force? To Larren, Ash was much more than a friend, but it was hard to imagine liking any man capable of such an act. Of course it wasn’t the man that had impulsively struck her; it was the man and the wolf. He was certain that hitting a woman wasn’t something Ash would do.

Larren shook his head. In any ordinary case he would feel compelled to beat the shit out of any man who had struck a woman. Any man … except Ash. What was this power this young man had over him? He felt be-spelled. But Ash was already beating himself up over this; he didn’t need a thrashing from Larren. Larren felt the bubble of an internal smile. Leaving teeth aside, he wondered what the boy fought like in hand-to-hand combat. He wondered if he could beat him up.

“Okay. Well,” Larren said, his voice carefully light and neutral, “Ash certainly must have been mad. The young man obviously doesn’t know his own strength. That is some bruise you have. Does it hurt?”

“No. It’s … it is tolerable.”

He stood up once more. “Shall I send the Lady Samantha to you? Perhaps she can you know, do girl things, put make-up on it or something. Then, when you are ready, you can come upstairs.”

“Thank you, Larren. That would be well.” Rositha’s smile was radiant.

It was her smile that did it. Larren had never seen her smile so completely. Rositha had an unusually large jaw, a square jaw. But when she smiled she showed the most amazing expanse of perfect teeth, large white teeth. Her smile made his heart miss a beat, and then speed up. God, she is beautiful. Unbelievably, Rositha had Sartha’s blue eyes. Many of the Temple women seemed to have Sartha’s eyes. Were they all from some Delian strain?

“Fine. I’ll see you soon,” Larren heard himself say. Then he hesitated momentarily, searching for the right words. “Rositha?”

“Yes?” She regarded him steadily.

“Ash told me why he struck you, how you broke your vows because of your fears on my behalf,” Larren said quietly. “I want to thank you, for what you tried to do for me. I … I can see what it cost.” Suddenly embarrassed, he left the room before Rositha could comment.

There was something about Rositha that made him uncomfortable. But Larren didn’t want to consider what it could be, preferring to drop the subject. It would have only taken a moment for him to discover what was bothering him. The look in Rositha’s eyes was adoration, and love.

He wasn’t ready for that.

12. Ash Intervenes

Men and women are the sum of their experiences and their attitudes about those experiences. Circumstances do not make the individual personal choices do. To know someone, to see who they really are, observe what actions they take as a result of circumstances.

Seer Sirenha de Guizman, The Interpretations

The slick coolness of a cold sweat engulfed him and Ash’s empty stomach rumbled. Sick with tension, he hadn’t been able to eat before this meeting.

I hit a woman. With a closed fist.

Ash wouldn’t get on his knees to ask for forgiveness no one would want the Trueborn to do that but he certainly felt like it. A public apology and reinstatement of the Prefect that would make them both feel better. As a child he had felt guilty and debased at having sex with his mother when accidently in mind-touch with Larren. He could never have imagined a more shameful circumstance, yet in many ways this was worse. Making love with his mother in another man’s body had been unintentional. Striking Rositha, while not premeditated, had been no accident.

I hit a woman.

He thought of his Delian mother and father, how disappointed they would be and felt ashamed. Lindha. I need you. With mind-touch Lindha would understand exactly what happened, his focus on Forseth, his feelings of betrayal, his explosive anger … and the wolf. Lindha understood much about the wolf within.

The five gathered in a formal section of the Temple, a large palatial chamber of rest, learning and reflection. The cathedral walls and ceilings looked handcrafted but were not real stone, though only an expert would be able to divine the difference. The room was comfortable, with scatterings of fine rugs and couches, intimate alcoves, works of art in miniatures, watercolors and graphics. Besides masterpieces of art and handcrafted furniture, rare porcelain and sculptures adorned the space. Enormous multicolored stained glass windows circled the area, depicting the Exodus, the Age of Perdition and the end of the Hundred Year War with inlaid silver and gold.

They sat comfortably chatting in a larger alcove: Lady Samantha the Temple Second with Sister Guiliha and Sister Ruatha, both Temple council members. Ash sat with them, hiding his unease. With his stomach in knots he was not comfortable at all. When Lady Rositha entered the room, both Ash and Larren courteously stood up.

“Lady,” Ash nodded, offering her a seat on a comfortable chair. He rubbed his moist hands down his pant legs to dry them as he observed the yellowing purplish discoloration on her cheek that could not be concealed by make-up. Ash’s face flushed with heat.

How could I have struck her? And so hard?

He had lost control. Shame sat like a tight block of ice in his chest, making it hurt to breathe. In a formal, measured voice he said, “Lady Rositha, I trust Larren conveyed my messages?”

Rositha sat in the proffered chair and smiled her beautiful wide smile. “Yes, thank you, Trueborn …”

Ash held out his hand, forestalling further speech. He looked around his little gathering and took a deep breath. “I am making a formal and public apology to the Lady Rositha, which I hope she will accept. I was wrong to strike her. She is reinstated as Prefect. I have full confidence in her.” Ash nodded and gave a sort of little bow.

Rositha stood up, gave him a more formal bow and said, “Thank you for reinstating my duties and title of Prefect, Trueborn. Of course I accept your apology. Please accept mine. The fault was entirely my own. I should have had more faith in Jana and her wisdom. It was I who broke my vows, Trueborn,” she said softly. She lowered her gaze, offering a display of her long eyelashes. “No one would presume to fault you. You are Chosen.”

“Thank you, Lady,” Ash said. “I am sorry and ashamed. I …” He frowned. “There is no justification for my behavior, but I have learned something important, if that affords some small comfort. I know now that I won’t … that is, I’m sure, Lady, that such a thing will never happen again.”

Rositha colored slightly, clearly embarrassed. She said, “Thank you, Trueborn. Perhaps it was in Jana’s heart to teach us both something worth learning.”

Ash nodded and to his heartfelt relief the subject was dropped. If only Lindha were here. She would help me through this. Of course, if Lindha had been with him he would never have hit Rositha. Why did that long ago seer make them wait to marry?

Departure arrangements were then discussed. Tina, Ash and Larren would be leaving Kalar on Minavera Mover. The ship was due in one week. Police strictly guarded Kalarian spaceports, enforcing quarantine. Larren, an ex-policeman, had some ideas about that. He and Rositha left to make arrangements to smuggle them all off planet while the other Sisters went off to attend to similar relevant tasks.

Later, Ash relaxed in his quarters. His feet were stretched out and crossed up on top of an expensive desk, as he went through an Icom checklist of things to do before leaving Kalar. Icom alerted him Larren was on his way up. A tap at the door and the big man came in.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” Larren moved around the room restlessly, picking up various objects, looking at them and putting them back down.

Ash’s raised his eyebrows. “What’s with you?”

“Nothing.” Larren said. He thumped a priceless statue of a horse down hard on the desk, his lips pressed together. Hmm, Ash reflected. There was a thorn under Larren’s saddle blanket somewhere, prodding him. It appeared to be a large, sharp one by the way he was acting.

Larren hitched a hip on Ash’s desk and said, “It went well this morning.”

“Yes,” Ash agreed. “I think I may have felt better if I was publicly flogged, but Rositha accepted my apology so I think I can put that episode behind me.”

Larren shrugged. “She certainly isn’t holding it against you. Temple Sisters.” He snorted. “She thinks it is her fault for a lack of faith.’ Rositha says she should have told you where I was immediately. She says the outcome would have been the same, as Jana wanted us to meet.”

“Huh.” Ash tilted his head and his lips curved in a slow smile, rather cheered by this idea. “I never thought of it that way.” He considered this for a moment. Maybe it wasn’t his fault after all? He shook his head. No. No excuses. No justifications. “But I did hit her. I had no idea I was capable of that.” He blew out his breath. “I learned something about myself.”

There was silence for a few minutes and then Larren said, “Ash, tell me more about this Temple -Trueborn’ relationship of yours. I mean, what exactly is the Prefect in relation to you?”

Ash took his feet off the desk, and leaned forward toward his friend. “I don’t think I understand the question, Larren. What are you talking about?”

“According to the Legend, what is supposed to happen and what does the Prefect have to do with it? Rositha said something about supplying requirements’.”

Ash studied him. What was this? Was Larren trying for nonchalance? His friend seemed to be fascinated with an uneven fingernail. The reason behind Larren’s questions abruptly became apparent to him. The man was jealous! Should he tease him? It would be fun to break through Larren’s sensible, unruffled outer shell. The opportunity was too good to let pass. He said, “You don’t recall my interactions with Rositha from our mind-touch?”

“I remember you hit her,” Larren accused.

“Yes, yes, we’ve been all over that subject. I thank you.” Ash straightened and his face heated. Larren’s comment was like a spark to an incendiary. Sudden fury burned inside him.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash forced himself to maintain a bland, politely interested expression. “I said I was sorry and I meant it. The Lady accepted my apology. I would seriously consider not bringing that matter up ever again,” he growled.

Larren shrugged. “Sorry.”

Both men waited in silence for some minutes. Ash recovered his good temper, recalling his plan to bait Larren, even if only a little. Now he considered that the man deserved all he got.

“So,” Larren reminded Ash. “You were explaining about the Trueborn Prefect relationship.”

“Hmm?” Ash encouraged. Then he waited. He knew Larren would be the first to speak. He was enjoying watching the man practically squirm with his need to wrestle the truth out of him.

“Well?” Larren said.

Ash studied him a moment longer, aware of his friend’s growing strain. Ash surmised that Larren’s tension stemmed from protectiveness combined with longstanding unsatisfied lust in general, and specifically for the woman in question. Oh, yes. This was extremely diverting.

“Larren,” Ash finally began, “according to Temple legend the Trueborn is supposed to appear, changing the Temple forever. A Prefect is prepared from birth to be ready for the Trueborn and to serve him in whatever way he needs or requires. The Prefect chosen is incomparable, the best of all the Sisters of Jana beautiful, intelligent, a natural leader. They are also always maidens with severe vows of chastity. Their training includes rites of love, how to please and be pleasured. Their duty is to satisfy the Trueborn in every way. Shall I go on?” he asked innocently.

“I’ll say you should,” Larren burst out. He jumped to his feet, facing Ash. “So. Is Rositha still a maiden? Or did she fulfill a requirement of yours, relieving her of that condition?”

“Why? What’s it to you?” Ash fought the urge to smirk.

Larren’s eyes narrowed and his brows lowered. “That sounds downright medieval!” he exploded. “This is the thirtieth century. Even an indentured orphan or a common criminal still maintains full rights to his or her own body. That is covered in the most basic statutes of the United Worlds Government. Are you telling me that it was in Rositha’s Temple vows to sleep with you?”

Unable to withhold himself, Ash began to chuckle, and then to laugh. He pointed a finger at Larren’s outraged features. “You’re jealous,” he accused.

“I am not,” Larren protested, stiff with anger. “I am simply disgusted at the idea that a woman of this day and age has to be made subservient to anyone. It just isn’t normal. Not in today’s free and united worlds.”

“Larren,” Ash said soothingly, satisfied that he had baited him quite enough. “As far as I am aware, Rositha remains untouched. I have no requirements’ for her. Now you appreciate the ridiculous position I am in. Surely I will change the Temples, on every world, if only just to release the Prefects from their silly vows of chastity.”

Larren’s tension relaxed visibly. He turned away.

Ash stood up and went to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Larren,” he reasoned softly. “Rositha loves you and has done so for some time. You need her. Why don’t you go to her? She has been released from her vows. There is no reason that both of you cannot find comfort in one another.”

Larren gave him a derisive lopsided grin. “You certainly think of everything, don’t you? You think I should just go seduce the Temple Prefect? Are you nuts? I don’t want a momentary physical liaison not with … with someone who has probably never even been kissed. We don’t know each other well enough for anything more. You and I will be leaving here in the next few days, so let’s just forget the whole idea, all right?”

He went back to studying his fingernails.

Ash recalled what he learned from touching Larren’s mind. He knows the truth, Ash thought, in sudden realization; but he is afraid of the consequences. Stubborn, stupid man. “Larren,” he tried again, “I just don’t get it. What’s the big deal? She wants you, and personally, I think she’s waited long enough. If anything, you’re being selfish in denying her. It’s her choice, after all.”

Larren turned to Ash then, chest to chest, like an adversary. “There is a price on my head, you idiot. How can I put Rositha at risk or promise myself to anyone until all this shit is resolved if it can be resolved.” He paced back and forth, waving his hands to make his point. “No, better Rositha find someone else. She is young … and inexperienced.” He swallowed. “She needs someone who will be around for her and I’m just not that guy.” He turned a fierce look on Ash and pointed an aggressive finger. “So you just stay out of it, okay?”

Later, during a meal, Ash noticed Rositha surreptitiously, from the corner of his eye. She had a tender expression on her face whenever she saw Larren. Rositha was positively radiant when he was around.

Ash smiled. His money was on Rositha. That woman was capable of getting whatever she wanted, breaking down the most formidable resistance. Surely even a monk would give in, his heart melted simply from her smile. If they had more time, the outcome would be certain.

But they would be leaving soon.

Ash knew his friend Larren had been healed through mind touch. The river of his mind flowed, but that wasn’t enough. Larren found something he never even knew he was missing when he met Ash’s mother. There was emptiness inside the man ever since he lost Sartha. He needed more, he needed connection. Larren had a hole that only another’s love could fill. Hopefully, nature would take its course without his help.

If not, well, I am Trueborn. I will do what I feel is best.

Two days later, however, much to Ash’s annoyance, Larren had still not given in. For some strange reason, it didn’t appear that he was going to, either. Ash caught Rositha privately, on the third day. She just finished giving personal combat lessons to first year students.

Ash arrived at class completion. He waited, watching as the students, laughing, sweating, joking and exhausted put their staves away and trickled out. Rositha was dressed in a tight-fitting blue body training suit. Her face glowed with exercise and perspiration. She gave him a brilliant smile. “How may I serve you, Trueborn?” she asked.

Ash felt himself grinning back at her. He almost forgot his mission, her smile caught him so completely off guard. Rositha displayed no vestige of hurt or ill will about his behavior. She seemed genuinely glad to see him. Thank you, Jana, he thought, sincerely grateful to be so completely forgiven. He said, “Prefect, come and sit with me.” They moved to some benches attached to the wall, and sat side by side. “I have decided that I would like you to come to Opan with Larren, Tina and I.”

She sat up straight and her eyes lit with excitement. “Truly, Trueborn? You want me to leave the Temple? I have never been offworld.” The prospect clearly dazzled her.

“This is not a Trueborn command, Rositha. This decision is entirely up to you. But I do hope that you’ll want to come,” Ash said.

“But for what reason?” She ducked her head and lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, Trueborn; I have no right to ask.”

“No, I don’t mind telling you.” He frowned and looked away from her, irritated by the all-encompassing influence he possessed. He was a virtual King of all the Temples of Jana on every Freeworld. Would he misuse that authority? It was said that power corrupts and he didn’t doubt it. The Temple Sisters didn’t even feel they had the right to question him. He would have to do something about that. But what? Larren might help him figure that out. Or Lindha. He was in total command, like a wolf over its pack. For a moment he had to stifle a giggle. Some wolf. And some pack!

Ash cleared his throat. He wondered what to say, how to explain what he needed while still ensuring the Temple Prefect maintained her own free will in the matter.

Rositha’s and Larren’s minds were open to him. He knew of their attraction. He sighed. Well, in either case he planned to bring Rositha with them to Opan. He finally said, “I can use your abilities, Prefect. You are bright, creative and loyal.” He bit a lower lip. He wanted her to come for those characteristics alone, but that was not the whole truth. He didn’t want to lie to her, or allow her to make such a decision without knowing as much as he could tell her. “Rositha.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I think my friend Larren needs you.”

Her eyes flew open wide in surprise.

“I know how you feel about him.”

Rositha’s face brightened with alarm. “Is this a foretelling, Trueborn? Will Larren be in danger? Am I to save his life or be there to save him in some way?”

“No,” Ash said. He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. “I am not a seer. It’s just that ” He hesitated. ” you are good for him, Rositha.” Ash reflected upon the Dark Sankomin of Larren’s soul. Larren had experienced healing mind touch, but some wounds needed more than spiritual healing. Ash nodded with abrupt decision. By the Goddess, I shouldn’t interfere, and yet … am I making a mistake? Well, here goes. He breathed in deeply. “I think you are what Larren needs, Rositha.”

“You … you have touched his thoughts?” she queried breathlessly, leaning toward him, her knees almost touching his. “Really Ash? I had hoped … I even asked him to be with me but he refused.”

She blushed at this disclosure, which surprised Ash. Sex was as common a topic as eating within the Temple. Perhaps she was embarrassed at her failure. Did she think she was unappealing?

Rositha licked her lips. “I have had all the training, Trueborn, and Larren is all I think of.” She looked down at her tightly clasped hands. “I believe that I am in love with him, you know,” she said in a low melodious voice. “I want him so much. But I must have missed something. Perhaps I was absent from the lesson where I learn how to make a man want me.” Ash felt a tinge of empathy for the woman. Usually so confident, stubborn and tough, Rositha appeared oddly vulnerable. She finished in a quiet gasp that seemed to hold back tears. “Because Larren doesn’t want me.”

Ash stood up suddenly and took a few steps away from her. What was he doing? Larren was going to find out and kill him for this. But somehow Ash didn’t care. He was going to tell her. He spun on his heels. His eyes met hers. “Oh, yes, he does. Larren wants you very much. Don’t worry about that.”

“Oh!”

“You’ll see. So you’ll come to Opan?” he asked.

“Yes, of course,” her face transformed from despair to joy. She gazed up at him, radiant and flushed with excitement.

“Don’t tell anyone you’re leaving except the Lady Samantha. Even Larren isn’t to know if you can avoid a direct lie.” Because if Larren knew he would try to stop you from coming. “Larren will be glad to see you aboard Minavera Mover I’m sure of it.” At least I hope he will be, once he knows there is nothing he can do about it.

Mission accomplished, Ash nodded to Rositha as she departed for a shower.

He grimaced. Now he had a secret.

It made him uncomfortable but he didn’t regret a thing.

13. The Light Sankomin

The Sankomin is a combination of all that has been. It is not evil in itself: it merely is. What few fully comprehend is that it can also be a combination of future events of all that can and ever will be. The Light Sankomin creates a powerful Godlike feeling. Both the Light and the Dark Sankomin, if unresolved, will cause madness and despair.

Seer Saskoha, The Interpretations

With the Temple Sisters managing departure preparations, Ash and Larren decided to pay a visit to the Williams family. The windows were down and a dry cool wind flowed, blowing Ash’s shoulder-length black hair around and making conversation undesirable. Larren, as usual, drove the speeder. Ash shook his head. His lips curled in a sardonic grin. He was the “Trueborn,” a powerful individual with Temple Sisters on all Freeworlds at his command. With that in mind, perhaps one of these days he should ask someone to teach him to fly?

Ash said, “So, does Clinton know we’re coming?”

“No. He hasn’t heard from me since I went to his cabin. Clinton thinks his dreams show him the future.” Larren’s brows drew down as he considered this. “Of course, from what I can tell he’s probably right. Anyway, other than that he’s down to earth. You’ll like him.”

“But shouldn’t you Icom him we’re coming? Bit rude dropping in like this.”

Larren glanced sideways at Ash with a mischievous grin. “I just want to find out if he is surprised. I mean really, don’t you think a guy who can see the future will already know that we’re coming to visit?”

The speeder landed and Ash and Larren jumped out.

Clinton strode out of the barn. His eyes fell on Larren. “Well, bless me as I stand here!” he exclaimed happily, coming over and giving Larren a hug. “Larren, son. Lord it’s good to see you. You look good. Real good. I was going up to the cabin today, to look in on you.” Noticing Ash, he considered him with a puzzled expression. “Who’s your friend?”

“Hey, Clinton, it’s good to see you, too,” Larren said, with genuine delight in his voice as he was given a bearlike hug. He raised his eyebrows at Ash, and gave him a mischievous, half smile. Ash assumed it was a “See, the man doesn’t know everything” grin.

Larren turned and said, “I’d like you to meet Ash.”

“Sure. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Clinton reached for Ash’s hand. The instant they touched, Clinton recoiled, as if stung by nettles.

“You,” Clinton breathed in surprise. “Good Lord. You’re here.”

Ash stepped back, unsure of how to act. Clinton rubbed his hand on his jeans as if it hurt, or Ash thought cynically, as if it was contaminated.

Clinton muttered under his breath, “Should have known about this, yessir, should have, but didn’t. Never failed me before, but did this time.”

“Excuse my ignorance,” Ash gave a tentative smile, trying to ignore his strange reception, “but I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“It’s you.” Clinton stared at Ash. “You’ve come at last. It’s about time, too.” Turning to Larren, he said accusingly, “Why didn’t you tell me the wolf had come? Lord, yes. This is wonderful. You told him about the dream, didn’t you?”

Larren opened and closed his mouth, looking much like a fish out of water before he stammered, “Ah … yes. He knows of your foretelling.”

“Good.” Clinton gave a satisfied nod. He turned to Ash. “So what do you mean you have no idea what I am talking about? You know who you are, don’t you?”

In the tense silence that followed this remark, Larren’s friend looked into Ash’s eyes as if searching for the answer.

“Sure you do,” Clinton chortled happily. “Better than I do, now that’s a fact.” Clinton strode over and put his arm around Ash as if he were an old friend. They began walking toward the house. “Well, well,” Clinton said. “Wait till I tell Em. Welcome, wolf. Welcome thrice over. Yes. Time enough for you to come, yessir.”

Larren hadn’t moved. He stood frozen near the speeder, his expression utterly baffled. Clinton shouted over his shoulder, “Come along then, Larren.” Clinton kept up a running dialog with Ash. “Did I tell you about my wife’s cooking? Now I don’t want to seem to be boastful or nothing, but she is the best darn cook, . . “

Ash twisted his neck, managing to glance back at Larren with a look of helpless bemusement. Talk about a force of nature. Larren had warned him about Clinton, the subtle bully that he apparently was. It hadn’t helped. How could one man make him feel so off kilter, so meek? He had no notion of the aggressive wolf within. Poor thing had probably slunk off quietly with its tail between its legs.

Larren shook off his paralysis, grinned at Ash’s expression and shrugged his shoulders. He gave him a palms-up, “That’s Clinton for you” expression, indicating that it was out of his hands, and started walking toward the house.

“Em!” Clinton called out. He stomped his feet on the outside mat, sending mud and dust flying. Then he took off his boots before entering the front door. “Want you to meet someone.”

A thickset woman came down the stairs, wearing an embroidered, yellow apron round her waist. Her face was flushed and a string of long, graying hair trailed unruly across her cheek. She brushed the lock aside and wiped her hands on her apron. Her nose had been broken and set crookedly, and there seemed to be a palsy of some sort causing one eye to droop slightly.

“This here is Ash,” Clinton added.

“Welcome, Ash,” she said, smiling. She held out her hand. “My name is Emily, but most folks call me Em.”

After an imperceptible hesitation, Ash took it. “Pleased to meet you, Lady.” He bowed politely. Jana be praised. She made no disconcerted reaction to his touch. Her grasp was warm and firm. The woman’s eyes danced with life and she had a comfortable voice and manner. Ash liked her instantly.

“Em, this boy is a good friend of Larren’s, and not only that, but he’s the wolf,” Clinton announced. Ash’s face heated with embarrassment. He wondered just how red his face was.

“No. Really?” she replied with delight. “Clinton. Why didn’t you let me know he was a coming today?” she accused. “I would have made more for supper.”

“We couldn’t stay,” Ash said, glad for the option to escape. Em frowned and he added, “Not for supper, anyway. Perhaps for an afternoon snack? I understand you are quite a good cook.”

Em beamed. “I’ll get the baking on. You boys make yourselves at home.”

Clinton, Ash and Larren went to the family table and sat down. Clinton began to absently finger a clay pipe, filling it with tobacco.

“Where are the kids?” Larren asked.

“Oh, some are at their studies and some are in the fields. We won’t be disturbed by those rascals for a while yet,” he grinned.

Em brought out three large tankards of homemade beer. Ash blew off the froth, and took a thankful swallow. Larren and Clinton chatted happily, covering various subjects: the new calf, the health of this year’s planting, and the need for more rain, the fact that the Wet season was a little late this year. Together the two men talked like father and son, although there was probably less than ten years age difference between them.

Ash had time to reflect, thankful to be ignored. These people were not at all what he had expected, even though he encountered them in Larren’s mind. This was where Larren had come after escaping Conqueror. Clinton and his fellow alliance members had erased all trace of his escape. Larren must have been a real mess. He had witnessed the outcome of the gas genocide of the Delian people. He had lost his beloved vessel, Darla Wu, had endured torture at the hands of Neopol, and had seen every one of his men die a painful death at the Admiral’s hands. Larren’s arrival on Kalar had been foreseen. Clinton took him in and made him welcome. Made him family.

Not all families were close. Ash understood that; he had seen it many times before. He knew that no one could really hate anyone as much as siblings, parents and other relations hated each other. Was that because all love and trust had been betrayed?

Ash secretly studied Clinton. There was something about him. Clinton was Larren’s family. Was that the connection? But there was something more. Ash was drawn toward his earthy practicality. Clinton presented himself as a man on the cusp of senility. That was a lie. The man was younger than he looked and his mind was sharp as the razor edges of slip blade.

I like him. Ash was aware of a strange connection almost from the moment they met, despite that weird reaction Clinton had to touching his hand. Why? Ash’s eyes narrowed on Clinton in concentration.

“So Ash found me at your hunting cabin,” Ash heard Larren say, and his reverie shattered.

“I see,” Clinton nodded knowingly. He put down the pipe he had been filling. To Ash’s complete surprise, Clinton reached for Larren’s neck and pulled down the collar of his tunic. The half-moon marks of Ash’s teeth stood out upon Larren’s throat. They were surrounded by purple and yellow bruising. “He sure found you, all right,” Clinton said in a low, quiet voice.

Ash tensed. Like a wild creature caught in a trap, adrenaline shot through him as he prepared to flee or defend himself. This unexpected reaction surprised him. It took all his effort to hold still.

“Yep,” Clinton continued gravely. “Came close to doing more than just finding you, appears to me.” He grinned abruptly and the tension of the moment eased. He drew on the unlit pipe, pressing down the tobacco with the ball of his thumb. Then he scrutinized Ash for a long moment, his expression meditative and shrewd.

Ash made himself remain motionless. He had an inexplicable urge to run. Was he actually afraid of Clinton?

Clinton said, “Don’t you worry none, boy. A wolf is wild. Untamed. Works on instincts for survival and most times those instincts are exactly right.” He nodded.

The conversation was taking an entirely unpredictable twist.

Larren glanced at Ash with a “What the hell?” look on his face.

Clinton leaned back and lit the pipe. When his pipe was drawing satisfactorily, he said, “In my case, I like animals. Like em real well. Like people too, but I’ll tell you something. There is a difference between them. Lord, yes. You ever seen a whilhare?” Clinton’s eyes were alight, boring into Ash.

Ash shook his head. If Ash had hackles, they would be raised. I’m scared. Why?

Clinton gave Ash a penetrating look. “Now hold on there, son. You just hold on right there. No need for folks to be afraid or ashamed of what they are. No, sir. Let me tell you about whilhares.” He nodded, leaning forward in the chair with keen interest.

Ash moved back in his chair as far as possible.

“A whilhare is a lot like a normal rabbit, except that when one of them learns something, the others instantly know it too. Now if you want to get rid of the whilhares from your crops, all you do is get someone to play some loud music over the area, and then, while the music is playing, gas any whilhares in that field. I can tell you, from then on out, all you have to do is play the music and the whilhares won’t come near your crops.” He smiled. “You see?” Clinton said, warming to the subject. “They don’t stop to think. Why, you won’t catch a whilhare in the field again after that. Especially if you just keep on playing that music once in a while to remind em.”

Clinton sat back again. “Now you may say that that is stupid. That for a whilhare to learn that music is dangerous … well, that doesn’t assist in their survival at all. And you’d be right.” He nodded knowingly.

“But let me tell you something and this is the point I’m a getting at.” He pointed his finger at Ash. “Fact is, it’s almost impossible to kill a whilhare unless you gas em in their hole. We have some sayings here on Kalar. Fast as a whilhare’ is one. Cunning as a whilhare’ and Wise as a whilhare’ are some others.”

“Now you and me,” he pointed to Ash and himself. “We just know that those whilhares aren’t really cunning or wise. Fact is, they don’t even think. But they have instincts that can calculate danger faster than anything known to man. You get a weapon out and they’re gone. Why? They know the smell, the sight, the taste … why, everything. Do you see? Their instincts is what protects them. They smell a gun and their legs take off and they are gone.”

Grinning broadly he added, “Why, they’re gone before they even knew they was a going!” He whooped and laughed loudly, his large barrel chest shaking as he roared in delight. His amusement became infectious. Larren laughed too, a broad smile spread across his face.

Ash laughed just as loud, yet all he felt was relief. It would be okay now. That strange fear had gone.

Clinton became serious again. “So I’m telling you. Instincts. All animals are born with em. Instincts can work toward increasing survival and they can work toward lessening survival.” He grinned. “I just know that those whilhares would love to get at my field. Lots of good food for em there.” He smiled with complete satisfaction.

“Now I’m going to tell you about people,” Clinton looked from Larren to Ash. “And I hope you aren’t bored with an old man’s silly musings.”

“No, no, of course not,” Ash said.

Larren shook his head.

Clinton grinned. “Good of you boys to humor an old goat like me. Now what was I saying? Oh, yeah. People don’t have many instincts. We’re not born with them. Don’t really develop them. Oh, sure, if a baby falls in the water and chokes, he won’t be so keen on having a swim next time. But they can learn their way out of that, you see?”

“A man is lucky. Luckier than the animals in some ways, but has it a great deal rougher in others.” He nodded wisely. “A man has a choice and the brains to think those choices through.”

Clinton coughed and cleared his throat. “You see, sometimes brains just isn’t enough. Why, if I took out a weapon …” He gazed at Larren. “You would probably still be wondering what I was doing with a disrupter while I shot you dead. All right. So that was a long-winded story and boring too, no doubt. But, Ash,” Clinton said softly, looking him in the eyes, “You are a man; a good man. I can feel it right here.” He patted his barrel chest meaningfully, as if that should settle the matter. “I ain’t never been wrong on a feeling.

“But you are something else, too.” He pointed to Larren’s neck. The teeth marks were once more hidden under his garment, but the significance was understood. “You are a wolf. What you do with those wolf instincts, well … I’m betting that will turn the tide.”

A mass of swirling pictures rushed by, and Ash held perfectly still, paralyzed, blinded by the legitimacy of Clinton’s assertions. He recalled his reaction when Larren bound him with ropes. He had fought and pulled like an animal, tearing his wrists and injuring himself. Instinct drove him until his humanity compelled him toward logic. He had nursed wolf milk from Seeta, his wolf mother. He had learned to hunt and lead the pack with his wolf Father, Long Fang. He had killed without mercy, without debate or question, in order to survive. He understood this symmetry, this process of life. “A time to live, a time to die.” He had mind-touched the animals for so long, he had almost become one.

The vision of him striking Rositha flashed by, and he recalled saying: “It was a savage and brutish act.” Brute. Exactly. What he hadn’t admitted to either Larren or even himself was that, although he had been unable to stay his hand, he had successfully withheld his blind, angry wolf impulse the desire to destroy her entirely. It would have been so easy to kill her for her outstanding temerity: disobedience to the Leader.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash had heard the saying “Time stood still,” but he had never experienced it.

He felt it now. Such a strange feeling.

Time stood still.

Disembodied. Weightless. These intense sensations besieged him. Was he having some sort of out-of-body experience? Could it be the Light Sankomin? The Light Sankomin certainly created a Godlike feeling. If so, was this feeling coming from his past or from the future, from events yet to come?

Time stood still.

Nothing could stop him.

Blood in his veins heated, pounding, flowing faster as he let the truth unfold. It wasn’t that he could act like a wolf or howl like a wolf, or even pretend to be a wolf for fun. I am a wolf! Pack leader.

Power radiated within and around him in a limitless ocean of heat. A surge of electrical energy blasted through him with the intensity of this knowledge. All animals were his to command.

I know. I have always known.

The awareness was a foundation for his soul there, eternally there but hidden, unviewed, unseen.

There is no time. Time is an illusion.

At that thought a loud cacophony of commotion and noise sounded from the barnyard; from horses, pigs, chickens, goats; from the birds overhead; from indoor cats and outdoor dogs. Squeals, shrieks, hissing, barking, bleating, squawks, whistles, brays, bellows, cackles and yelps. Screaming crying out, either in fear or in defiance who could say?

As suddenly as it started, all sound stopped.

Yet nothing could stop him.

What was this Godlike feeling?

Ash relaxed into the sensation and let the truth flow over him. He saw a vision of Tynan, his wolfhound, his friend … his brother. He recalled the words of the Seer he met as a child on Delian: “Now, young wolf, remember who you are.”

Ash was amazed by his unintended, instinctive display of power. His eyes burned. The words of the Testimonials came to his mind: “Power and strength can be used for good and evil alike. Only the Trueborn, freed by mind-touch can surely know and judge the difference.” Yes, he thought to himself. I am a man, too. A man with knowledge and a wolf with instincts.

Blessed Jana, let him control his power. He needed Lindha’s soothing wisdom, her mental contact and touch. He showed Larren his mind, but how could he display thoughts so well buried that they were hidden even from him?

Larren sat white faced and still.

Returning to the moment, Ash noticed Larren staring at him as if he had magically transformed into something he had never seen before. Larren’s mouth was slightly open, his body tense, his eyes wide. He appeared prepared to go for his weapon. There was stark fear in his expression.

Clinton’s eyes betrayed his intelligence, yet there was no fear, only understanding. Ash was forced to recall his arrival at the Williams’ farm and Clinton’s apparently innocent question: “Don’t you know what you are?”

I do now.

As if on cue, breaking the tension of the moment, Em appeared with hot coffee and some fresh-baked biscuits. “Thank you, Mother,” Clinton said. “Smell that.” He made a show of enjoying the baking, intentionally genial and amusing.

Larren shifted. Ash thought he seemed worried and uncomfortable. The conversation turned to pleasant small talk again, the strange reaction of the animals apparently forgotten.

“Tell me, Clinton,” Ash asked, “as part of the Alliance, what actually are you fighting for?”

“Well, son,” Clinton drawled. “Guess I just want people to be free to make their own choices.”

“People aren’t free to choose now?” Ash asked.

“No one is free when they are unwittingly fed lies and accept them as truth. You need the truth to really be free.”

“And who do you think is behind these lies?” Ash asked.

“It’s the United Worlds Government, son. High Command. One or more people at the top. You know it and I know it.”

Ash caught his breath. Suddenly he did know, with grim certainty. A simple statement from this man had convinced him more than all the arguments that Larren had put forward. He said, “Why do you think so?” Ash wondered, could Clinton read his mind?

“Because,” Clinton answered simply. “Because of the dream. Larren told you about the foretelling but I’ll repeat the dream exactly as it came to me.”

He stared blankly ahead, seeing visions in his mind. “First I saw this large serpent. It was fat, and evil, and it was reaching out, destroying, swallowing the Freeworlds, one by one. The snake was being controlled, sent to consume and exterminate, by a gigantic armored giant.” Clinton stood tense and abstracted. He said, “Larren was there … and the wolf,” he breathed. “The snake it was going to swallow him! Larren he …” Clinton stopped speaking abruptly. He swallowed and cleared his throat. “Without warning, the wolf came. Unpredictable, fast and cunning, it rose up and killed the serpent.” Clinton’s eyes widened in triumph. “The armored giant stumbled, but didn’t quite fall. Instead it stood up again … but this time it had lost its right arm.”

Clinton opened his eyes and blinked a few times. All tension left as he came fully out of the reverie. He gave a faint, tired smile.

“Then the snake had better watch his step,” Ash said, his voice filled with menace.

“No,” Clinton said, serious once more. “We all should watch our step.” His eyes narrowed. “Like a mind you can only see part of, my dreams are not always complete. It is difficult at times to interpret what one sees. Sometimes it is hard even to know one’s own mind, is it not?” he asked teasingly, his meaning clear.

“You … can you read minds?” Ash leaned back in surprise. Clinton somehow knew that he once hid his powers from himself.

“No. But you can,” Clinton said.

“How did you know that?” Ash asked, giving Larren an accusatory glare.

Larren shrugged, dismissing his complicity. It was clear that he had said nothing to Clinton concerning Ash’s mind-touch abilities.

“I dreamed it,” Clinton explained. He grinned broadly at Ash’s consternation. “I dreamed that you reached out, lifted a veil and understood.”

“You realized that I could read minds from just that?”

“Sure.” Clinton smiled. “But like your mind reading, it takes a bit of practice to understand what you’re looking at.”

Larren asked, “What was the part of the vision where I came in? You said, Larren, he … ,’ and then stopped.”

Clinton looked directly into Larren’s eyes. “Oh. Just that you were there. You know, there with the wolf when the snake is destroyed.”

“Oh,” Larren said. “Well, good.”

Em came in and sat down, and the conversation became less intense. The afternoon passed, and eventually it was time to leave.

The men thanked Em for her delicious baking. She bade them farewell from the house, as the three of them walked to the speeder.

When they reached the transport, Clinton tapped his pockets in apparent confusion. “Say, Ash. Would you mind running and fetching me my pipe? I seem to have left it inside. Em will get it for you.”

Ash stared at Clinton. Inexplicably hurt, he said, “Sure,” and trotted off toward the house.

Larren watched Ash leave. He turned toward Clinton. Clinton wants to talk to me alone. Why?

The older man fixed him with his eyes and began to speak, “Larren, you know, sometimes it takes two strong men to control that wolf of his. Ash on his own well that makes one. He needs you, Larren, to be the other man. He won’t accept help from another. The woman, Lindha, is important, but she will not control him.” He frowned. “I think she could command him, but with those vows of hers …” He shook his head, leaving the thought unfinished. “You have to be there for Ash, Larren. You have to help him manage the wolf.”

“I won’t leave him,” Larren promised.

“I know you won’t.” Clinton gave Larren a soft, affectionate smile and put his arm around Larren’s shoulders companionably. “You are the kind of man that does what’s right no matter what the cost.” He frowned suddenly. “But Larren … it isn’t always easy to be comfortable around a wild animal.”

Larren tensed. Clinton knows. He must have been watching me. Larren felt out of his depth. All that talk about instincts earlier was odd enough, but then came that uncanny cacophonous noise when every creature reacted all at once. The animals screamed and called and then abruptly stopped. Did Ash cause it?

Ash’s eyes had changed at the time. They had burned brightly amber animal eyes, glowing and glowering. Wolf eyes. It was uncanny. It was terrifying. His impulse had been to run. Once, during mind-touch, Larren had felt the raw power of the wolf within. That’s why he was sympathetic when Ash hit Rositha. The wolf was dominant and difficult to control, it was a wonder Ash was able to do so at all. The beast scared the hell out of him.

Forcing himself to relax, Larren smiled a cheerful lopsided grin. “Don’t worry. I’ll manage, Clinton. Thanks for the warning.”

Clinton slapped his back. “You’ll do fine.”

Ash strode up with the pipe in his hand. “Here you are.”

“Thanks, son.” Clinton grinned. Then with the proficiency of years of experience, he filled his pipe again, stoking the flame. “I have wondered all day whether to mention this to both of you boys.” He gazed into the distance, his eyes remote. Larren wondered what Clinton saw. It was obvious that his mind’s eye was staring at something else entirely.

Clinton sighed and said, “You know what? Sometimes the future isn’t such a good thing to see.” Larren studied Clinton then. His hair was graying, his body solid and old, but not with age. Did his dreams keep him up at night? Despite his lighthearted manner, Clinton seemed to have lost his resilience.

Ash must have noticed too because he said, “Clinton. I can see that you have burdens. Let me share them. I have a gift. I can heal the pains and sorrows of the past. Ask Larren.”

“It’s true, Clinton.” Larren said. “I myself was mind-touched by Ash. It’s a fantastic experience. Liberating. You should try it.”

“No!” Clinton’s eyes grew wide with alarm. He grabbed Ash by the shoulders. “Promise. Promise me that you won’t touch my mind, you won’t ever touch my mind. Never. Not without my permission.”

Ash drew back, clearly hurt by Clinton’s demand. “Of course. I’d never do that. I promise. I’ll never touch your thoughts unless you agree to it. You have my word.”

Clinton released him and the tension in his body relaxed. “Good. Good.” He nodded vaguely, not seeming to notice the turmoil and confusion his words created.

Bewildered, no one pursued the subject.

“Now. What was I saying?” Clinton asked, dismissing his violent reaction entirely. “Oh, yes. The future. Yes. It’s not always a good thing to see.” He hesitated. “I’ve decided to tell you this dream, uncertain as I am if I should speak of it. But as you are leaving Kalar, I won’t be getting another chance. Perhaps if you know the vision the knowledge may lend a hand somehow as the time goes by.”

“Wait,” Ash said. “I want an Icom recording of this. Okay, go.”

Clinton’s expression went blank, seeing yet unseeing as he related the dream. “Larren was there. And the wolf. The snake was about to swallow Larren. You were there, Ash, only you weren’t. Only half of you was there. The other half was missing … gone.” He sounded bleak. “You were tied up tight. No one could possibly escape those ropes, but suddenly … you were free. You were there, but not there. Then the vision turned red. There was dread, a frightening, gripping terror. Before I could run, the vision was gone.” Emerging from his trancelike state, Clinton focused on Ash.

“But what does it mean?” Ash asked.

For a moment, Clinton looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know,” he replied in a low voice. “You may be able to understand more of it later. When the time comes. I hope that knowing this vision will help when you need it.”

“Hmm … ,” Ash thought out loud. “Losing half of me. I suppose I could lose the man part and remain a wolf.” He grinned. “You wouldn’t like that, Larren,” he quipped. His brows drew down. “Or else I could lose the wolf and become only a man. Neither option is too terrifying.”

“Tied up doesn’t sound so good,” Larren said.

Ash frowned. “Tied and then free. The free part sounds all right. But why did it finish in red? Blood most probably. Whose? Well, your vision certainly gives us both something to think about.” He smiled deprecatingly, thinking of the animal pit and the river of blood he moved through back then. “With me it always seems to end in blood.” He shook his head.

“Never mind.” Larren patted Ash’s back cheerfully. “The meaning will become clear soon enough. Just remember, if you do become entirely a wolf, please give me plenty of notice. I want to be nowhere around when it happens.”

They all laughed.

Clinton shook Ash’s hand and then hugged Larren a solid, fierce hug, with much back patting. Larren drew his breath in with surprise at this unexpected and generous show of affection.

Clinton cleared his throat, and nodded farewell.

Uncertain of exactly how to respond, Larren simply thanked him. They said goodbye and hopped into the speeder. The low growl of a generator rumbled, and with no further delay, it left the ground, swiftly making its way back toward the Temple.

Clinton stood motionless, his arms loosely hanging at his sides. He stared at the empty sky, long after Larren and Ash receded from his view. Em came out of the house and walked to his side.

“Did you tell them?” she asked softly.

“Yes,” he answered. His features were lined with worry, his eyes beseeching. “But I couldn’t tell them my interpretation. I may not have understood it fully. It’s possible that I could be wrong and I don’t want to frighten them needlessly.”

Em’s expression was soft with compassion. “You’ve never been wrong before.”

“No,” he whispered hoarsely. “I looked Larren straight in the eyes and then I lied to him. I just couldn’t tell him, Em. I couldn’t.” They stood together in the early evening silence, Em with her arms around him, neither making a sound. Stars began to gleam brightly in the darkening evening sky. Finally Em took his arm, pulling him back toward the house. “C’mon, love,” she said gently. “Come into the kitchen and have a hot cuppa. You’ve done all you can. There’s nothing more you can do. Nothing anyone can do. It’s in the Goddess’s own hands now.”

Clinton walked slowly after her, following like a child. With shoulders slumped, the life seemed to have gone out of him. He looked shocked and disbelieving, as if someone close had died right in front of him, despite his efforts to save them.

If anyone had seen Clinton then, they would have thought him a very, very old man.

14. Wolf Prey

Individuals don’t attract what they want, but what they are. I think people are the sum of their thoughts. But what about Ash, someone who is both man and wolf? What comes to him? Well, for one thing … it was never what I expected.

Larren Forseth, personal data files

Ash strapped in.

He enjoyed the feel of his body, heavy against the cushioned seat of the speeder during lift off. Clinton, standing far below, shrunk in size as the speeder gained height. The man looked small and sad from high up. The craft left the Williams farm, heading directly toward the Temple of Jana.

Larren worked the craft’s controls with economy and skill. Ash smiled thoughtfully. He’s wearing this speeder like his clothes. Comfortably and naturally. I should get him to give me a flying lesson.

“You know,” Larren said, “I feel like I may never see my friend Clinton again.”

“I know what you mean,” Ash said. There had been an undercurrent of sadness permeating their departure. “I saw the way he hugged you goodbye.”

“You noticed that, too?” Larren asked with an anxious frown. He turned his head and glanced at Ash. “I thought I might have been imagining it.” Larren sighed. “Clinton looks so old. I hope he isn’t going to die. Seeing the future is well and good, right until you see something you don’t want to see. I’m happier not knowing. If I had known my future from, say, ten years ago, I seriously doubt I could have faced it.” He blinked and then gave a grim smile. “On the other hand, if I had foreknowledge perhaps I could have avoided it.”

Ash nodded. Both men sat silent and preoccupied as the speeder droned on, each deep in his own thoughts. The scenery passed, forests, fields, dwellings, and livestock, everything appearing in miniature from above.

Ash tensed, put his hand on the dashboard and stared down. “Larren! I recognize that place! That building. Quickly. Hold still a moment.”

Larren rolled his eyes. “Speeders don’t hover, Ash.” He settled for a large circular pattern above a small group of structures Icom identified as commercial storage depots.

Ash stared down with intense concentration.

“What is it?” Larren asked.

“I don’t know. There is something familiar here. I feel as though I know it, except I’ve never been in this part of Kalar before.” He frowned at the various structures. “That’s it,” Ash shouted. “This building was an image in the Temple intruder’s mind.”

Larren grinned. “Excellent. Our first real lead on the whereabouts of Tholl. Shall I land?”

“Yes, please, as close as possible without drawing attention. When we’re near I’ll see what I can discover through mind-touch.”

Larren landed, jumped out and pretended to be looking for something. Ash grinned, admiring his antics. For all intents and purposes Larren appeared innocently lost. For a man who spent his life on the police force, Larren was a pretty good actor. Had he missed his calling? Or did he use those skills on the job? There didn’t seem to be anyone watching, but one couldn’t be too sure.

Ash stayed in the speeder, lay back comfortably and shut his eyes. He drew on his gift as naturally as Larren guided the speeder. I wear my power like my clothes. He breathed in deeply as heat flowed through him, absorbed him and thrilled him. Yes. Feels good. So right.

Ash mentally reached out. Contact.

Ash focused on this new entity as he slid into its skin like a diver gliding into water. His first perception of his new body was one of a rancid, unwashed odor, a combination of urine and perspiration. He looked down at his hands. He saw ruddy white skin on thick, masculine fingers. He could feel a pudgy belly pushing at his belt; clearly this person, whoever he was, had been well fed. He bent over and lifted a large cylindrical object. The action caused a sharp pain that stabbed him in the back like a spear. The man whose flesh he now inhabited hardly seemed aware of the hurt, though Ash knew that this pain never fully left. He felt solid, heavy and dark in the stranger’s flesh.

“This is hard work, but then there’ll be trouble if it isn’t done,” the man thought. “Never any fucking robots helping out either. Too bad that stupid Blunt is gone. Idiot must have gotten himself killed.”

It’s Tholl, Ash realized, careful to shield the thought. But within Tholl’s mind was the image of someone else, the intruder Ash had encountered at the Temple.

I know that man, Ash realized. That is the man who died while I was within his mind. His name was Blunt. He broke into the Temple intending to poison Tina.

Tholl continued working, unaware that Ash was listening to his every thought, experiencing his every sensation. Finally he stopped to sniff from a white granulated narcotic he had in his pocket.

Ash mentally stiffened, preparing for the onslaught. Having experienced a hallucinogenic once before while en route to Kalar, he anticipated the feeling of disorientation. It was the thrill from the drug he needed to guard against. That sweet sensual pleasure that he knew, over time, could distract or even addict him.

The pain in his back eased, and the man gave a high pitched giggle. Ash went along for the ride. The pleasure was intense. It flowed through Ash as it had before, giving a heightened kick and thrill that lingered like the soft touch of the tips of Lindha’s fingers … or her lips. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, letting the sensation pour over him. He heard the man’s pulse. Fire burned in his veins, his heartbeat quickened, and his breathing deepened and slowed. But there was more than pleasure here.

There was something dreadfully wrong.

Tholl’s imagination gave a discordant jolt to Ash’s sensual bliss. Images of people gasping and dying flowed liberally, like a river through the man’s mind. Such vivid images of pain, disease and noxious death. Tholl giggled with glee and hysteria. The idea of others suffering and dying amused him.

Ash disciplined himself severely in order to fight the sudden overwhelming urge to attack or disconnect from so sick a mind.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

The wolf raised its hackles in bloodlust rage, crushing and obliterating all pleasure with the force of an avalanche.

Ash worked to control the wolf as he sought more information. Time passed and Tholl continued to load the vessel. With steady, thorough effort Ash cast through Tholl’s mind. All the while he wanted to sever his mental touch. He forced himself to remain in contact. At one point Tholl stopped and urinated right where he was. Then, barely bothering to fasten his trousers, he sniffed more of the drug. Grinning, he continued with his work.

Ash soon knew it all. He understood exactly what Tholl planned. He also knew what he was going to do about it.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

That is, he knew what the wolf within was going to do about it.

And Ash didn’t intend to stop it.

What in the hell is taking Ash so long? Larren wondered.

Larren killed some time going over his craft, checking the small converter. Ash, sitting back at rest inside the speeder, was silent. Larren frowned. Ash was mind-touching someone, no doubt. But forty minutes? Larren felt he’d waited long enough.

“Ash?” he queried tentatively, looking into the dark interior of the speeder.

A moment passed. Ash opened his eyes.

Larren’s heart stopped. A stranger looked back at him! Ash’s face was white and the muscles in his neck were taut. A vein in his neck stood out; Larren could see his friend’s pulse pound. Ash appeared ready to explode.

“What is it?” Larren asked in a sharp, anxious voice.

Ash’s fierce dark eyes stared and began to turn amber.

Wolf! Larren instinctively stepped back, terrified. Shit! He swore under his breath, forcing himself to hold still, not to run or draw a weapon. Ash regarded him with interest, like a predator viewing prey. The wolf in Ash would be well aware of Larren’s fear. The wolf could probably even smell it. Could he reach for his stunner, draw it and fire before the wolf got him? Larren did the math.

Not bloody likely.

Before Larren could move Ash leaped up with inhuman speed and grace. He bounded off toward the building, charging toward a dark, backstreet area that would be easy to enter without being seen.

“Ash, wait!” Larren shouted, no longer worried about what anyone might think. He drew his stunner, unlocked the safety and ran after him. He sent an urgent message to Ash via Icom, but knew it would be no use. The wolf probably wouldn’t understand an Icom alarm or vid. Larren panted from the run or was it from fear? Probably both, he decided as blood thumped unnaturally loud in his ears.

A sense of exasperation calmed him somewhat. I swear by the Goddess, if I get through this, I’m going to have a long chat to Ash about that wolf of his.

Ash leaped easily up to a wide window three meters off the ground, then slid through. Larren swore and dragged over a nearby empty crate. Easy for the damn wolf. He pulled himself up and looked over. He could see only part of the darkened interior of the warehouse.

It took a moment for his eyes to accustom themselves to the darkness. Once they did, Larren saw Ash meticulously stalking someone. His knife was drawn, his shoulders bent, as he moved in a silent crouch.

“Oh, shit hells of Perdition,” Larren cursed. Under his breath he muttered, “Unless I’m mistaken, that stupid wolf is going to kill someone.” Then he saw another man, the person Ash was clearly stalking.

“Ash! No! Stop!” he screamed at the top of his voice as Ash neared his victim. Larren knew the man had Chinter’s Chance against Ash, which was to say no chance at all.

But Ash did not even seem aware of Larren’s shouted supplication. He appeared intent, completely absorbed in ambushing his quarry. The man in the warehouse turned around, startled, after hearing Larren’s urgent call. He may have had a slight awareness of a shadow leaping toward him, but surely that was all he had the time to perceive.

It all happened in an instant.

Ash head-locked the man, his left arm pressed against the fellow’s forehead, holding him firmly against his body.

“No!” Larren screamed, striking the window sill with a closed fist.

With one fast movement, Ash mercilessly drew the razor sharp blade across the man’s throat, nearly severing his head. Blood spattered and bubbled bright red across the floor as Ash let go of the corpse. Larren’s heart, which had been pounding fast and hard in his chest, suddenly seemed to stop altogether.

Ash calmly wiped his knife on the corpse’s jacket and placed it back in his belt, as blood from the dead man began to pool. Open mouthed, Larren drew in deep breaths while staring in disbelief at Ash for a long moment. Swallowing with a dry throat, Larren tried to recover his scattered wits.

It didn’t help that Ash was smiling.

15. Conspiracy

Where justice prevails, and poverty is rare, where education is promoted, and sanity reigns supreme, who in the Freeworlds would think to look for a conspiracy, much less find one?

Lord John Andros, private files

Shit, shit, shit, shit!

The only emotion Larren saw in Ash’s expression was satisfaction. Was his friend even there? The wolf seemed to be in charge.

Larren finished climbing over the sill. He took a deep breath and looked back toward the street. No one seemed to have noticed his mad sprint. The guards hadn’t been called. “Everything’s fine. No call for alarm,” he muttered under his breath. “No problem except that a man is dead, brutally slaughtered, and oh, yeah there’s a wolf on the loose.”

Larren took a deep breath. Ash had vanished somewhere and was no longer in sight. Where was he? Now what should he do? He checked his weapon, ensuring that it was set to stun and fully charged. He didn’t want to be near the wolf without protection. Swallowing with a dry throat, he leaped off the ledge.

Larren crouched, judiciously hidden behind a crate, barely breathing. It wasn’t safe to talk to Ash. It wasn’t safe to stalk him, either. There was only one thing to do. Somehow he would have to stun him, bind him, and take him back to Clinton. He could find out the truth later. Ash in his current state was far too dangerous. Clinton would know what to do about the dead man.

The warehouse pallets were stacked high in places with containers.

Readying his weapon, Larren moved silently past them. He wondered if Ash could hear him. He wondered if Ash could smell him. He didn’t think he could do much about it either way.

Without sound or warning, Larren was hit on his back with enough power to knock him to the ground. His breath was forced from his lungs.

His stun went off harmlessly, hitting a nearby crate.

Larren twisted and fought as his arm was pulled back, painfully wrenched. His weapon fell uselessly from numbed fingers. Ash knelt on top of him, knees planted squarely on his back. For a moment Larren lay helpless, his face in the dust of a cold concrete floor, his attention caught by the solid weight on his back and the pain in his arm.

Only seconds passed.

Larren thrashed wildly in an attempt to throw his burden off. Ash jumped to one side, bent over, swept up the weapon, and pointed it. Larren rolled away, eyes on his adversary.

Ash’s agility and speed made him a blur. His swiftness was beyond belief.

Shocked, Larren leap to his feet and moved in a crab-like run. There was nothing to hide behind except a thin pole and one small container, neither of which would protect him from a stunner. He was light in his toes as he sought what little shielding he could behind the meager objects. Prepared for his own defense, he crouched in combat position. Eyes on Ash, he picked up a cast off metal rod as a weapon. Larren’s heart thumped and his chest heaved.

“I told you that next time we met in opposition, I’d be the victor,” Ash gloated. “Here’s your weapon.” He threw it to Larren, who dropped his metal rod and caught it instantly. Larren aimed it on Ash without conscious thought, noting it was still set to on stun.

“I don’t get it,” Larren panted, moving out from behind his shelter.

“It’s a funny thing, this wolf part of me.” Ash’s mouth twisted in an impish grin. He appeared unperturbed by the proximity and aim of Larren’s weapon or by the pooling blood from the nearby corpse. “I didn’t have to read your mind. I just suddenly sensed you stalking me. Then I smelled your fear.” He gave a peculiar ironic smile. “Do you know what fear smells like? Never mind. I think it might be too hard to explain. I take it you thought I’d gone crazy or something?”

“It had crossed my mind.” Larren’s eyes narrowed, the understatement of his comment obvious to both.

“So. You set your weapon on stun?”

“Of course.”

“Forsaken Worlds, anything but the stun,” Ash grimaced. With an amiable and utterly human grin he raised his weaponless arms and empty hands.

“Truce?”

“I don’t know,” Larren shook his head. Overcoming his good sense, he put the safety catch on and placed the weapon back in his tunic. The man was here, the wolf was gone. He felt a wash of relief at this simple truth. Larren never doubted who the real killer was. “For world’s sakes, Ash. Why did you slaughter that man? You cannot deny that the wolf took over. You looked …” He searched for the right word. ” … um, possessed.”

“Yes,” Ash agreed with a grim expression. “By the way, I have something to show you.”

Larren followed him to where the man lay. The stranger’s eyes were open and devoid of life. No essence or soul gazed out from those eyes. He smelled the iron taint of blood like an invisible mist, there was so much of it. The fellow was as dead as he could be. He turned his head in disgust. “Why, Ash?” Larren pleaded. “Why kill him?”

“He was ill,” Ash replied. “There was no hope for salvation or relief. He was too far gone, deep into darkness and evil. A walking corpse. I simply put him out of his misery. The kindest thing for him, for all of us, was to destroy him.”

“Oh, that’s great. You killed a man because he was ill’ and evil’.” Larren eyed him with total disbelief and a rising swell of anger. What was this, wolf logic? It sounded like the wolf and the man were in agreement over this murder. It threw him for a moment. He expected Ash, the man, to be horrified at what he’d done. “For the love of the Goddess, Ash, I don’t understand. You’re not a judge or a jury. What gives you the right?”

“I don’t know if I can explain myself. Even now I am … um. Well, while I am not exactly pleased by his death. I don’t feel regret. I would do it again, I suspect. Long Fang could explain it to you. It is the same reason we cut out the injured or ill animal first. There is a natural order in life. There is a time for death.”

Larren attempted to maintain a bland expression, to hear Ash out, but it was impossible. A plethora of different emotions washed over him: disbelief, shock and the heavy weight of disappointment. How can I help Ash control the wolf when the man and the wolf work together against me?

Ash’s head tilted with interest and penetrating dark eyes. Human eyes. They glowed amber when the wolf was present, Larren knew. Ash said, “You see those cylindrical objects? The ones loaded on that air freighter?”

Larren studied them. There were approximately ten cylinders and one still on the ground, waiting to be loaded. “Of course I see them.”

“They are full of the virus that infected Kalar. This man, Tholl, was going to distribute this plague, planet-wide, tonight.”

Catching his breath at the thought, Larren turned on his heels and strode rapidly toward the nearest object. It appeared innocent enough. It was labeled as a type of fertilizer. He reached out his hand, but then withdrew it, deciding not to touch it.

“Are you sure?”

Ash nodded. “Oh, yes, there’s no doubt. I was able to fully mind-touch this … this inhuman creature. This was Tholl. This was going to be the second time that he infected the people of this world. He and his assistant, Blunt, were responsible for infecting Kalar the first time. Blunt was the intruder at the Temple. He died too, if you recall, although not by my hand. The implant killed him.”

“No,” Larren exclaimed. “All that suffering. All because of this man?” He stared back at the corpse. How could the same dead body appear so different? It was like going from hot to cold or from black to white. This man went from innocent victim to guilty mass murderer in an instant to Larren’s eyes.

“It’s true,” Ash assured him.

Larren took in a deep breath. He breathed out and said, “Then I wish the bastard was alive so we could kill him again. I can see why making him a corpse was so easy on your conscience.” Larren studied Ash’s face. The wolf was completely gone. Perhaps its ruthless persona had been eased by the satisfaction of killing what, from the standpoint of its animal mind, should not exist. The wolf didn’t seem to be conflicted over human concepts like morality and redemption, right and wrong.

Lucky for it. Must be soothingly simple to be a wolf.

Larren gazed around the warehouse and started pacing. “Look, Ash. We need to destroy this stuff and get out of here. We can’t afford to be caught in this situation. I can just see the broadcasts now: Members of the Alliance caught spreading a lethal virus over the entire Freeworld of Kalar’,” he said, in imitation of a commentator’s voice. “We only need to be found with this dead man and there would be a full-scale investigation with the blame falling squarely on our shoulders.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ash reassured him. “No one is due to arrive until tomorrow morning. We have all night to find a solution.” He stared at the threatening cylinders. “You’re right, however. We can’t afford to expose this particular conspiracy. If we did, it would backfire and the broadcasts would be relayed as you suggest.”

“What conspiracy? Who was behind this anyway? Did you find out?”

In the shadows of the warehouse, Ash’s eyes were black as coal. They seemed to bore into him. “Neopol.”

Larren expelled the air from his lungs. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. “Did you discover anything else?”

“Yes,” Ash said in a satisfied tone. He walked over near Larren, and with a sigh dropped down on a small metallic carton. “We have cleared up quite a few mysteries. I doubt if it is any consolation Larren, but you and Clinton were right. There is a UWG conspiracy. It isn’t, as I hoped, simply Neopol creating trouble in various areas of known space.”

He stretched his legs out and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “We know why Captain Walters was blackmailed into destroying Minavera Mover. Apparently Neopol is conspiring to destroy any enterprise or private vessel that has Freeworld travel. He wants the United Worlds Government to have the monopoly on that. The plan is to ensure that people do not travel independently at liberty throughout the Freeworlds.”

Larren nodded, and sat down next to him. “That’s no surprise. The trend for years now had been to remain on one’s own homeworld, except for short, costly visits to a few holiday satellites. That was one reason I joined the Freeworlds police. I wanted to see other worlds.”

Ash said, “When the Government is carrying out clandestine operations, the Police and the Fleet are sent elsewhere, no doubt.” He frowned. “What these operations are one can’t begin to surmise. I assume Linetta’s people were destroyed so they could take the gold from her world. We know what happened to Delian, though I still don’t understand why.” He shook his head. “Freely using mindtap and implants they could do anything.”

“But why spread a deadly virus on Kalar?” Larren asked.

Ash gave the dead man a glance of contempt. “According to Tholl’s memories, it seems statistical analysis predicted and isolated this planet as the most likely location for the headquarters of the Alliance. They don’t know for certain. Are they planning to wipe out the entire population over the next few years, perhaps? Or are they simply trying to ensure that no one can get on or off this world due to the quarantine? To think, they would destroy an entire population simply on the possibility that the Alliance is here.” Ash screwed up his face, disgusted. “Still, it’s a pretty effective way to handle things, you must admit.”

Larren pursed his lips. He gazed across the dark warehouse. “Clinton heads the Alliance here on Kalar. I wonder if he is also the head of the Alliance throughout the Freeworlds? With the fleet, the Freeworld police and the entire UWG all seeking to end the organization, it would take someone like Clinton to ensure their survival.” Suddenly he said, “Was this man, Tholl, implanted?”

“Yes. Both he and his assistant were given a basic implant that would protect them from revealing the truth, the kind that would destroy them if they tried to communicate a secret while under torture or at any other time. Aside from that, both men apparently did everything of their own free will, Tholl especially. Neopol simply provided him euphoric drugs. Tholl enjoyed carrying out his orders, killing and ruining people’s lives. They made a good pair, Neopol and Tholl.”

“Good,” Larren said. “Let us hope that Neopol misses him terribly.”

Ash smiled, Larren thought, somewhat wolfishly in acknowledgment.

Inside the warehouse it seemed unnaturally quiet. It was now well into the evening and the darkness of a summer night was settling in. Kalar held no moon in its orbit and when the sun went down the stars afforded scant light.

“It seems that we already have the answers to some of our questions,” Larren said.

“Yes.” Neither man seemed happy with the achievement.

“The only thing we don’t know is who exactly is holding the strings to that madman Neopol.” Larren sat with his chin cupped in his hand.

“And the question is,” Ash stood up, “what now?”

Larren shifted and glanced out through a distant window at the darkening sky. “For a start I’ll take you back to the Temple to finalize any departure preparations. Then I’ll fly to the Williams’ farm. Tonight Clinton and I will tidy up here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Larren asked pointedly. “Besides, you’re more adept at ordering those poor Temple Sisters about than I am. You’re the Trueborn. If it was me, I would end up doing everything myself, no matter how long it took. I can order and command service personnel around all day, but Temple Sisters …” He shook his head. “No thanks.”

Ash grinned. “Fine. And Larren you and Clinton take care, okay?”

“No problem. An ex-policeman and the head of the Alliance will have no trouble with a comparatively simple mission like this.”

They crawled back through the window, quietly climbed into the speeder and left. After dropping Ash off at the Temple, Larren, as planned, returned to the Williams farm. Twice in one day, Larren realized, he had surprised Clinton for his friend hadn’t expected him.

Clinton and Larren worked most of the night.

Larren arrived back at the Temple in the early morning, and came to breakfast bleary-eyed and hungry. He piled a plate with food from the server: an assortment of fruits, eggs, meat and toasted breads. Ash was at the table. Larren sat down beside him, gazing steadily at his plate. He ignored his companion and concentrated on eating. An Icom newscast switched on and the entire room stopped to watch it. It concerned an explosion that had occurred locally during the night.

The commentator reported unemotionally. “The cause is still being investigated, but it appears that there was a fuel leak from a container within the warehouse building. According to forensic studies, traces of a man’s body have been found. We will bring you an update in the next report.” After a few interested murmurs of speculation, the voices died down. The broadcasting 3D switched off of its own accord, and everyone continued their meal.

“Get a good night’s rest?” Ash said.

Larren raised his head. Their eyes met. “I didn’t sleep.” He made no attempt to hide his irritation. He suddenly felt full and pushed his plate away.

“I had a restful evening.” Ash commented. “I asked one of the Temple Sisters for a massage after my hot bath. Sister Hitha has such soft and gentle hands.” His eyes were heavy lidded with ecstasy.

“Ha. Tell me another.”

Ash’s good-natured banter disappeared. Lines of concern showed in the frown on his face. “Of course I didn’t sleep well, you idiot. I was worried about you. Does that make you feel better? Hells of Perdition, Larren. Why did you wait to return less than an hour before dawn?”

“You stayed up?” Larren was gratified. But if Ash had been awake, why hadn’t he stopped in to see him?

“Of course I stayed up.” Ash frowned. “Mind you, the Lady Hitha just wouldn’t go to sleep. She’s difficult to satisfy, you know.”

“You’re sick,” Larren’s laugh was low and carefree. “And I don’t believe a word of it.”

“Good. But I was worried, though I can see that I needn’t have been. Icom informed me you were back. I wanted to accost you the moment you returned, but restrained the impulse. You would have come to me if there was more to attend to. I take it Clinton thought up the finishing touch of the fuel leak?”

“No,” Larren grinned. “That was my idea.”

“Well done.”

“Thank you, oh Trueborn.” Larren bowed his head in a teasing, deferential manner. He then asked, “So, what’s on the agenda today?”

Ash looked longingly toward the uneaten egg and half piece of toast on Larren’s plate. “Do you want that?”

Larren pushed his plate toward Ash, rolling his eyes with annoyance. There were empty dishes surrounding the young man, showing that he had already eaten an enormous breakfast banquet. “Haven’t you had enough?” Larren scowled.

“Nope. I’m always hungry.”

“I noticed,” Larren assured.

Ash grinned, pulling the plate toward him. “I think I might still be growing.” He took a few moments to finish Larren’s meal, wiping the egg yolk with a bit of crust. You left the best part. He smiled secretively. “Minavera Mover gained orbit last night.”

“Really? It’s early.”

“Yes. I thought you might be interested. We need to complete any last minute personal arrangements and prepare to board her. We shuttle off world tomorrow morning. Is there anything you need to finalize before you go?” He asked this with subtle interest, looking pointedly toward Rositha.

Larren turned to see what held Ash’s attention, spotting Rositha straight away. He swallowed involuntarily. Rositha was unaware of his scrutiny. She was dressed in blue, the teaching colors that seemed to match her eyes so well. She stood long-legged, casually yet beautifully attired. With her soft, almost musical voice she was speaking to a young novice. “My dear Amyha. While it is important to hold one’s culinary tools correctly, it is even more important to assume the proper countenance and attitude. A Temple Sister is interested yet reserved, socially composed yet genuinely concerned with others. She never fails to be polite and attentive at all times. Nothing eludes her glance.”

She bent down gracefully and straightened the novice’s posture, forcing her shoulders back and tilting her chin up. “Surely you have heard the saying, Sure and certain as a Temple Sister?’ There now, that’s better. Yes. I have no doubt that you shall do extremely well indeed.”

Straightening, Rositha looked toward Larren, noticing his scrutiny. Her eyes widened and her mouth opened. She sparkled with a spontaneous sense of joy. Then she smiled. The room appeared to brighten from the glow of her expression.

Larren’s heart jumped at the unmistakable look of adoration she gave him and his face burned. He tried to maintain a bland calm that he doubted was fooling anyone.

“Looks like I was right that there’s some unfinished business you have to take care of before you go,” Ash said under his breath. Ignoring Ash’s comment, or at least not deigning to reply, Larren’s eyes never left Rositha’s face.

Ash stood up and gave Larren a pat on his back. “I’ll catch you later I’m going to go and tire Tina out, so she travels well tomorrow. I’m really glad you’re all right, Larren.” He gave a Larren a semi-salute and smiled over his shoulder as he left.

Larren said, “See you later.” He stood up and went over to Rositha. Larren cleared his throat, which seemed unusually dry. “Lady Rositha, would I be able to see you … perhaps at lunch today?”

Rositha’s face fell. “I’m sorry, Larren. I’d love to break bread with you, but I must visit the Tamart port facilities this afternoon. I have a few last minute arrangements to confirm concerning some freight we need to ship.” She smiled with shared understanding.

Larren nodded. Their departure was a closely guarded secret that no one knew, except for Larren, Samantha, Rositha and the Trueborn. Even little Tina was unaware that she was leaving. It was best to be cautious. It was illegal to leave under quarantine. “Tonight, then?” he asked, his voice suddenly deep.

Rositha seemed unaware of his unease. “Certainly. I shall return after the last meal. Shall I come to your room?” Her question was innocent.

“No, er … no,” he replied, unintentionally loud. “I mean … it might be best to meet in the south garden.” Where she would be safe and there would be no possibility of his being overcome with irresponsible ideas.

“All right, then. I will meet you at the twentieth hour, in the courtyard garden of Jana.”

“Fine,” Larren agreed. He was at a loss for further words.

Rositha smiled and gracefully walked from the room. Larren gazed after her. She was wonderful, but not for him. If she had not been a maiden he would certainly have sought out a temporary liaison, but in the current circumstances it wouldn’t be right. Not the way things were.

Larren walked out the door, toward the gardens. Ash was sitting on a dark gray formaplast statue. The bench was shaped to look like two large stone thrones, one cozily attached to the other, each carved in floral patterns and designs. Little Tina sat with him. Larren felt his tension ease and his expression soften when he saw Tina’s innocent, animated little face and shining grey eyes.

Ash took his place on one throne with Tina on his knee. He gazed down at her affectionately. “So, you think you can ride Sola, the pony?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, Uncle Ash.” Her face radiated with delight. “I’m five now, you know, five and a half, almost six, and I’m tall for my age, the Lady Rositha said so, and she said she thought I would be able to grip and ride a pony properly because I have long legs and she would know because she is Prefect of the Temple of Jana and she knows everything.” Tina’s discourse came out in a single breath. She was gasping for air a little when she finished.

“Well.” Ash gave her a grave look, clearly impressed by this information. “Then I think we shall go riding.” He stood up and raised Tina above his head. She gave a little shriek and giggled with joy. Ash lowered her to his shoulders, where she sat happily, her small hands gripping his tunic at the neck. “You are going to ride Sola,” Ash said, “just to prove that the Lady Rositha’s opinion is entirely correct. We can’t have her being wrong, oh no. Not when she is Prefect of the High Temple of Jana.”

“Oh! I am going to ride a pony!” Tina exclaimed in delight.

“Of course. But first you are going to practice a little on me.” And with that Ash, showing no embarrassment whatsoever, galloped down the path, with Tina riding his shoulders, her brown hair flying. The girl giggled, screeched and laughed in her childish, high-pitched voice. Ash leaped over a bridge where a little stream ran, and then disappeared from Larren’s view, ducking through a flowering arbor, bending low so Tina didn’t hit her head. Ash was on his way toward the stables amidst squeals of joy from Tina and many amused and startled glances.

Chuckling over the performance, Larren walked back toward his room. He might as well go back to bed and get some rest, he thought. He reached his quarters, shut the door and slipped off his belt, stunner holster and tunic.

He walked to the window and looked out. Gazing down toward the stables, Larren saw that Ash already had Tina up on Sola, and was cheerfully leading the pony through all the muck and mud of the stable yard. Shaking his head, Larren shut the curtains to exclude the bright summer sun and climbed into bed. That Ash. So many different sides to the young man. He was certainly good with children. Was that the wolf? Or the man? It was an interesting question and it remained in his mind as he began to drop off to sleep.

His last thought was that it was probably the wolf. They were, according to documentaries, supposed to be extremely solicitous of the young.

16. Clash of Wills

I saw my decisions and actions for what they were instead of the distorted illusions and imaginings of a fool. I saw all, as is, and took responsibility. Do you know what I discovered? I was never a victim: I was my own cause. All guilt, shame, anger and pain were the result of my own decisions, products of chosen character and temperament. The exact truth was a revelation an enormous weight fell away from me. I felt such joy, such incredible lightness of being!

Trueborn private files concerning healing mind-touch with Lady Lindha

Larren awoke refreshed and sat alone to bolt down his evening meal. Anxiously he checked the time it was late. He went to the garden and wandered along its intimate trails, ducking through flowering arbors and into the courtyard.

He had visited the garden of the Kalar High Temple of Jana a number of times previously but was still amazed at its beauty, even now in the night. The plants around the Temple were unique in themselves lush, verdant and thriving, carefully nurtured during the Dry season. With many Earth strains among them, they had been established over two hundred years earlier during settlement. However it was the courtyard itself that was considered by the Temple Sisters to be the natural home of the Goddess. Beautiful, exotic flowers with scented shrubs and trees were lovingly cultivated, sown at carefully selected locations. They were chosen and planted individually for their special fragrances, blossoms, textures and colors.

Larren sat down, dumbfounded. This place is even more beautiful at night. He should have thought of some other place for a rendezvous what had he been thinking? He didn’t have to wait long before Rositha joined him. Larren rose to his feet.

She smiled in greeting. “Hello, Larren.” She regarded him with open affection.

Larren smiled back at her. Here in the dim evening light she was striking, resplendent in a blue strapless gown, her white shoulders gleaming in the starlight. Her honest, penetrating gaze made him aware of a sudden tightening, a stirring in his chest. He remembered holding her in his arms, comforting her, when her friend was dying. Lana had taken more than two weeks to pass, and Rositha never left her side. Sharing that tragedy had created a bond of understanding and mutual vulnerability. It was an accelerated form of self exposure that ordinarily would take years to achieve. Larren never forgot Rositha, and despite the circumstances, he had cherished that time with her. He was glad to have been close at hand and able to help her through her grief.

“Evening, Rositha,” he said, his voice suddenly deep and low. “You … you look wonderful. Here,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Come and sit down.”

They sat together on a carved wooden bench overlooking a garden waterfall. Above the pleasant setting stood a statue of Jana the Protector, the Goddess of Truth. The statue gazed knowingly toward Larren with a tranquil, peaceful regard. Just past the waterfall there was a panoramic view from the secluded courtyard, down over a winding river. Night creatures chirped and whistled softly, and the sweet fragrance of flowers floated on the gentle breeze.

The effect on Larren was somehow both calming and disturbing. “It’s just as well that there is no moon on your planet,” he murmured under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?” Rositha queried. “Did you say moon?”

“Oh,” he shifted, filled with constraint. “It’s just that on my homeworld, we have a moon. This garden here at night reminded me of it. For thousands of years people have considered the shining of the moon in the evening to be romantic.”

Rositha beamed. “Could it be, Larren, that you have plans for romance?” Her expression was hopeful.

Just the sound of her voice and the way she said his name made his heart twist. “That wasn’t really my intention.” Larren smiled a crooked grin. She turned away from his steady regard for a moment and then looked back at him with wide eyes. It was a vulnerable, innocent gaze.

Larren’s good intentions disappeared. He couldn’t stop himself. He stood up and pulled her to him. They came together, each moving at the same moment in an embrace, a simple hug that almost overwhelmed him. He took a deep breath and smelled her light, feminine scent. He felt her breasts rise and fall against his chest as he stroked the smooth contour of her back, the velvet skin of her shoulders, her hair. He wanted to be closer, to press himself against her so he tightened his embrace, still stroking her, soothing her, feeling the pressure of her body as he held her to him. But Rositha had her arms around him too. He could feel her fingers pressed against his back.

She was soft and warm, and he had a powerful hunger that he found difficult to control. He pulled back far enough to cup her face. He traced his fingers over her mouth, touching her lips, feeling the edges of them. She shivered. Rositha’s eyes were closed; her body felt pliant, waiting.

Larren bent over her and pressed his mouth against hers, her soft lips parting. He felt her breath as he kissed her, then touched her lips with his teeth, his tongue. It wasn’t enough. He explored further, moving within her mouth and his stomach clenched with need. He held his breath to suppress a sound that tried to escape, a moan of desire.

With grim resolve, Larren pulled away, hands holding her shoulders to keep her from him. That kiss. Her eyes were dark with desire, but so, no doubt, were his. Rositha studied his face searchingly as if to find the answer to a puzzle.

He gathered his thoughts, catching his breath. Regaining control, he said, “Rositha, you are a wonderful, charming woman. But we can’t be together.”

“Why not?” She pulled back, hurt, and he felt terrible.

Larren wanted to explain, to make her understand … something. But when he was with her he could barely understand himself. Rositha created in him a kind of madness, where all reason and judgment fled, like birds before a storm. His mind formed a mental picture of Neopol, the man who was pursuing him, and of Conqueror, a battleship with limitless resources. For five years he had evaded the Admiral, but he couldn’t escape him forever. He said, “It’s not safe with me, Rositha. It’s not that I don’t want you … you know I do. You’re a woman any man would die for.”

He turned away from her suddenly, wondering what had made him choose those particular words. Die. Why was it he felt that he did not have long to live? A shiver tingled down his spine. Clinton had warned him to look after Ash had told him that the wolf needed him. He recalled the farm, the warmth of the sun, the smell of hay and coffee and animals. He remembered Clinton’s expression and the strength of his parting embrace.

He understood then. Larren had been worried about Clinton, concerned that he had foreseen his own death. But what if Clinton had foreseen Larren’s death?

Ah. It was suddenly clear.

Clinton had been warning him, preparing him! No wonder the man had been so melancholy. Clinton hadn’t wanted to tell him that he was going to die. Perhaps he had hoped that this time his vision had been wrong. But Clinton never made mistakes when it came to foretelling.

“Larren?” Rositha said, interrupting his preoccupation with a tentative, soft voice.

He turned on his heels and looked into her eyes, her blue, blue eyes. Like Sartha. Larren turned away again, his throat suddenly tight with the old grief, the pain that Ash’s mind-touch had not fully been able to cure. He had no mystic insight or visions about the future, but he didn’t need to be a seer to know his luck was running out.

“Larren, don’t go away from me,” Rositha pleaded, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. “I love you. I want to love you. Please. From the moment we first met in the quarantine area, I’ve not been able to take my thoughts away from you. You with your innate compassion, so calm and steady and kind.” She hesitated, and then with a rush said, “We don’t need to marry, I just want … why can’t we just be together?”

Larren stood up, took her hands and pulled her up to him. His fingers held hers. He placed her hands on his chest. “Lovely, Rositha,” he began, looking down at her. “You are a wonderful girl and I do hold a considerable affection for you, with all my heart I do.”

Rositha smiled and drew in a long quiver of breath.

“However,” he said, taking her hands from his chest and pulling them down to her sides, “I am leaving here, tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No,” he said quickly. “It is far too dangerous.” He paused to regain his self control, then impulsively took her hand, kissed it, and held her palm to his cheek. “Ah, Rositha, you are so unaffected, so beautiful and intelligent. You can have your choice of men. Polite, handsome men, wealthy and well mannered gentlemen, all of whom would cherish you dearly and treat you like a queen. You can be married and have four children, perhaps more. Why would you want me? I have nothing to offer.”

“None of that matters, Larren.” She eyed him intently. “I’d rather go with you, whatever the consequences, than live without you. Even if I could live as … as a queen.” Her voice held a stubborn resolve. Even in this weak light he could see her jaw was clenched. She took a deep breath and the tension seemed to leave her. “Although if a King did make me an offer, well …” She laughed, teasingly, and he released her hand.

“I’d rather a king did make you his wife,” Larren declared. “You deserve a king.”

“But I don’t want a king. I want you.”

Larren gave her a hollow, sarcastic smile. “You want what I have to offer? Let’s see.” He counted on his fingers. “One, I am being pursued by almost everyone on every Freeworld and not because they’re eager for my pleasant company. The Police are after me, the Fleet is after me.” He raised his arms in supplication. “Two, I am wanted dead or alive. That alone is a stipulation almost unheard of in the United Freeworlds.”

Rositha regarded him with a silent, contrary stare.

“Not enough? All right, then, how about this?” He began pacing restlessly. “Three, I am sworn to the Trueborn. I will not leave him. You know that fear you felt? That fear of the Trueborn? Well, I feel it, too. He scares the hell out of me. He is a wolf, Rositha, and he is dangerous. He needs me to help him stay the man that he is.” Larren lowered his voice almost to a whisper. “Ash must return to Opan. Despite the personal risk that I am taking in leaving Kalar, I cannot stay. I must go with him.”

“I don’t care about the dangers,” she said passionately. “I love you and I want to be with you whatever it may bring.”

“No. I won’t allow it.”

“Well, it’s not your choice.” Rositha’s lips came together in a long, tight line and her face whitened as she became angry. She crossed her arms across her chest. “I am going with you. The Trueborn invited me and I have made the necessary arrangements. I will be on Minavera Mover tomorrow. It’s settled.”

Larren stood stiffly, completely taken aback. What? The Trueborn had invited Rositha to come with them? Had he completely lost his mind? “You are going on Minavera?” Larren asked. “Ash ordered it?”

“It was his request,” she acknowledged, “and I agreed because it is my desire to go. By all that is holy, Larren, you have the thickest head of anyone I know. I want to be with you.”

“Well, I don’t want to be with you! I want to go to Opan without you.” Larren’s thoughts and emotions had hit a new unprecedented level of turmoil at this blatant interference from Ash. What was that idiot thinking? It is too dangerous. He had no right! Without another word Larren turned on his heels and stormed off. Enraged, he felt ready to explode.

He entered the Temple, ignored the lift tube, and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He didn’t send an Icom alert ahead, he didn’t even knock. When Larren arrived at Ash’s room, he simply burst in unannounced.

Ash, sprawled on a comfortable couch, was enjoying a wildlife documentary on widescreen holo Icom. He raised his head, startled, and toggled it off. “What’s wrong?”

“I’ll tell you what’s wrong,” Larren said, not bothering to constrain the fury in his voice. “What is this about you requesting’ Rositha to come on Minavera with us?”

Ash quickly stood up and shut the door. “Keep your voice down, Larren. Yes, I asked her to come. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Why should you?” Larren demanded, waving his hands wildly in frustration. “Forsaken Worlds, Ash! Why can’t you mind your own business?” He clenched his fists into tight balls. “My love life is for me to choose. Who do you think you are anyway? By the Goddess, you make me sick. Just because you are the so called Trueborn’ you think you can order anyone about, from place to place, changing their plans … ruining their lives.” Briefly, in the spirit of self preservation, Larren became alert for any reaction to his outburst, but Ash was calm. The wolf was … sleeping, apparently.

Ash said in a neutral voice, “I am the Trueborn. I am the one Jana chose. I requested Rositha accompany us but only if she wished to do so. She was pleased to come. I have done nothing wrong.”

Larren felt his heat of his temper it was still on the boil. He said, “You’re interfering. This is none of your business. She will be in danger anywhere near me, near us. I don’t want her on Minavera. Tell her to stay here.”

“No,” Ash said, his voice cool, his expression impassive. He sat back on the couch. “This is for her to decide.”

Larren began to pace, waving his hands in agitation. “What does she know? She thinks she’s in love with me. What encounter has she had with love? She’s still a virgin, for World’s sakes. I’ll bet that she’s barely even touched a man.” He recalled her kiss, her inexperience, the way she let him take control. That thought amazed him anew. “Burning deprivation, Ash, she is a child.”

“Rositha has never been touched by a man a stupid Temple constraint, no fault of her own.” Ash made a dismissive gesture and faced Larren with an irritated frown. “But she is not a child. She is three years older than I am and only a short decade younger than you. Can one only know love when one’s hair turns gray? Am I too young to truly love my Lindha? Rositha is a grown woman and her choices are hers to make.”

Face white, Ash’s chin rose in an aggressive manner. Larren’s eyes followed him with apprehension, his own anger lowering to a simmer. The wolf within seemed close to the surface. Ash said, “And what gives you the right to say what can be done and what can’t? You want me to command her to stay on Kalar? That would be wrong, a complete misuse of my power.”

Ash came closer, chest to chest, face to face, his eyes locked on Larren. “Who are you to allow yourself to become some sort of a martyr? What is this glorious sacrifice you seem to need to make? Are you still somehow attempting to appease your own guilt, this fixed belief, this ridiculous delusion you maintain of personal responsibility for the death of my mother?”

His words cut straight through Larren like some sort of intimate arrow of truth. Larren’s shoulders hunched and he stepped back for a moment. His anger evaporated as he turned the concept over in his mind. Could he honestly have prevented Sartha’s death? No. But he did feel responsible, as if he had failed her. After Sartha he was afraid to care, to have someone dear and essential and then to lose them.

I didn’t see that coming. Fear of loss. Huh. It was probably some other syndrome. Chalk it up right alongside his survivor’s guilt.

Larren never considered himself a coward, scared to take a risk. He didn’t intend to start now. But what about Rositha? He wanted her to be safe. Just being near her would jeopardize that. He cared for her. If they risked a chance at love together and she lost him, it would be hard on her. He didn’t want her to suffer as he had. And she would suffer. For his own days were surely numbered with everyone in the known galaxy on his trail.

“Larren, believe me,” Ash said in a persuasive tone. “We are all players in this game of life. Not just you and I. All of us. We all have the future at stake. Who is to say where one should place his bet, what one should risk, whether one will win or lose? Don’t you see?” He raised his arms, stretching them out in entreaty. “Rositha loves you. She wants to share your life, no matter what the length of it is.” Ash’s expression was earnest and intent. “Please, my friend,” he said, placing a hand on Larren’s shoulder. “Don’t waste a single minute. Go to her. She wants you. Go to her now.”

Larren shut his eyes, suddenly dizzy as he was thrown into a memory. Ash’s advice was so similar to what his best friend Drake had said aboard Conqueror. Drake had freed Larren, put him on a small interstellar shuttle, and fought the giant battleship Conqueror with the tiny cruiser Darla Wu. Drake had sacrificed his own life for Larren. His best friend’s words came back to him. “I am not giving up,” Drake had argued. “I am giving you your life. Don’t you see? Go and live your life now, with her.”

Larren sighed and opened his eyes. Like fog burning away on a sunny morning, all confusion, indecision and worry disappeared. Everything stopped. All turmoil was replaced with calm resolution and peace. He took a deep breath. Drake had the right of it. Take the risk. Share the love one had, for as long as possible. Every moment was a gift.

Ash stared at Larren earnestly. There was no judgment there. His youthful features were bright with empathy and understanding.

Larren’s lips curled into a crooked grin. “You know,” he said in a normal, conversational voice, “a fellow could become sick of you quite easily, Ash. I’m supposed to be the older brother,’ the one to give you the man-to-man’ advice. Has anyone ever mentioned that you are right much too often for someone of your tender years?”

A boyish smile spread across Ash’s face. “You’ll go to her?”

“Now don’t start getting any ideas, you little matchmaker,” Larren said shaking his index finger at him, instantly annoyed and heated once more. “I’ll speak with her. Rositha had better realize exactly what she is getting herself into.” He frowned, thinking. Was Rositha still in the garden? Should he message her on Icom?

Undaunted, Ash continued to grin.

Larren reached over in one sudden motion and pushed Ash backwards, causing him to fall across the couch. “Take that, imp. And wipe that silly grin off your disagreeable young face. I’ll take your advice and examine the possibilities as you’ve suggested. But the Lady hasn’t agreed to anything yet. So you just remember that I’m still bigger than you are. And I’m a good shot with a stun. You just mind your own business and let the adults deal with their own problems, all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Ash nodded gravely with a straight face.

“That’s better,” Larren nodded. Dignity restored, he left the room.

Ash stared at the door after Larren left, his face locked in an unstoppable grin. He found it difficult to remain still. Once he was sure Larren was well gone, he laughed out loud.

17. Rositha Gets Her Way

Take a female child, preferably six years or younger, and let them hold the Damithst. If the gem reacts the child will succeed as a Temple Sister. The brightness and length of the reaction denotes inherent power. Only the most powerful can be Prefect.

Sister Fayha Cattell, Notes on the Novice

Larren trod back through the courtyard and into the garden, following the low intensity phosphorescent gravel that marked the curving pathway. The path shimmered softly like a magic conduit to another world.

It was deep night. The sky was clear, the stars bright.

Larren couldn’t actually distinguish flowers, yet in the dark he became more aware of them. A variety of subtle perfumes assaulted his senses. Then he saw Rositha. She sat, shoulders slumped, hands to her face. He could hear the soft bubbling sound of a nearby fountain, a soothing murmur. He could also hear the little catches of breath and hitching noises that came with weeping.

He gritted his teeth, exasperated. Oh, great. Now she’s crying. Good work, moron. Why did this keep happening to him? His counselor would tell him that until he directly faced situations that made him uncomfortable, those same circumstances would reoccur over and over. Well, it must be true. Beautiful woman. Crying. And here I am. Again.

He said under his breath, “God, I’m an idiot.” With a sigh he went to her. “Rositha?”

“Larren?” She stood up and wiped her eyes. They were wide with surprise. And then partially because he couldn’t find the words, and partially because it seemed the natural thing to do, he put his arms around her, holding her tight.

“You came back,” Rositha said, her voice caught. “I thought you wanted to be ” She sniffled quietly. ” alone.”

Larren tightened his embrace, felt her smooth, warm skin, and stroked her silky hair. She smelled exquisite, like spice and gardenia.

“Listen, Rositha. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I … I was trying to help you, to keep you safe, you silly woman. Why ever do you want me, for Jana’s sake?”

“I … I think I fell in love with you the first day we met. You were so kind.” She hiccupped softly. Larren’s heart swelled. He remembered that first day with bitter pleasure. They had connected two like souls, surrounded by death and unhappiness, both relying on each other.

“My love, you do know that I love you, too, don’t you?” He moved back, raised her chin and looked into her eyes.

Rositha wiped a tear away with the edge of her hand, childlike. “You do?”

Her sweetness pierced his heart. “Of course I do,” he confirmed, wiping another tear with a finger. “Who wouldn’t fall in love with you? I watched you with Lana during her illness and passing. You were so caring, so brave. And I see you here, as Prefect. The whole Temple depends on you. You are extraordinary.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her toward him and hugged her tightly against his chest. “I just don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Oh, Larren. If you love me we can be together. How could that ever hurt me?”

“Rositha, you must understand. My first duty is to Ash.”

“As is mine. There’s no conflict there.”

“Except that if he’s ever in trouble, I’ll risk my life to save him. If his survival means my death …” He felt his face set in hard lines, his jaw tight. “Then that is how it must be. I don’t really understand it, but somehow I feel that Ash is the most vital person in the entire Freeworlds.” Larren paused, recalling Clinton’s foretelling. “Ash has an important destiny. I don’t know what it is, and neither does he. But when he figures it out, I am going to help him achieve it.”

“It is my duty to risk my life for the Trueborn as well.”

“I don’t want you to be in danger.”

“It will be as Jana wills,” Rositha replied with composure.

Larren smiled down at her. “I’m glad that you’re coming on Minavera. My world is so much better with you in it. I would have missed you.” He tensed. “But it will be hazardous, Rositha. If Neopol caught us …” The thought was too hard to bear.

“It is my risk to take and I take it willingly.” Rositha grinned mischievously, lightening the mood. “I’d do anything, just to be alone with you.”

Larren knew where she was going with this, and he wanted to go there too. He grinned and hugged her again, kissing the top of her head, feeling her silky hair in his face, on his lips. It was soft and smooth and smelled divine, kind of herbal.

“You know,” Rositha began conversationally, her eyes twinkling. “After being untouched for twenty-two years, I had no idea that it would be so difficult to end that unwanted condition.”

Larren’s back straightened, startled by this disclosure. He tightened his hands on her shoulders.

Rositha shook her head. “The Trueborn freed me from my vows of chastity, but I didn’t want to be with just anyone. I wanted to be with you. Yet you didn’t appear to be interested.” Her eyes narrowed. “I had almost given up hope. It was fortunate that the Trueborn told me that you did care for me.”

Larren exploded. “He told you that? I should have known. Interfering young pup.”

Rositha raised her chin, took Larren by the hand and kissed his palm. Her kiss was light, her lips were soft. “Was he not well chosen?”

After a long pause Larren admitted, “Yes, he was.” His eyes were drawn to the soft white skin of Rositha’s throat, and the rapid beat of her pulse that he saw there. He put his hand on her neck, and gently drew her to him. He pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips parted as he kissed her, more thoroughly this time, as they each explored the other. They kissed for some while, how long neither could say, both taking it slowly, enjoying the moment.

Larren felt Rositha pressed against him, making little sounds of pleasure. It made him remember that he had to get her somewhere, somewhere where he could get her naked, so he could touch and kiss every part of her. He suddenly raised her hand to his lips, and then abruptly swept her off her feet and up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice high-pitched with concern.

“To my bedroom.” He grinned his lopsided grin at her.

Rositha’s face lit with shock. “You can’t carry me through the hall like this. What will my Sisters think?”

“Who cares?” Larren shrugged, his rapid pace steadily treading toward the Temple. “If anyone asks we’ll just tell them it was a requirement from the Trueborn.” He gave a hearty, amused chuckle at the thought. Utterly liberated, Larren had not the slightest care about anyone else’s point of view. They were leaving Kalar tomorrow in any case. He felt reckless. Nothing was going to stop him.

“You’re mad,” she accused.

“We both are,” he observed agreeably.

Entering the Temple, Rositha hid her face in his chest. A red blush of embarrassment flushed across her features and down her neck.

Larren walked, large as life, through the hall. He smiled and nodded pleasantly at curious passers-by, his face a bland or mildly interested mask. For all the world he gave the appearance that carrying their Prefect through the halls and up to his room was a perfectly ordinary activity.

“And a good evening to you, Lady Samantha,” he said, his voice abnormally loud and cheerful. He nodded and smiled amiably as he passed her. He felt Rositha cringe against him, her face buried into his chest.

“Ah..er … good evening, Larren and, ah, Lady Rositha,” the Temple Second stammered in reply. It was the first time Larren had seen any Temple Sister disconcerted over anything. Rositha tensed in his arms at the sound of her Temple Second’s voice. Larren idly wondered if his smile could get any bigger. He opened his bedroom door with Icom, entered his room and shut the door. He held Rositha by the waist and lowered her feet gently to the floor.

“Good Lord, that was fun!” He burst out laughing. “You should have seen the expressions on their faces.” Larren’s laugh was infectious and the amusement of the situation broke down Rositha’s resistance. She began to laugh too, her arms still around his neck. “Oh,” she said in dismay. “But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to face them again.”

“I know what you mean,” he agreed. “It’s just as well that we are leaving tomorrow.”

Unexpectedly, far away in the Temple cathedral, they could distinctly hear the clear, sweet sound of voices singing.

“What is that?” Larren asked.

“It’s the Temple boys’ choir. The children are practicing their repertoire for the Kalar Day of Truth. Kind of a silly name, I know, but it is an annual event and our boys’ choir is a major attraction. There are parades and such. It has to do with the founding fathers of Kalar and the constitution they created.”

Larren listened. He was no musical expert but he was well aware of, and quite enthralled by, the pure and professional quality of the recital. Their young melodic voices were raised in perfect pitch and harmony and the resulting combined symphony of sound was indescribably beautiful. He could distinctly hear the words of their choral composition. It set his skin tingling.

“Rejoice. Rejoice.

Now let us praise Jana,

Truth shines, illumines us all.

With compassion and love,

A white peace dove,

She guides us through dark fall.

“Rejoice. Rejoice. Truth is in me.

We’ve had our share of trouble,

Our cares ebb and flow with the tide.

But we know no fear, for Jana is near,

And we’ve found the answers inside.

“Rejoice. Rejoice. Truth is in you.

So we sing of our love for you, Jana,

And thank you for all that you’ve done.

For you let us choose, to win or lose

And stood by us as our course was run.

Rejoice. Rejoice. Truth is in us all.”

The young melodic voices suddenly stopped. The resulting silence, the loss of that music, seemed almost painful.

“Beautiful,” Larren whispered, awed.

“Yes,” Rositha agreed. He looked at her and she caught her breath.

“You’re beautiful, Rositha,” Larren said softly, well aware of her reaction to him. He picked her up once more and carried her to his bed. Then he gently placed her on it and lay down beside her. The bedside light cast a shadowy, gentle illumination. The choir began the next song in their repertoire, but neither of them noticed.

Larren lightly touched Rositha’s face with his fingertips. He traced from her temple, down past her cheek, her neck, to her collarbone to her shoulder, and back to her collarbone and neck where he continued to stroke her. At the same time as his fingers were occupied, Larren tenderly brushed his lips across her forehead, her cheeks, her eyes, down her neck, then back up to her mouth. He felt a desperate longing but held himself back. He didn’t want to alarm her with the strength of his desire.

Rositha trembled under his touch, one hand on his shoulder, one stroking fingers in Larren’s hair.

“Are you frightened?” He studied her openly. She didn’t appear to be afraid, but … He swallowed and took a deep breath. Rositha hadn’t ever done this before. Larren could still recall the awkward uncertain moments of his first time. Would the High Prefect of Jana have such issues, too? It seemed unlikely, yet behind all the composure and confidence of a Temple Sister was a woman. He smiled lovingly at her. A beautiful, kind, intelligent, amazing woman.

“No, not really.” Rositha smiled and ran a hand through his short hair and ended by resting it on his neck. “Nervous perhaps,” she finished shyly, looking away from his steady regard. “I want to please you.”

He gave a short, low laugh of surprise and grinned mischievously. “Don’t worry about that.” He gave her a fierce embrace. “You please me immensely.” He kissed her lips once more and stopped.

“What is it, Larren?”

Larren’s eyebrows drew down in a worried frown. “Rositha, you have never been with a man, and I have never been with a woman who has never been with a man. I mean, it’s supposed to, um … I have been lead to believe …” He paused, tracing her face with one gentle finger. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh, my love.” Rositha smiled and a dimple on her cheek winked at him playfully. “Just because I have never been with a man doesn’t mean that I am an intact virgin. I am not an absolute innocent. I am Temple Prefect after all.” Inexplicably, she giggled.

Larren raised his eyebrows. He had no idea how to reply to that.

She propped her head on her elbow, facing him. “Having grown up in the Temple from a young age, I am sometimes unaware how little those outside the Temple know of our ways. Larren, I have been brought up knowing that it is my duty to serve the Trueborn. Education is a major objective in order to be a balanced and useful tool.”

She touched his face and gave him a frank, earnest expression. “I cannot afford to be ignorant. Thus I have been most comprehensively well-informed on the subject of sex.” She smiled lovingly at him. “While not yet experienced, I know self pleasure and the art of pleasuring others. I can orgasm almost at will, resist orgasm, and I have mastered the concepts of the one hundred and thirty seven Bodily Placements as well as the Erotic Arts: the Ananga-Range, T’ung Tzu, the Perfumed Garden, the Shito-stil, the Kama Sutra …

“Stop,” Larren commanded. He placed his hand over her mouth, interrupting her litany of sexual readings. He drew in a shaky breath, taking a moment to rethink his view of her innocence. His lips pursed in a frown of confusion. His mind spun, but he managed to mentally grab on to what was to him the most significant point.

“You’re not a virgin?”

Rositha managed a blush. “I have not had sexual intercourse with a man, no but there has been penetration. Over the years there was much debate on this subject, as you may well imagine. But I can assure you that in the last fifty years our practice has been to ensure that each Temple Prefect has her hymen broken as a normal occurrence at the age of seventeen. It would not be comfortable or romantic, after all, for the Trueborn to have his Prefect bleed or experience pain during sex.” She continued in a matter of fact manner. “The debate on this question raged, I can tell you. Some said it was the Natural State,’ and therefore right to remain intact. Others submitted that the Trueborn may indeed wish to make his partner bleed, and to cause her pain if one could envisage that the leader of our Temple would enjoy cruelty.”

Rositha would have continued this most interesting speech, but Larren interrupted once again, more questions swirling disturbingly in his mind. As previously, he hung on to the key points. “You are not a virgin. You know all about sex. You have simply never … er, never had sex with a man?”

“I have never had sex with a man or a woman for that matter, not that my interest particularly lies in that direction as far as I am aware. You know, I had never even been kissed on the lips until tonight. You were the first,” Rositha said. She looked at him, her eyes bright and large. “And it was wonderful. Oh, so exciting!” she said enthusiastically, clearly warming to the subject. “Your body is hard, but your skin is soft. Oh, you were strong and commanding when you held me against you but your lips are so supple and you smell divine. I love the way you smell. Then there is the warmth. Oh, my. I swear your body temperature is higher than mine by at least ten degrees. Those kisses … your tongue I could feel the strength of your desire, Larren. You want me oh sweet Jana, it is so much more than the teachings promise.” She continued artlessly, “Seriously. My knees were so weak, I honestly thought I was going to faint!”

Larren’s face softened into a smile at her naive, open discourse.

“But remember, Larren,” Rositha warned. “I am certain that I know more much more than you do about the act of lovemaking. Even with all the experience you may have had.”

“Well,” his smile broadened, “we’ll just see about that.” Larren couldn’t stop his grin. He touched her face again with his hand, stroking it, tracing his fingers lovingly from her temple to her cheek, to her lips. His fingers stopped at her lips. They were so soft. They fascinated him. “Well. That is just great. Wonderful. Then I have no need to worry, no reason to hold back.” He couldn’t resist teasing. “One hundred and thirty seven positions you say? Not one hundred and forty, or one hundred and thirty five?”

“One hundred and thirty seven,” she assured him, “and I know them all.” She bragged with raised eyebrows and a devious, knowing look.

Larren’s grinned happily. “Then you, my dear, dear love, shall be the one to, er … complete my knowledge. And I want to be well acquainted with everything you know, if you please.”

18. Love

There is nothing I don’t know about Larren, but I still want to be with him more than anyone else. I trust him and can tell him everything, including the things I’m ashamed of. Larren is my best friend, yet I still feel weak in the knees when he walks into a room, his eyes meet mine, and he smiles.

Lady Rositha, private diary

Rositha giggled, and then moved closer to him, pressing her body against him, her hand running down the edge of his back to his hip. Larren felt her fingers lightly trace the definition of his muscles. She pressed her face between his neck and shoulder, nuzzling him, kissing her way toward his mouth. She ran her tongue over his earlobe and said, “I love you, Larren Forseth,” with a whispering sigh.

Larren groaned, a blast of desire hit him so hard he felt as if he had been punched in the chest. He rolled over on to her, his mouth latching on to hers. He kissed her deeply, a sensual mind-numbing kiss. With his right hand, he traced down from her face, past her neck, slipping under the bodice of her gown. He touched her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple flesh to flesh.

There was no warning.

Rositha threw her head back and screamed out his name.

The second Larren’s hand touched Rositha’s breast it was as if he had touched her somewhere lower. He was completely taken aback by her reaction. She writhed and thrashed as if electrocuted.

Larren rolled off her and studied her apprehensively at first certain he had somehow hurt her. But then he watched with open fascination, enthralled. He couldn’t even blink. Rositha was in the throes of fierce orgasmic pleasure. It seemed to him as if all Rositha’s fantasies, thoughts and desires must have culminated at this one point in time. Her eyes remained closed, her face in a grimace, her lips open, breathing fast. With each pant came a little sound, a keening noise. He lay on his side, one thigh across her leg, minimizing her movements.

Well. That was unexpected.

Larren licked his lips, his eyes hooded, his attention transfixed. Rositha was beautiful. Rositha climaxing excited him like nothing had before. He wanted to touch her, to roll back on her, but resisted the impulse. As her tremors began to settle he draped his thigh further across both her legs, and put his arm over her protectively, stroking her face, her head, her arms.

“Shush, shush, it’s okay,” he whispered, his breath against her ear as he soothed her. Rositha calmed and opened her blue eyes. They were dilated and dark with pleasure.

“Oh, sweet Jana,” she murmured. “I had no idea. I’ve never experienced anything like that. By the Goddess, Larren!” She was panting as if she had been running hard. Her body continued to tremble, but she had regained control of herself.

Larren asked, “What happened to I can orgasm at will and resist orgasm’?”

Rositha giggled. “Both true as long as I am on my own it seems. Everything is different when you do it with someone else. Oh, bless me. I feel like I’ve melted. I’m so completely languid and relaxed. What’s next?”

“Er …” Larren swallowed. “Are you … are you okay to continue?”

“Oh, yes. Blessed Jana, yes.”

“Thank the good Goddess,” Larren said with real fervor. His heart leapt with unflagging joy. He was aching with need. Watching Rositha come had been the single most erotic thing he had ever witnessed. He pulled her dress down off her breasts and breathed in suddenly and deeply. She smelled good enough to eat. Next time, he thought. Her breasts were white and soft, beautifully formed. He caressed one with a hand and took the other into his mouth and groaned. Rositha shivered and her fingers tangled in his hair. Larren paid a lot of attention to her breasts, until she squirmed and made more noises, sounds that almost sent him over the edge.

Larren had intended to take it slowly, to undress her gradually and temper his need, but everything was out of control and moving too fast now. He felt as if he was caught up in some sort of violent storm, a tsunami or perhaps a hurricane. There was no point in attempting to be in command of this kind of natural force. The most he could do would be to direct this all-consuming energy. That he could do.

He didn’t care about her clothes. He rolled on top of her, his hands moving across the satin softness of her skin, over her breasts and down her belly, traveling lower still. He could feel the fire inside her. His entire body responded, knowing that she burned for him. With feverish urgency he pulled up the hem of her dress, pulling it up to her waist, and then pulled her underclothes off in one smooth motion.

His hand returned to her breast, as his mouth caught hers, his tongue pushing inside, and the other hand moved down, down to the heat between her legs. As he touched her there she cried out, and Larren almost came. Whatever small amount of control he had was gone.

“Oh Larren, please!” she urged.

“By the Goddess, yes!” he replied. He slipped his trousers open, barely moving them, not bothering to remove them.

There is no time, he thought.

Seriously.

They were both on the shortest of fuses, and when the fireworks started he wanted to be inside her.

“Spread your legs, sweetheart,” he gasped, as he attempted to move between them. His thighs were too big. He swore under his breath. “Wider,” he commanded, his urgency depriving him of tact. She complied. As he positioned himself, he slid one hand under her. Rositha arched up to help. As he entered her they both cried out.

She clung to him, her hands gripping his shoulders, clawing and grasping. If he hadn’t left his shirt on he knew Rositha would be leaving marks. He felt her tremor, felt her resistance as he pushed himself into her, moving inside her as far as he could.

Rositha’s eyes were firmly closed, her neck curved backwards, her hips arched upwards, pushing towards him, wanting him. Her mouth was open and she was moaning. Watching her in her passion, feeling her warmth pull at him, Larren panted as he held himself and moved out, then thrust firmly in again. Rositha pulled her knees up further. Larren continued with the same rhythm.

Larren shut his own eyes, still reaching for some sort of control. Feeling what he felt, seeing her lips apart, her need, her pleasure, that raw passion the sounds she was making it was all too much. Larren could feel his own release fast approaching, surging down upon him.

This is madness!

He felt like a teenager; he had no control. He was going to come. It was going to be a record … a two minute mile. He had no staying power at all, but he couldn’t prevent it, he couldn’t stop it … he just couldn’t.

When they came, they came together, a violent, triumphant release, each screaming the other’s name. There was such ecstasy, such completion, such a sense of rightness and joy.

This was where they both belonged. Like a symphony in concert. Right now.

In this place.

They lay together for a while as time seemed to stop. There was nothing more real or important to him than this moment, with the two of them together. Larren reluctantly pulled away and lay beside her. She was fit and strong, not a little woman, but he was a large, heavy man and he didn’t want to crush her. He breathed deeply, feeling languid, content and at peace. A few minutes later, Rositha mumbled something.

He turned to her. “What was that, honey? What did you say?”

Rositha looked toward him and smiled a satisfied, replete smile. Her blue eyes were dark and dilated. “I said, that was one.”

“One?” Larren questioned.

“Yes.”

Larren raised his eyebrows, and then drew her to him, pulling her against his shoulder. She nestled against him, resting her head on his chest. They both had their clothes on and their garments were hopelessly tangled, utterly disheveled, but who cared? Although he did feel a little silly with his trousers halfway down his thighs. Rositha’s long formal dress was pushed down to her waist from above, and up to her waist from below, leaving folds and folds of material in between.

Larren tried again. “That was one what, sweetheart? One orgasm?”

“Oh, no, that was more than one orgasm.” She chuckled. “I mean that was number one.” She lifted her head, to look at him, her chin on his chest. “There are one hundred and thirty six positions to go.”

In sudden understanding, Larren roared with laughter. He tightened his arms around her. Rositha shrieked and snorted and laughed with him. They laughed and giggled and rolled around with the silly fun of it.

“Let me see this dress,” he said. “Let me get it off you.” He leaned over to grab it and then stood up, pulling the dress off. “That’s better,” he said approvingly. He kicked off his trousers and unfastened his shirt. He tossed it away from the bed. He crawled back beside her, cuddling up again, skin to skin, breathing in the scent and sight of her. The room was warm, a comfortable temperature. There was no need for covers.

Rositha smiled a satisfied grin. “Just for the record,” she said, “That was amazing. Completely amazing. Absolutely worth waiting for. More than I could ever have imagined and let me assure you that over the years I have imagined many, many, things but never anything like that.”

“You are really something,” Larren said. “I am the luckiest man in the world. I can’t believe you want me. You could have anyone, absolutely anyone, but you want me.”

“Mental illness can’t be ruled out,” she quipped.

Larren smiled. “I’m head over heels in love with you.”

“I’ve loved you from the first time we met.”

They looked at each other, both feeling close, sharing an intimate accord. They rubbed faces, their cheeks against one another, pulling nearer, embracing. Time passed in silence. Nothing needed to be said. This physical communication was more than enough. In each other’s arms they were both content.

Eventually, in Rositha’s proximity, smelling her sweet female fragrance, touching her smooth, soft skin, Larren began to become aroused once more.

He said, “Want to play a game?”

Rositha gave him a wary smile. She raised her eyebrows. “Am I going to like it?”

“You are going to LOVE this game,” he assured her.

She sighed. It was a suspicious sigh. Larren saw her expression and his own grin broadened. Rositha was well aware that he was up to something.

She said, “Maybe I’ve played it before. How do you play?”

Larren shook his head. “You haven’t played before. It is a contest of skill, endurance and self-control. It’s a game we both can play at the same time. I try to make you lose control, and then you try to make me lose control. Sometimes we work on each other simultaneously. It’s fun. You’ll like it. The object is not to reach orgasm, for as long as humanly possible. You, being Miss I-can-resist-orgasm-and-I-orgasm-at-will,’ should have no trouble.”

Rositha smiled hugely, her seemingly endless teeth gleaming large and white in her firm, square jaw. She chuckled, and punched him playfully in the chest. “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you? It will be difficult to live down, I think. All you did was touch my breast and I came. How embarrassing.”

Larren became still. He said in a deep voice, “Seeing your reaction to me touching your breast is pretty damn well near the top of my list of Ten things that I have seen that I never want to forget.’ It was incredible.”

“Oh.” Her brows drew down while she considered this. “That’s all right, then.”

“It was pretty funny, however, especially after you had been boasting about your control.”

Rositha shook her head. “As I said, embarrassing.” Her face squinted with an irritation that wasn’t irritation at all. “And you won’t ever let me forget it.”

Larren smiled and kissed her fingers. “I am certainly not going to forget it. Never mind. You may get your own back when we play my game. You see, the idea is that it is important to get to the edge, to almost go over the edge, but not to actually have a release. No orgasms, not even little ones, until the end of the game.”

“How do you win?”

“We both almost get there, almost get there, for as long as possible. Then, when we have exhausted all control and are unable to prevent it, with a bit of luck we both let go and come together. However, generally someone will always lose control first.”

Rositha frowned again, considering. She smiled sheepishly. “I don’t think I will be very good at this game,” she allowed, worrying her lower lip.

Larren’s jaw was beginning to hurt from smiling, but he didn’t think anything short of an axe could stop his grin. He knew what Rositha was thinking. She’d had an orgasm after one simple touch. It had astonished and fascinated him. It would be totally okay with him if Rositha was absolutely lousy at this game. It would give him a good excuse for practice makes perfect.’ Then from the kindness of his heart and his generous nature, he could spend every possible moment helping her improve.

Larren cleared his throat, aware that he was ready, more than ready, to make love once more. “You just need some practice. If you, er, lose control, we’ll just start again. Besides, perhaps you will cause me to lose control first. It certainly could happen. I haven’t exactly demonstrated a vast amount of resistance up till now.”

Rositha’s eyes lit mischievously.

Ah. That thought obviously cheered her up, he thought. The High Temple Prefect was a position and responsibility available for only the best. No doubt Rositha was a competitive sort of girl who excelled at games and liked to win. Good. He liked winning, too. But by the Goddess she was beautiful in this soft light.

Rositha tilted her head and gave him a searching look. “Are there words or commands in this game?”

“Any and all words are allowed. However, the most common ones will be stop, stop, stop’ … eventually ending with don’t stop, don’t stop’.” He raised and lowered his eyebrows a couple of times playfully, making no attempt to conceal his devious grin.

“You have played this game before,” she accused.

“Oh yes, I have,” he agreed. “But not for a very, very long time, I assure you.”

“How does one lose in this crazy sexual contest of yours?”

“No losers. Everyone’s a winner,” he murmured, running his hand up her buttocks, her arm and then across her breast, stopping to play with a nipple. He knew she liked that. He liked that, too.

Rositha suddenly rolled on top of him, grabbing his wrists and holding them down against the bed.

“Ladies first,” she said determinedly. “Hands behind your head.” Larren did as she commanded, but he wondered what he was getting himself into. “Don’t move,” she said. Rositha’s eyes never left his as she licked her right hand, again and again, with long and languid strokes. She moistened it fully. Then she reached down and closed her fist over him.

“Good Lord!” Larren’s head jerked back and he breathed in with an audible gasp.

Rositha smiled as she moved her hand. Larren moaned, and his hips began to move. “Uh uh … hold still,” she said. He swallowed and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and then opened them to slits. His hands were laced together, gripping the back of his head. He could feel the tendons in his neck, taut as a bow. He wanted to touch her. Badly.

Wow. She is really good at this.

Larren swore. Rositha might be new to this game, but she had been paying attention. He knew that she had a naturally observant personality, combined with extensive training in the Sisterhood. Rositha noticed what made him react and what didn’t. No doubt she had mentally logged every gasp, every grimace, every twitch or evidence of tension. She had focused her formidable intellect on discovering specifically, exactly, the precise touches and movements that aroused him.

Suddenly Larren exclaimed, “Oh, Goddess. Stop. Stop. Stop!”

Rositha grinned with real satisfaction.

Larren took a deep breath and got himself under control. He shook his head and said, “You sure are a fast learner.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “As Prefect of the High Temple of Jana I am extremely well trained from an extensive and varied curriculum. Yet I assure you, Larren Forseth, I have never been more interested and absorbed. Nor have I enjoyed any study to this degree.

Larren’s eyes narrowed with competitive determination. He sat up suddenly and flipped her over. He lay between her legs, his head above her stomach. Rositha looked down at him and met his dark eyes with nervous trepidation.

It’s my turn, I think,” he said with a grin. He nibbled and kissed down her torso and along her hip. “I am going to give you a prophecy, my dear Prefect,” he said. “You and I, whatever time we have together will be perfect.” He stressed the last word as he moved lower. The night wore on. In the morning they were both pleased to imagine that Larren might well be considered a Seer.

For his prediction had been entirely accurate.

19. Anton and Dorian

The past, the present, and the future remains with us always. It is time that is the illusion.

J. Michael Reilly, The Testimonials

Sister Carrah executed a feint, performed an abrupt back flip, and struck.

Thud!

Her staff clouted the youth on the right side of his head. The young man’s eyes widened in pain and surprise. Gotcha. Carrah knew her smile was smug. Anton hadn’t expected that irregular flip and lunge.

Anton grunted and leapt backward, moving away to relative safety.

The sports hall in the Temple of Jana on Opan was empty except for the two fast-moving figures, each dressed in black, sleeveless, tight-fitting training outfits. The taller, white-skinned woman was combating the younger, brown-skinned boy. Both contestants were breathing rapidly in deep, controlled breaths. There was only the occasional loud knock of staff upon staff, or the squeak of footfalls on the dark wooden floor. The contest was fierce, with each combatant’s personal shield set on low. A strike would be felt, but could cause no more damage than a bruise.

Anton’s brows drew down and his green eyes narrowed as he rubbed his ear. Sister Carrah giggled. It was obvious that her strike really hurt.

Anton stopped massaging his ear. His face returned to the usual bland expression that was so difficult for others to read. All except Carrah. In the whole wide universe only Carrah really knew Anton.

Carrah tried to hide her grin. The blow had been an underhanded trick, but all was fair in stave fighting. Her heart swelled with affection. Anton was vulnerable and quiet. He worked hard to be strong, in spite of his childhood experiences. His courage made her stronger.

She needed him like crops need rain. Carrah knew no logical explanation why.

Their eyes met. While Anton’s face was expressionless his eyes still showed hurt and something else. What was that emotion? She could usually read him so well. Confusion? Fear? Perhaps he had taken her technically illegal move and resultant strike personally.

She said, “I’m sorry, Anton. Shall we put the shield strength up? It was your idea to lower it.”

He breathed out abruptly as if he had been holding his breath ever since she had scored a hit. His short quick smile was warm. “Yes. I have suddenly realized that I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her brows rose in surprise. That was quite a long sentence coming from him. “As if you could,” she challenged.

He gave her that direct, grave gaze that she knew so well and said, “I don’t want to hold back just because I fear causing you pain. I think I may have been unconsciously doing just that.”

Carrah’s face softened. “That is so sweet!” She was five years Anton’s senior. Her face was elfin, her hair brown and tinged with flecks of red, her skin transparent cream. Her eyes were light brown, and there was a sprinkling of freckles on her face. Slim and delicate, Carrah appeared helpless. This outward manifestation was deceptive. Like all trained Temple Sisters she was a master at physical combat.

Anton, his long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, scowled at her show of sentiment. He increased the shield strength and then put his hands up, raising his staff in the traditional, “Prepare to fight” stance.

Carrah offered, “Want me to show you how I did that?”

He nodded and she raised her arms. The battle continued. A few standard advances and lunges began, her staff over his, his over hers. A thrust from him, a back step by her, then a loud jarring bang as she blocked. Carrah struck him once more, this time with a thrust to the gut.

Carrah panted, “You’re left-handed, so your staff should be slightly higher on the left. You should have been prepared to parry that one, Anton.”

“True,” he admitted.

Carrah grinned. Anton didn’t argue. He agreed, or he said nothing. She really liked that about him.

They began again, with an increased tempo, each fiercely attempting to strike the other, lunging, jumping, and thrusting. Sweat began to freely run off each of them. Anton’s staff slid and Carrah observed that his grip was loose from the perspiration on his hands. After two quick step lunges, Carrach almost made flesh contact, but Anton back flipped, escaping just in time.

The flip was sloppy. Carrah knew that Anton was physically exhausted. She also was well aware that he wasn’t ready to give in. Could he go on? Did he have one more good move in him?

Executing a roll and upward thrust, Anton slipped. It was an awkward blunder and left him vulnerable. Carrah was merciless. Seeing an opening, she immediately lunged for him, aiming for a coup-de-grace to the sternum. Anton’s staff slid under her guard and knocked her left knee. This put her off center she moved to compensate, her attention on maintaining her stability.

It didn’t help.

Anton continued the roll, leaped up, and took the opportunity to strike her squarely on the forehead.

Bang!

There was preparation, intention and knowledge in that hit.

Unbalanced, Carrah sat down suddenly, landing on her backside and looking rather undignified. She was startled and knew her surprise showed. She laughed out loud. “Good trick, Anton. Excellent work.”

He was breathing hard, but grinning. He gave a jaunty salute and bow. After a few moments respite he reached toward her, holding out his hand. This in itself was a miraculous event. Anton never touched anyone.

Carrah took his hand and was drawn up off the floor. She was a head taller. “Where did you come up with that move?” she asked.

His eyes rolled as he replied, “Dorian.” Anton’s expression and voice didn’t need to add the “of course.” For who else would be so underhanded?

Their eyes met, and they both grinned smiles of absolute understanding. Anton’s identical twin, Dorian, always won. If necessary he lied, swindled, tricked or cheated. When it came to fighting, Dorian was not burdened with any sense of honor.

Carrah reached over and ruffled the hair on the top of Anton’s head. Anton’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. Her condescending ruffle, like a mother to her child, did not disturb him in the slightest. Carrah knew Anton touched no one, and allowed no one to touch him. She was privileged but she used this tribute infrequently. She knew that Anton understood the pleasant familiarity. While Carrah took extreme care, only allowing herself an occasional touch, she also knew that Anton would tolerate almost anything from her.

Anton’s trust filled her with awe. She wouldn’t let him down. This vulnerable young man had been betrayed too many times in his short life. He put his faith in no one, not even his twin perhaps especially not his twin. Carrah was the only one.

Carrah studied the intricate tattoo on Anton’s left bicep. When Anton and Dorian had both reacted to the blue Damithst and the Trueborn ordered that they would become the first of a new Temple order, the question became where should the stone be placed?

Neither boy would accept a jewel in the nostril like the Temple Sisters wore. Dorian, hero worshipping Ash, asserted that he would rather have something that was reminiscent of the Delian King’s Mirror, the famous talisman of Ash’s world. Eventually a design was created, an intricate Gaelic design, an ancient Irish warrior’s tattoo. The stones were placed in the setting, directly into the skin. The outcome was quite beautiful, and the jewels were safely hidden. They looked like part of the ink design.

Carrah ran her fingers over Anton’s tattoo. “I really like the way this came out.”

Anton didn’t smile but neither did he flinch at her contact. He nodded.

Carrah’s lips curved at his non-verbal reply. How she loved this young boy, this silent man-child that had become such a good friend. She loved Anton like a brother. She shut her eyes briefly. The pain of losing her only sibling, her own brother, once all consuming, had dulled. She could think of him now with joy. Dwanne. Dwanne would have loved Anton even as she did.

“I think we’d better head to the showers.”

He agreed with an infinitesimal tilt of his head and they walked beside each other toward the weapons room to return the staves.

Carrah remembered the first time Anton had accidently touched her, skin to skin; the electric shock she had felt. She had simply glanced at him in surprise, pulling her hand back, saying nothing. Carrah realized that Anton had a healing touch, but she was instinctively aware that Anton didn’t want to talk about it. She respected that. But with that one touch she learned he was different, utterly different from everyone else.

Nothing was ever said. But she accepted him. Not because the Trueborn ordered it, not because it was a duty, or because it was the right thing to do. She simply accepted Anton because he was Anton and that was that.

The weapons room was huge, with low ceilings. Rows of armaments were hung on its walls, within easy reach, crossbows, swords, sabers, knives, staves, all kinds including ancient and classical. The chamber was fortified with screamer tags preventing unauthorized access. Every weapon lay safely behind an invisible membrane to prevent damage as well as being a further formidable deterrent to theft. They were alone as they usually were in the early mornings. Combat classes were mostly held afternoon and evening.

Anton cleared his throat. “Carrah … can we talk?”

“Of course.” She swallowed, her chest suddenly tight. Anton wants to talk? They never talked. It must be important. For the love of the Goddess, she prayed. Let me not screw this up.

They sat beside each other on a comfortable couch, near enough to touch, but there was no contact. Anton said, “I know the Trueborn sent you to me.”

“Yes, that is correct.” She concentrated on making her face as expressionless as possible.

When Carrah was given the duty of befriending Anton, she promised herself that she would always tell the truth. Anton and his twin brother Dorian were orphaned and had been used as sexual toys for months. The Trueborn, who also had suffered from sexual abuse as a child, knew the results of such trauma. With adolescence comes sexual desire. The Trueborn knew guilt would come then too, and a deeper awareness of what had been done to them. More importantly, the twins would flash back and revisit the choices they made what they did because of such abuse. The Trueborn knew the boys would feel unclean and immoral. They would lose self worth. He wanted them to have real friends to talk to when these feelings surfaced, as they surely would.

“I’m glad he did,” Anton said.

Carrah’s eyes stung as the tightness in her chest loosened. This was Anton. Whatever he wanted to talk about, it would be all right. “I’m glad too. You know how important you are to me.”

Anton nodded. He showed no emotion except for the glint in his eyes.

Carrah smiled. He felt it too. This connection, this vital friendship they had. Anton spoke little. A long moment of silence passed. Carrah waited. Anton needed to reflect. Anton always thought of what he intended to say before he opened his mouth.

“It comes to me that I need to talk to someone. I … um … I’m a little … confused.”

Carrah laughed, lightening the moment. “You’re thirteen, Anton, a teenager. All teenagers are confused.”

“Oh.” He remained quiet for some time.

“Anton, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cut you off. You know me. I have the highest opinion of you. There is nothing you could say that would lessen my regard. Tell me what is bothering you. I swear I will tell no one. I can keep a secret, as you well know.” The truth about Anton’s strange healing power stood between them. Carrah was waiting patiently for him to broach the subject.

He took a deep breath and began to explain. Carrah had already surmised most of the particulars of his sexual abuse through deduction. He had been a child at the whim of pedophiles. No big surprises there. Anton chose to purge himself, to go over each recalled detail graphically in a quiet, steady voice. His expression hardly altered throughout. What most astonished Carrah was his calm. Anton rarely showed emotion, and this was no exception. He reported details in an even, measured tone, as if he were reading from an accountant’s report or he was a spectator to events.

When he was done, Carrah asked, “Why do you tell me this now? You don’t sound confused, Anton. You sound to me as though you have thought this over at great length. Your honesty makes me want to cry, but not with sadness. I can tell you hid nothing, neither what was done to you nor what you did. You have such courage. I couldn’t be more proud.”

Anton nodded, acknowledging her compliments, but then he frowned. “Here’s the thing. I just can’t figure it out. Many of the men were kind, as you can imagine.” He chuckled oddly. “If you can call it that. I wonder, is that what draws me? You see, even though as a child I was raped by men and detested it, even though I felt sick, tainted and disturbed by being forced into sex and absolutely hated it I am still attracted to men. Am I damaged? Is there something wrong? Will counseling fix it?

Carrah sighed in relief. “Oh, this is an easy question to answer, Anton. You wonder about your sexual preferences? This is not uncommon. Tell me, you pleasure yourself, yes?”

Anton didn’t flinch. Within the Temple of Jana environment, sex was as common and comfortable a topic as art, eating, stylish personal appearance, artistic design or learning. He nodded and said simply, “Yes.”

“Now, answer me this. When you masturbate, who do you imagine touching and being touched by? No names if you please just man or woman.”

“A man,” Anton answered and colored faintly, the strongest reaction Carrah had seen since they began this conversation. For an instant her curiosity stirred. Hmm. How interesting. Is there a specific someone that Anton pines for? If so, I wonder who he is?

Anton added, “But I figured that was just because of my past … because I’m screwed up.”

“You don’t ever sexually stimulate yourself while imagining a woman?”

“Never.”

Carrah smiled. If only all her students answered with such brief, honest precision. “Okay. Now try to recall the first vid you saw as a child, one with real people in it rather than cartoons. Preferably one that featured both a man and a woman, perhaps working together or in a relationship.”

Anton thought about it. “Sure. That show called The Protectors.’ Remember that one? There was a team of scientists going to other worlds and repairing the damage done during the Hundred Year War.”

“Yes,” Carrah said, “I remember. Janic, tall and handsome, and Marta, the young woman who was still in love with her missing, presumed dead, fiancé. Those were the main heroes and they kind of had a thing for each other as I recall. Now think back. Who did you look at when you watched these vids? Who attracted you most? Who was your attention on at the time?”

“Janic.”

“Always? Not at any point did you focus on Marta?”

“Always Janic.”

“Ah. Excellent.” She clapped her hands. “Well, it is all too clear, my friend. You prefer men. That is who you are. You may learn perhaps how to enjoy a woman sexually, but I suspect for that to really be satisfying another man may have to be there with you both. You could love a woman, of course.” Their eyes met and the unspoken, but well-understood truth passed between them: just like you love me. “But you could not be a true sexual partner to any woman, Anton. See how easy that is? You were born the way you are and there is absolutely nothing wrong with you. Trust me. I’m a Temple Sister, and I know about these things.” She gave him a large carefree smile, which instantly Anton matched.

“Is there anything else?” Carrah said. “We can continue this or any other discussion you like. You know I am here for you.”

Anton shook his head. “There is more, yes. Much more. Like a large stone thrown into the center of a pond, I now recognize that there are ripples of reactions that stem from that initial childhood source. Are my actions my own? Inherent within me? Freely chosen? Or are they simply a reaction, the result of such rocks and such ripples? I will need to examine each wave, each flow or current, to view the decisions and choices I have made because of …” His gave a pensive frown and cleared his throat.

” … because of a rather large number of carelessly thrown rocks.” Anton smiled his shy, tentative smile. “But you have given me quite enough to think about for now. I thank you.”

Carrah stared at him. She was utterly shocked. She couldn’t help it, she snorted, giggled, and then laughed out loud. The laughter kept coming, it bubbled out of her. She held her stomach and could not stop.

Anton grinned at her antics with raised eyebrows, but Carrah’s laughter was contagious and he began to laugh, too.

They both fell together on the couch, rolling and holding their stomachs and laughing till spent, pointing and giggling. When their mirth settled, Anton looked at her quizzically, silently demanding an explanation.

She said, “Anton, I have heard more words from you this day than I have in the entire time I have known you.” She stood up and regarded him with a contemplative frown and curious eyes. “It is said one can never tell from the child seed what the pattern and promise of the grown man might be. The frivolously irresponsible youth becomes introspective and works for justice. The shy and reticent child becomes a famous live entertainer. So you know, Anton, I begin to speculate. Do you think your destiny may be to become a renowned orator?”

After the two friends left the training area, Anton’s identical twin Dorian raised his head. Intently looking and listening, he found no one around. Dorian moved out from behind his hiding place, a container holding spears.

My brother Anton is a homo. Disgusting. The idea of sex with men, something that had been forced upon Dorian as a child, sickened him. Yet such also drew him, utterly against his will. Dorian used the toilet facilities alone. He never ever used a urinal near another man. The need to see the other man, combined with the desire to not see the other man, drove him mad. It was as if being made to look all those years ago gave him two opposing compulsions: He must look; he must not look. He should. He shouldn’t. Ugh. A familiar black rage welled inside, a deep endless pool of hate. Dorian ruthlessly pushed it back. For a moment he stopped and put his hands to his head. He took a deep breath. It is in the past. It cannot harm me. I escaped. Ash saved me.

The thought of Ash cheered him and his mental turmoil fled. Ash would return soon. Dorian would feel … well, while not quite right with him near, but he would at least feel much safer.

The world is a dangerous place.

Dorian walked through the hall, climbed up on a bench, and took down the tiny camouflaged Ispy device that he had placed earlier. He would like to leave it here, but the Sisters regularly checked for such contrivances throughout the Temple and he didn’t want it to be discovered. Dorian grinned. No one will catch me. I am too smart for them. His collection was growing.

All his Ispys were synced to his own Icom.

I don’t trust anyone. Dorian frowned. Well, maybe he trusted Ash. As long as Dorian knew everything about everyone else, he felt secure.

He pocketed the device and left the area whistling.

20. Lady Lindha Meets the Snake

How is wisdom learned? First by clear observation and contemplation, which is worthiest; second, by observation and imitation, which is easiest; and third by heedless experience, which is bitterest.

Sister Guilha, The Testimonials

Neopol stood near the top of an icy cold mountain beside the speeder, gazing down upon the wreck that was RDS Assurance.

At last.

Neopol wasn’t alone. The Vice Regal waited beside him, focusing the scanner. He also was looking below to the small protrusion, the glint of light that gleamed from below, an object that didn’t belong amongst the trees and rock, something constructed by human hands.

Neopol swelled with triumph. The brilliant green atmosphere of the unique planet of Opan might ordinarily have interested him, but not today. The light green summer sky was dotted with a few dark clouds that seemed to be increasing, threatening rain. The early morning air at this altitude was freezing, and would remain so even during Opan’s warmest days. The temperature produced strange effects on the colors near the surface, bending them toward red and away from green. His breath left small patches of steamy pinkish fog. Neopol didn’t notice the cold. He wouldn’t mind rain. Let it thunder and storm. Now that he knew the location of Assurance nothing bothered him.

Finally. He found it. Sensors showed a hundred-percent probability that this unique metallic composite really was Assurance. For weeks now his men had traversed the planet, searching beneath its oceans as well as above. A full-scale planetary search could have taken months. They were lucky to detect it so soon. Neopol’s pulse sped with the thrill of discovery.

“It is definitely Assurance,” said Opan’s Vice Regal Huka.

“Of course it is,” Neopol replied in a sharp voice. He didn’t want to be disturbed in this moment of victory. Conqueror’s state-of-the-art equipment had already confirmed it. Forensic techs were already en route by shuttle to take Assurance apart, to find evidence of occupants, survivors or deaths. He gave a satisfied smile. Even Huka couldn’t interrupt this pleasure. He gazed fondly at the wreck.

Neopol had persisted for five long years and it had, at long last, paid off. High Command had almost given up locating Assurance, but not he. He would be rewarded for this. Perhaps the Testimonials and Delian Talisman would be there, too. And when he found the Lady Sartha and Forseth he would obtain more than just a promotion.

Like Lord Andros, he would live forever. He fingered his bracelet that held his valuable data disk. Everything he knew about Andros was there. He sighed and let his mind wander, examining future prospects pleasantly.

Vice Regal Huka stood slightly behind him. Neopol knew the man was keeping silent. The fellow had numerous ingrained survival mechanisms that all had one common denominator: He made a point not to attract the attention of his superiors. He was the type Neopol classified as “The Hider.” Acutely aware of anyone who may be a threat, Hiders were always cowards and often bullies. Hiders provided extremely poor sport, even intelligent ones like Huka, as they were so easy to break.

Neopol smiled, momentarily diverted, his gaze measuring the man. It would take less than an hour. Pathetic. Neopol rubbed his hands together and said, “Shall we go down?”

“If you think so, sir.”

Neopol frowned. Pitiful. If Neopol chose to stay up on this icy, wind-swept mountain all day, he knew the Vice Regal would oblige him. The man didn’t have the courage to voice his opinion to a powerful superior.

Ah, yes, Huka would amuse, but only for minutes. Hardly worth the effort.

Neopol watched the man from his peripheral vision. He remembered when he and Huka had first met. His mind went back to that time.

“Ah, Vice Regal Huka, I presume?” Neopol inquired, having been rushed to his chambers by a most solicitous aide.

“A pleasure to meet you, Admiral Neopol,” Huka said in a deep, confident voice. He strode around his large, ornate desk to shake Neopol’s hand. “I am at your service.” Huka was a thickset man, with broad shoulders, a handsome, sculpted face, and perfectly styled dark brown hair. Neopol noticed that the man had carefully manicured nails, as Neopol himself did. He would be considered attractive to women yet to Neopol’s sharply attuned observation there was a weakness in the man’s expression. He knew the look of the “Hider” and associated it with the three Cs: clever, cunning, and lacking courage.

“I’m pleased to hear that.”

The Vice Regal nodded to his aide, who left the room. While Neopol watched he activated a quanta device that prevented them from being overheard and temporarily blocked Icom. No invention known could penetrate that secret, silent interference.

Huka gestured to Neopol politely. “Would you care to sit down, sir? I have coffee, and finger foods here for you. Let me pour you a cup.”

Neopol sat. He didn’t touch the coffee. He knew that his entire personality, if not his entire body, filled the room. Neopol watched closely. It was clear that Huka felt squeezed, suddenly almost unable to breathe. The man was afraid. Neopol had that effect on people, and always enjoyed the taste of another’s terror.

Unsuccessfully attempting to feign a natural expression, Huka asked politely, “Have you orders from High Command, sir?”

Neopol’s eyes narrowed and he nodded. “I do.” Huka began to sweat while he waited. So amusing. Yet so predictable. Neopol stood up and put his hands on the Vice Regal’s desk, gazing down at him. He positively towered.

Unable to meet the Admiral’s steady regard, Huka looked away. “I’ve been following every order from HC exactly,” he said. “The population is afraid of offworlders and there has been no offworld travel from Opan. There is only the most basic of interplanetary trade, and I cannot prevent that.”

Neopol hid an inner smile. Huka was instinctively defending himself, even before there was any attack. “The commercial traders will be well in hand soon,” Neopol said, the tone of his voice settling the matter. Neopol began to pace. He knew the Vice Regal was apprehensive. Guilty of many unknown trespasses, no doubt. It might be interesting to discover them. “So. Why are the taxes you have been forwarding to the UWG so low?” he asked innocently. He was playing with him. It was like attacking an unarmed opponent with a sword, cutting him up, piece by piece.

“It has been a poor year.” Huka said. “I have sent all I have.” He stood up. “If it isn’t enough I’ll raise taxes,” he said with resolve, as if the same old solutions would solve all his problems and buy his escape.

Neopol laughed. “Really? When you have already raised them twice in the last year? You have been spending government credit for your own personal advantage.”

“No.” Huka said. “I can explain.”

Huka squirmed under his steady regard. Neopol could see that he had hit his mark and lost interest. This man is like so many others. Neopol felt something he often experienced, a dreary, empty emotion boredom. What he would give for an opponent with skills comparable to his own. Was the entire human race predictable?

Huka was placed as Vice Regal of Opan through the careful machinations of HC and the complete ignorance of the UWG Council. Not every planet in the United Freeworlds had a puppet as Vice Regal but that would come in time. Many, however, had already been set up to rule by High Command. In Neopol’s experience, HC chose highly intelligent yet self-absorbed fools, those with enormous appetites for expensive habits: sexual perversions, addictive drugs, or other vices. The type that was easy to control. This man Huka was no different and therefore no challenge. It would be simple to manipulate him; there was no need to break him. He was already broken.

“Never mind, Huka,” Neopol soothed, sitting down and taking the small cup in his large hand. “I am well aware of what you have been doing, but don’t worry. I have no desire to report you,” he said, lying with practiced ease.

Huka opened his mouth to reply … but no sound emerged.

Neopol laughed loudly, breaking the spell. “Huka, the Vice Regal. The Regal with all the Vices.” The play on words amused him. He continued to laugh.

Huka began to laugh as well, displaying what appeared to be a wash of hysterical relief. Neopol stared at him sternly. Huka was instantly quiet. “In exchange for my silence, you will assist me with all my plans.”

“Anything. Whatever you want. I swear it.”

“Sir?” Huka asked, interrupting Neopol’s thoughts and returning him to the present.

“What is it?” Neopol demanded. His anger flared. It was so irritating to keep company with a man whose only concern was pleasure, the kind obtained from the most basic of animal needs.

“Sir, it’s just that there appear to be people down there. At the wreck, I mean.”

“Let me see,” he said, grabbing Huka’s distance viewers. It was too good to be true. Could it be the Lady Sartha? He peered through the lenses. It appeared to be a woman, a blonde, with a young man. Lady Sartha and Prince Ash? Perhaps the rumors of the Prince’s death had been just that, rumors.

Neopol ran to the speeder. “Quickly, get in. We must get down there. Take out your weapon and set it to stun.” Within moments their craft landed in front of Assurance. The power from the speeder’s small generator had not even been switched off before Neopol jumped out.

A woman appeared. She walked with tranquil grace from the side of the ship, her expression curious. She came toward them. A young man gazed out, standing at the open portal.

Neopol stopped before her, weapon drawn. “And what might you be doing here, young woman?” he asked. She appeared too young to be the Lady Sartha. The boy however, seemed the right age. The unknown woman stood tall and straight, expression calm, eyes defiant. Neopol tilted his head.

The woman replied, “I may very well be asking you the same question, sir.”

Neopol laughed out loud, enjoying her veiled hostility.

Vice Regal Huka stepped out of the now-silent speeder, his weapon also drawn.

“Why, Vice Regal Huka,” the woman exclaimed. “This is an honor.” She bowed gracefully in the formal style. “I am the Lady Lindha. We have met before at several functions. I am the Prefect of the High Temple of Jana. This is one of our students, Deson. Tell me, sir: Do you feel your weapon is really necessary?”

Huka walked toward her, stopping out of reach. “It depends,” he answered, looking toward Neopol for instruction. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just asking this gentlemen,” her arm gestured toward Neopol, “that same question.” Lindha’s eyebrows rose.

Neopol studied her. The Lady Lindha was not easily intimidated. His scientific interest engaged, he wondered what motivated her. She was strong and intelligent. What would break a woman like her? His groin stirred and he warmed with a sudden flash of lust. Somehow he thought this woman might actually be a challenge. For a moment he imagined her under his control, beneath the probe. The image excited him.

The Lady Lindha continued, “One of our Sisters reported the possibility of a ship here. She’d had a vision from the Goddess. We came to investigate.”

Neopol’s eyes narrowed. The woman was lying. He was sure of it.

“You didn’t notify the proper authorities?” Huka said.

Lindha smiled. “Of course not.” She bent toward him and said conspiratorially, “We were concerned with finder’s fees, as you can well imagine. The Temple must sustain itself, for Jana’s sakes. It seems that there was something worth finding in this ship after all.” She removed the Testimonials from where they had been concealed in her gown and passed them over to Huka.

Huka and Neopol’s eyes brightened. Neopol put his weapon back in his holster. Huka, taking his cue from Neopol did the same, and grasped the volume with both hands.

“Thank you, gentlemen.” She turned slightly back toward Assurance. “You can come out now, Sister.” A Temple Sister came out of the wreck, holding a weapon trained directly on Huka and Neopol. It was not a stunner, it was a disrupter, much more dangerous and debilitating.

“That won’t be necessary, Sister Guinbritha,” Lindha smiled. “These men are not bandits.”

Sister Guinbritha, with the professional proficiency that could only be obtained through years of practice, spun the weapon away. Faster than the naked eye was able to register it disappeared, safely hidden in a fold in her gown.

Neopol laughed out loud with surprise and appreciation. Undoubtedly this woman had been concealed in Assurance, alertly watching with her weapon aimed and ready. If they had shown any sign of actual aggression he and Huka would lay wounded or quite probably dead right now. He admired the strategy. The Lady Lindha was keen, alert and intelligent. It was an interesting change from the obtuse commoners he was usually burdened with.

“It appears that the Sisters of Jana are well able to protect themselves,” he murmured.

Lindha inclined her head, accepting the compliment. “Basic weapon training and combat strategy are part of our teachings. The students of the Temple of Jana are well versed in many different arts.”

“So I see,” Neopol said, looking her up and down as if sizing up an adversary.

Huka, following standing orders from his superior, introduced him as Neopol but didn’t give his full name, his title or his rank. Neopol dressed in civilian clothes, hiding his actual status. In fact he shouldn’t have even met these Temple Sisters. Standing orders from Andros instructed him to stay out of the limelight. With his various clandestine activities it made things simpler in the long run. He also kept his name and details off Icom.

Neopol pursed his lips. Could the boy Deson be the Delian Prince? He didn’t look like his holo, but he could have had sculpting. Somehow he doubted it. Lady Lindha had passed over the Testimonials easily enough. Still, there was something she was hiding or perhaps someone. Neopol’s stomach warmed at the thought. Had she given up the Testimonials in order to protect an even greater prize?

“Well, my friends,” Neopol said, “you have saved us the trouble of locating the Testimonials. I am a UWG consultant, sent to help find Assurance. Did you happen to discover the Delian Talisman anywhere in there?”

Lindha said, “I am sorry to inform you, but there is nothing else of value in this vessel.” She held her arm out. “See for yourself.”

“No need. But this is rather an auspicious meeting, Vice Regal Huka.” Neopol turned toward him with a genial nod. “Don’t you as Vice Regal feel that you should make a presentation of the finder’s fees? Indeed, you may even benefit from a short stay at the Temple. I’m certain that the UWG council would be interested to learn more concerning the training our good Sisters provide. After your visit you could send them a report.” Let the little liar go for now. Huka can monitor her. I want to see where she might lead us.

“Yes,” Huka agreed, immediately concurring with Neopol’s suggestion. His deep voice was loaded with political charm, “Sister, would it be presumptuous of me to request a tour of your Temple? Perhaps, if it is not too great an inconvenience, I could stay for a short period?”

“We would be honored, Vice-Regal,” Lindha replied. “My Sisters and I would be pleased to attend you. We have suitable accommodation to meet your needs.”

“I am sure my visit will be to the benefit the Temple of Jana,” Huka said.

Lindha inclined her head. “Of course.”

So it was arranged. Neopol and Huka left in their speeder, taking the golden volume with them.

The Lady Lindha watched the speeder until it was out of sight.

Oh, Ash, Lindha thought with remorse. She could not have hidden the Testimonials from these men without great danger to them all. Now they were forever out of his reach.

Huka, the Vice Regal, was transparent. A consummate politician, practiced and charismatic, he was also an unrestrained hedonist. And now they would have to accommodate and entertain him at the Temple. Yech! But Neopol he was a threat to the Sisterhood.

A thrill of fear went through her as she recalled the man’s expression.

Neopol is dangerous.

Who was he? And why had he come? Lindha didn’t believe he was a consultant.

She initiated an Icom search, finding nothing. She needed a more complete name. Lindha frowned, irritated with herself. So stupid not to have learned more. Her eyes narrowed in concentration. The name was somehow familiar. She flagged an urgent Icom message to Sister Jeeha to get her channels of information on to it immediately.

Deson came up beside her and said, “So that was Opan’s Vice Regent.”

She sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

Deson hesitated. Lindha knew he wanted to ask more, but could recognize her subtle physical signs; she didn’t want to talk about it. He said, “Anything else, lady?”

Lindha looked up at the tall young man. “You have full Icom vid and documentation? Both inside and out?”

“As you so ordered.” He smiled. “I’m good at that.”

“That is one of the reasons I brought you, Deson, as you well know. That and your size.” She contemplated him with an appreciative grin. He wasn’t just tall; he was thickset and strong.

Deson grinned back.

Lindha saw Guinbritha prowling the perimeter. A most excellent Sister. Security was a forte of hers. Lindha noticed the weather was beginning to look ominous. Clouds had been building, dark against the summer green sky. It was going to rain, and soon. She alerted Guinbritha via Icom that they would leave in five minutes. Guinbritha acknowledged instantly.

She said, “Pack up our things, Deson, if you please. We’re returning to the Temple.” The young man trotted off.

Lindha studied Assurance. The great vessel was covered by blue and green creepers. Poor Deson had worked for over an hour just clearing enough off to recognize her. In all these years this proud Lady had been well hidden, lodged in a crevice of rock. Once she had been beautiful. Lindha knew that Ash had a soft spot in his heart for the stately vessel.

Oh, Ash! Foremost in her mind was the loss of the Testimonials. Ash was a Trueborn of Delian. The people of Delian had been given a great gift, and like all such gifts it was balanced by a flaw. Passionate and powerful, Delians could be heavily influenced by the Dark Sankomin. No Delian could avoid madness without mind-touch to heal.

The histories spoke of that dark time in their past. Mass suicides, war and sudden homicidal violence were frequent occurrences before mind-touch. It was why the Testimonials and the Interpretations were so important for every Delian to understand.

Ash had learned the Testimonial’s verbatim, but he and his mother had crash landed on Opan before he was able to read the Interpretations. His Trueborn training had never been completed. Lindha knew how much Ash wanted to read the Interpretations. They were supposed to explain the Testimonials, which were written in a cryptic, irritating style. They consisted of later works, studies and information concerning the Dark Sankomin.

Ash was going to be so disappointed to have lost them again.

She helped Deson prepare to depart, helping pack their speeder. Guinbritha remained on guard, watching over them.

For a moment Lindha’s mind flashed back to Neopol, conjuring a mental image of how he had looked at her. As though she were an adversary? Or more like something in a petri dish? What had the man been thinking? She considered his expression. Lindha could have sworn that he was sexually aroused. She shivered. Powerful. Intelligent. Neopol was clearly a dangerous man. But what was his part in this? He obviously held a tight leash on the most senior political personage on Opan, Vice Regal Huka.

Neopol. Even his name sent a thrill of fear through her. Why?

A low grumble of thunder moved through the air. The sound reverberated off the cliffs. Lindha felt the electric strength of it, the thick feel of moisture in the air. She began to hurry. They had to get to safety.

Beyond that thunder was the promise of a storm.

21. Lindha’s Plan

Even the most carefully prepared plan, with a little assistance, may yet go wrong.

The Book of Taro the Deceiver

“I am not interested in what you think,” Admiral Neopol pounded the desk, making the Scotch and ice in his crystal glass shake. He leaned forward in his chair, staring at Vice Regal Huka. “You don’t think and that is the point.” His voice dripped with contempt.

Vice Regal Huka hunched under the weight of Neopol’s murderous glare.

Neopol stood and began to pace. A Shun Tu symphony played in the background, one of the classic pieces. The music soothed him. “Listen to me carefully, Huka,” Neopol said, enunciating each word. “The Prefect is hiding something and I want to know what it is.”

As he paced, Neopol calmed from a heated boil to a simmer. He sighed. So difficult having to work with inferior tools. Huka was cunning and certainly bright enough, but he was outclassed when pitted against those Temple Sisters. Neopol smiled grimly. If only he could go down there. He would enjoy matching wits against those women, particularly the Lady Lindha.

Neopol stopped at his desk, picked up his glass and downed his Scotch. The burdens I suffer. There was none comparable to him, no one except for his direct superior, Lord Jon Andros. Andros, brilliant in his own right, had lived centuries. He had more than enough time to perfect his abilities. No one knew the truth about Andros’s long life, no one except Neopol.

I plan to live forever, too.

But he would have to earn it. Neopol turned to gaze out the viewing portal. He was on Conqueror, in orbit above Opan. Bright pricks of light, grouped around the cities as the dark of night approached. The southern hemisphere was experiencing winter, and in winter the atmosphere was red. The northern hemisphere was enjoying summer, and the warm summer atmosphere was green, except for the far north red zone. The distinctive planet hung like a Christmas ornament in space, the colorful ball half red and half green. He shook his head. The unique view diverted him only momentarily. He shut his eyes and let the melody and the rhythm of Shun Tu sweep him into abstraction.

Vice Regal Huka had spent three futile days at the Temple, overhearing conversations, investigating their operations, and searching for people fitting the descriptions of Forseth and the Lady Sartha. During that entire time he discovered nothing irregular. The man was a narcissistic fool, but he knew his job. Huka’s cunning should have uncovered something by now. Why did Lady Lindha need a pass to visit the offworld segregation area? How did she know where to locate Assurance? On that isolated mountain the ship had managed to remain undiscovered for years. He didn’t for a moment believe that claptrap about a “vision.”

Huka said, “I tell you, sir. The only unusual thing I can find is the fact that they are planning a celebration to honor the coming of the Trueborn. I’ve never heard of this apparently annual celebration in any Temple of Jana.”

“One unusual celebration? After three days’ search? That’s all you can find out of the ordinary?” Neopol swore under his breath and scowled. Huka was a trained operative, well versed in the techniques of infiltration and espionage. It seemed that the Sisters of Jana covered their tracks exceptionally well.

“Huka.” Neopol stopped in front of the man, regarding him with an ominous glare. “I need more information. You must find it. Get the Lady Lindha to trust you charm her. Use your position to become intimate with her. Worlds know you don’t usually have any trouble in that area.”

“But, sir,” Huka said. “The Prefect is under strict vows of chastity.”

“Then break them. I don’t care how you do it just find out more.” He gave him an intent expression. “If you fail in this Huka, I will have to take care of it myself. That would not be to your advantage.” As his own benefit was Huka’s prime motivation, these words might further inspire him.

“Yes, sir.” Huka stood and gave Neopol a courtly bow. “You can count on me, sir,” he said and hurried off.

Neopol ran his hand through his hair. If only he could take care of this himself. What chance did Huka have? When the Temple Prefect’s mind was sharper than a well-honed blade? He needed a back-up plan.

Neopol reviewed his orders. They were patently clear. He must maintain a low profile no incidents. But if Huka failed there would be no choice. Neopol would be forced to pick the woman up and get the truth out of her. His blood quickened with the thought. Dr Joel Slater as a subject had been entertaining and intelligent, but effortless to break. It was such a long time since he had come up against anyone really challenging.

He shook his head. Kidnapping the Prefect of one of the most powerful organizations in the United Freeworlds was too risky. That option should be a last resort. Yet he had found Assurance and recovered the Testimonials; that gave him some degree of impunity. It was worth almost any risk or price to capture Forseth and the Lady Sartha.

Neopol smiled, imagining the report he would send to Andros. Maybe he could justify getting his hands on the Lady Lindha after all.

Lady Lindha sat in a small meditation room waiting. So beautiful, she thought. It is no hardship to wait in this room. The chamber’s main feature was a stained glass window of elaborate design created with square, circular and diamond shapes, exploding outward. Titled “Exodus,” the artwork represented the “Age of Expansion,” when humankind spread outward from Earth. It was unique and striking, yet so loosely depicted that it could represent almost anything. The glass was mainly in greens and reds, Opan sky colors.

The sun shone through, creating natural warmth. Lindha heard the sound of a gardener snipping a hedge. It was a regular, comforting sound. The sun’s rays, the clipping and the scent of jasmine incense left by the previous occupant helped her maintain her calm.

Lady Jeeha entered and joined her on a red circular couch. Her normally composed features were strained with worry. “Well?” she asked.

Lindha shook her head and said in a hushed voice, “Something must be done. I tell you, Jeeha, I feel danger from this man Huka and especially from his UWG consultant’ and puppeteer, his acting Lord and Master, Neopol.”

“We have always known that the Vice Regal of Opan was corrupt. There is nothing we can do about it,” Jeeha said. “You know what our teachings say concerning interference with government bodies and politics. Those who rule will come and go, but the Temple is a ship that must ride any wave. We must survive.”

“Of course I know,” Lindha tried to explain. “It’s just that this man Neopol … he is dangerous. I feel it.”

Jeeha shrugged. “We have extensively searched records. There is no one with the name Neopol. Huka says he is a consultant for the Fleet, so at least he isn’t with the police.”

“Yet he has tracked us like a bloodhound on the scent.” Lindha bit a nail. “I’m certain he knows the Trueborn was here. Oh, I wish I’d never gone to retrieve those accursed Testimonials.”

“Lady, be calm.” Jeeha took her hand, squeezed and held it. “This is only an idea you have, a perception blown out of proportion by your condition.” Jeeha looked knowingly toward her flat belly. Lindha knew her friend was referring to her first child, although it didn’t yet show.

“No. That’s not it.” Lindha said, sure of the fact. A combination of factors, some subtle and some not so subtle, had joined together in her mind. Some would call it intuition. Some would call her psychic. The fact was that the signs were there. Lindha knew the Temple was at risk. She had never been more sure of anything in her life.

Jeeha sat back in her chair. Lindha saw that her quiet certainty swayed her more than any protests could have. The women looked at each other. They were at an impasse.

“Jeeha,” Lindha said, “There is a way to gather intelligence if there is danger to our order. For the Sisters of Jana there is one definite means, available only to us. We need more information.”

Jeeha frowned, perplexed, and then her eyes widened. “You are not talking about coupling are you? Asking a Sister to have sex with Huka in order to read his mind? Surely it hasn’t come to that. I have yet to see any threat, there is no evidence.”

“Yes, I am talking about coupling.” Lindha said. “I feel this danger right here.” She raised her hand to her heart, and touched her chest. “I know it. Neopol will cause trouble for our order. You didn’t meet him on that mountain as I did. You didn’t see him so completely, if only momentarily, exposed.”

Jeeha took a deep breath.

Lindha continued, “And not just anyone should seek this intelligence. I must lay with this man Huka.” The thought made her want to throw up.

“Surely you’re not serious.” Jeeha’s face paled. “You are promised to Ash.”

“It is for the Trueborn that I do this. Do you think that I would touch such a man from personal desire? I’m not yet bound by marriage, so I break no vows. If I lay with this man and contact his mind then I will know what his intentions are. Don’t you see?” she implored, pulling her hand away from Jeeha and turning to face her. “We need to know.”

“It is against Temple scriptures to read another’s thoughts in this manner,” Jeeha admonished. “The sacred coupling is used only with pure intention to help a union remain stable, grow true. What you speak of is sacrilege.”

“Yes,” Lindha agreed softly. “Yet there are precedents. I am Prefect and I command. It must be done.”

Jeeha nodded. She let her breath out in a long sigh. “Very well. As Prefect you must do as you feel best. If there is danger, then this is one way to positively know about it. But can’t another perform this duty?”

“I have considered that, but no.” Lindha swallowed. “This is my task. It is I who Huka desires.”

“Huka,” Jeeha spat with disgust. “The man is completely self-indulgent. He would take anyone.”

“No,” Lindha protested. “That’s not all. How can I ask another to perform a duty that I myself cannot bear? A task that I myself would find difficult? More importantly, there must be no mistake. I have had the greater experience in mind-touch. The Trueborn himself has instructed me. If anyone can discover the truth, I can.”

Jeeha regarded the Prefect gravely.

Lindha struggled to hide her emotions, but she knew Jeeha could see what this was costing her. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. For her to be so tainted by that greedy, unprincipled … she almost didn’t have the words to finish that thought. But what did it matter? It was only sex, after all. She would share her body, but not her soul. Sexually, Ash had been her only partner. And even more significantly, she had only shared mind-touch with Ash. She hated to defile such experiences with another … and such another!

Jeeha cleared her throat, “Yes, I see, of course.”

“Then we are agreed?” Lindha asked. Please, Jeeha, she thought. I cannot bear to go to him without your sanction and support.

“Yes.” Jeeha’s voice was low as a funeral dirge.

“All right. I think he may be … already waiting for me.” She swallowed and her mouth tasted like bile. “This task will not improve with time.” She stood up.

“Lindha?” Jeeha asked.

“Yes?”

“Jana chose well.”

Lindha smiled weakly, appreciating her obvious attempt to bolster her courage. All right, then. She stood up and began to walk toward the door. She paused, turned back to the Temple Second and asked, “What are you going to do?”

Jeeha gave a faint smile. “I think I am going to visit the Temple sanctuary. When I get there, I think I am going to pray.”

Lindha squeezed Jeeha’s arm, both a thank you and a goodbye.

22. Thoughts Gained from Puppets

Judge not, and ye shall not be judged,” was the cultural admonition for years. “Judge, and be prepared to be judged,” was an idea voiced by Ayn Rand. Apparent dichotomies; both concepts are embraced by the Temple of Jana. While non-judgmental of the spiritual being, Temple teachings are highly judgmental of iniquitous behavior. The basic premise is that all people are inherently good, but their actions can be wicked. Such evil blackens the soul.

Sister Maricrisha

Lady Lindha took a tube to the upper levels, and watched through a spy viewer for a few minutes to work up her nerve. She watched as a young novice entered the library where the Vice Regal waited. The novice offered the man apologies, assuring the dignitary that the Prefect would be along momentarily. Vice Regal Huka studied the young woman, undressing her with his eyes. As was appropriate, the novice ignored the man’s rude behavior, bowed and left the room.

Concentrating on calm, even breathing, Lindha considered Huka thoughtfully. The man was handsome, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, and of average height not unlike Ash. He had been sculpted, but that was not unusual. He was only about thirty-five years old, and his muscles were toned. He would follow a strict regime, and would have a personal trainer.

Lindha knew that Huka enjoyed many women. They were attracted by his power, and his seductive manner perhaps. And he was handsome. But there was something about him that repelled her.

He makes my skin crawl.

She sent an Icom order for light refreshments to be sent to Huka’s chambers, more an afternoon snack of fresh fruits and such. Then she walked up the stairs to meet him.

It was easy to arrange matters. The offer of sharing light refreshments in his currently assigned quarters was a suggestion he jumped at. She would not take him to the room she shared with Ash, or lie with him on Ash’s sheets or bed and pillows, where they had spent so many pleasant hours.

They ate fruit and cakes, drank coffee and light wine. Huka told Lindha a number of amusing stories. He did have a charisma about him, and he made her laugh despite, or perhaps because of, the nervous pressure she was under. Lindha was aware that the man was intentionally charming. He planned to seduce her. Had he been ordered to do this? She felt pleased as this fell in with her own plans, but didn’t he know all Temple Prefects were chaste?

“You are beautiful, Lady,” Huka said after they ate. His voice cooed, sensual and suggestive.

“Thank you, Vice Regal.”

“Please,” he said, as if granting an enormous concession. “Call me Huka.”

“All right, Huka.” Lindha forced a smile. What was it about him? He had been charming and amusing, yet he disgusted her. She stood and moved to the two-seater couch in his room. Huka followed, and sat down beside her.

“My Lady,” he said, “did you know that I myself own the yellow tablelands to the south? As Vice Regal I am the most powerful man on Opan. You and I together could control anything and anyone on this world.”

“I am flattered to hear you say so, Huka.” So. He was making a more open invitation now. Did he really think this would impress her?

“As Vice Regal I have considered employing a Temple Sister as a government consultant. There would be many benefits for the Sister, of course, and the Temple.” He leaned toward her and trailed a finger down her arm. She forced herself not to flinch.

Inside, she was disgusted. Jana. This man uses power and monetary reward, even in making love. Of course what they did together would not be love. This task was going to be much more difficult than she thought. Her stomach knotted with aversion.

Drawing a deep breath, Lindha drew up her skirt slightly, allowing him to observe the smooth, soft skin of her thigh. To Lindha’s disbelief and horror, Huka reached over at her open invitation and coarsely ran his hand up her leg, his fingers crudely groping. Eyes bright with interest, he appeared to be seeing her unclothed already.

Unable to stop herself, Lindha physically recoiled from his touch.

Huka didn’t notice. He grinned as if with abrupt madness, “Lady, you are so beautiful,” he said again. “I want to see you, all of you.” Huka began to pull at Lindha’s clothing. The idea of being undressed by him was suddenly more than she could bear.

Lindha stood up swiftly in momentary escape, and walked toward the bed.

“You want it, don’t you?” Huka said crudely, moving toward her, staring at her intently. “Well, don’t worry, Lady Prefect,” he slurred the title. “We both want the same thing. For too long you’ve sat in that cold ivory tower of yours. Now you’ll find what you’ve been missing in your life.”

Lindha made no comment, hardly daring to speak least she show her true feelings, her repulsion and abhorrence of him. Instead, as if in reply, she began to undress.

Huka almost tore off his clothes.

Lindha lay down on the bed, forcing herself to look at him. For all his muscles he was soft and slack-faced, with an unhealthy tinge to his skin. He was nothing like Ash at all.

Ash. Her heart called out to him. Jana, you were wise to ensure that we were not wed. She would never have broken that sacred vow. This onerous duty must be necessary, part of your plan. The idea provided slim solace, a light thread of reassurance. Tightly clenching her jaw, she consoled herself. This shall pass.

Huka lay down beside her, roughly, painfully grasping. His eyes devoured her, greedy, consuming. He kissed her and she let him. He bit her lip and when she pulled back he laughed. Without any further preliminary motions, he threw himself on her.

Lindha squirmed. She tried to hold still, but her body pulled away instinctively. Totally self centered, Huka had no thought of her pleasure. Arrogant and conceited, he would simply assume that she enjoyed his every action. He wasn’t going to be difficult to fool, but Mother of Jana. This was going to cost her more than she thought.

Mentally she tried to picture Ash, gentle and caring, mischievous and playful, or dominant and determined, above her. Like water slowly moving from a mountain lake gliding smoothly toward the waterfall, or narrowing through into a raging torrent, Ash and Lindha always flowed together off exhilarating sexual heights. Always they were aware of each other and joined together in their pleasure. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw the distorted features of Huka, avaricious with a bestial, rutting need. The Sister’s litany ran through her mind:

Flee the prison of the Body,

Fettered Soul, trapped, enslaved.

Tortured tissue, heart and veins,

Tie the Spirit with earthly chains.

Soul and Body are not the same,

For who is looking from those eyes?

Flee the prison of the Mind,

Captured Soul, delusion sees.

Is this pain from thoughts’ own weaving?

The Mind can fashion dreams deceiving.

Soul and Mind are not the same,

For who commands the dreamers tool?

Flee the traps of Mind and Body,

Cast the line from lies and pain.

Find the stillness, find the silence,

Mind, Body and Spirit are not the same.

You are the Soul within your Body.

You are the Will behind your Mind.

Only the Spirit is eternal,

Freed you know you cannot die.

I am the Soul within my Body,

I am the Will behind my Mind,

Only the Spirit is eternal,

Freed I know I cannot die.

Huka placed his mouth down hard on hers.

“No,” she said, turning away from him. “No kissing. Be gentle, please.”

Huka grinned fiercely. “Gentle, my dear Lady Prefect?” He grabbed savagely at her breasts, intentionally hurting her. She didn’t need to read his mind to know that he considered her his now, to do as he wished. Nothing would stop him.

“I’ll try to be gentle, of course, but real lovemaking can be rough and hard.” He bent closely and pulled her head back by the hair, one hand at her throat as if to choke her, intently staring into her eyes. “Today, my lustful Lady, you shall find out what you’ve been missing all these years.”

Lindha shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to remain calm. Huka wore a pleasant aftershave, with the scent of patchouli, cedar and amber. She concentrated on his cologne. As he entered her, she did not falter. Lindha drifted partially away from her own flesh, reaching out into his mind and then … she made contact.

The first touch made her want to retch, to back away in disgust, to jump up and run from the room.

She controlled the impulse.

Instead she immersed herself into Huka’s mind. His recent superficial thoughts came initially: his arrival at the Temple, his encounter with the young novice. The vision of the novice’s firm, childish breasts lingered. How he would have loved to have grasped one of them. So unfortunate that his power and authority over Opan didn’t encompass the Temple of Jana. He imagined the girl’s surprise. The child would have protested at first, but like all the others, he would have made her submit.

Huka had been frightened of Lindha as Prefect, and this gave her a moment’s pleasure. He knew she was leading him on, but for what purpose? He couldn’t understand her. He found it impossible to conceive of her in the throes of passion. She was so cool so cold. She unnerved him. If not wealth, what was she interested in?

Neopol, you fool, Huka thought. This woman has nothing to hide. She wants me, needs me. Still, I’ll not use her as I’ve used the others not yet anyway. A Temple Sister and untouched. He was elated at his conquest. Her first coupling then should perhaps be more expected, conventional. Later he would show her more. The Temple Prefect. Breaking her vows. But only for me, he thought, full of conceit. After her, I will do the rest. He wanted to laugh. Every Temple Sister. I bet they all want it. They all want me.

Lindha swallowed, overcome by Huka’s dark need to dominate through sex. Deep down he hated all women, but her most of all. She was so smart, so cool. How he wanted to degrade and make less of her. To beat her. To hurt her.

The physical was mercifully separate from Lindha. She was aware of him, of what he was doing, but she was not really involved. It was like being an unwilling spectator at some grisly rape. Ignoring the reality of events, Lindha reached deeper, looking into Huka’s mind, searching his thoughts.

“Admiral Neopol Jones, sir! Don’t tell High Command that I have been diverting tax credits. It isn’t really stealing. There is nothing at the Temple. I have found no one with the description of the man and woman you seek.”

Oh, she thought. Admiral Neopol Jones. No wonder they couldn’t find anything on him. Neopol is his first name, Jones is his surname. He is no consultant, he is an Admiral.

Neopol knew she had been lying when she said she found Assurance through a vision sent by the Goddess. He had sent Huka to investigate the Temple. He was on Opan searching for Ash, Ash’s mother and the criminal Forseth. Neopol knew Lindha had visited the offworld compound, knew about Captain Walters. He was investigating Ash’s death. With that knowledge, Lindha fell into an abyss of fear and despair.

Lindha recalled then who Neopol was. She first heard his name through mind-touch with Ash. Was it something Ash’s mother had said when she died? There was a definite connection between Neopol and the genocide of the Delian people. This sudden insight terrified and overwhelmed her. She felt as though she were being buried alive.

Finally the ordeal was over. Huka cried out like an axed bull and lay heavily on top of her.

Unable to control her grief over her failure, the danger that Ash was in and the fear of almost certain loss, Lindha began to weep.

“What’s wrong with you?” Huka demanded.

“Oh … it … it was just so wonderful,” she lied.

Huka grinned possessively, ready to believe anything. “That is only the beginning. I have so much more to show you.” He crudely reached for her, touching her again.

“No. No more now,” Lindha said, pushing him off and away. “I … I must go. I need to think things over. You may visit tomorrow and then we can talk.”

“If you like.” He watched her dress, lying languidly. He lay naked, the smug victor over her in body if not in spirit.

Lindha dressed quickly. The disgusting ordeal with Huka over, the more urgent concern of what to do next was foremost in her thoughts. She sent a message to Jeeha via Icom: “Meet me at your quarters.”

Lindha fled from the room where she had laid with Huka, and in her haste she knocked into someone outside the door, stumbling and almost falling over. “Dorian!” she said in surprise. “What are you doing here?” She regained her balance and started to move away.

Thirteen-year-old Dorian, identical twin to Anton, looked up at his Prefect with hard green eyes. “Nothing,” he said with an ill-concealed scowl. His eyes narrowed as he glanced suspiciously at the closed door to Huka’s sleeping quarters. “What are you doing here?”

Lindha’s headlong flight was stopped by his guarded expression. She composed her features while mentally swearing. How long had Dorian been out here? Had he been watching? Spying on her? The only person he trusted was his hero, Ash. Had he seen her go into the bedroom with Huka? Oh, Goddess, what must Dorian be thinking? And beyond these surface thoughts was her knowledge and terror, the urgent priority uppermost in her mind: Ash is in danger!

She said, “Dorian, I don’t have time to talk about this right now. We will settle this matter later. You may go.”

Dorian stared at her for a long moment, his face devoid of expression. His eyes were cold and hard as flint and in them she saw a whirling combination of anger, rage and hate. Unconsciously, Lindha recoiled, stepping backwards, her back against a wall.

Without a nod or acknowledgment of any kind, Dorian spun on his heels and left.

Lindha took a deep breath and walked unsteadily away. The look in Dorian’s eyes. She had borne enough shocks this day. But that. Never had she received such a brutal, piercing gaze. Dorian appeared as though he would be perfectly capable of killing her.

Within moments Lindha tapped softly. Jeeha’s bedroom door opened and she practically fell inside.

Lindha reached out for Jeeha as though she were the lone survivor of a horrendous accident, crawling out of the wreckage that had killed everyone else on board. Lindha had spent an hour suppressing the thoughts and emotions left from her encounter with Huka. Consequently, the flood of despair and worry burst out of her, unchecked. “By the Mother, Jeeha! We are in desperate trouble!” Lindha burst into tears. “And Dorian saw me leaving Huka’s room. The Good Goddess knows what he thinks, but there is nothing I can do about that right now. That boy could go completely off the rails if he thinks I’ve been faithless to Ash, particularly sexually there was so much sexual betrayal already in his life.”

“Lady,” Jeeha said, hugging her tightly. “Don’t worry about Dorian, I’ll talk to him, he almost likes me. I think.” She held her until Lindha’s tremors subsided, which took some time. Finally she said, “Tell me now. Together we can handle any problem the Deceiver may present.” She withdrew her arms and put her hands on her hips. “Surely nothing can harm or outsmart the Sisters of the Temple of Jana.” Her expression appeared indignant at the thought of being bested by anything or anyone.

Lindha gave her a weak smile, feeling better. Jeeha was like the marble Temple tower, a solid refuge. “Of course. You’re right. Please excuse my lack of control. I … I was just overcome by the circumstances.”

Jeeha nodded. “I understand completely. That arrogant, self-centered man, Huka. Yeech. He could shake anyone’s composure.”

“Oh, Jeeha,” Lindha agreed fervently. “That man. He … he is a snake.” A shiver went through Lindha’s body. The unthinking analogy had instantly reminded her of that strange premonition. Suddenly she was as breathless as she had been when that fear originally held her, painfully squeezing. What was that sensation? A forewarning? She certainly hoped not.

“You knew that before,” Jeeha reminded her.

“I have a more personal awareness of him now,” she said, trying to treat it lightly. But her voice was unsteady. She cleared her throat and swallowed.

“What did you find?” Jeeha asked, mercifully changing the subject.

Attempting to remain objective, Lindha answered as if giving a report. “Huka is an agent, placed as Vice Regal by High Command.” Jeeha’s eyes widened in surprise. “He has orders from HC to forbid offworld travel and for years he has intentionally run a campaign to make the people of Opan afraid of offworlders.”

“Are you sure the council knows of this?”

“HC acts according to UWG Council orders. How could they not know?”

Shaking her head, the Lady Jeeha said, “Politics. But what can we do about corruption at the highest level of government? As you know it is against our sacred orders to interfere. But even so, governments come and go. The Temple must survive.”

“There is more.” Lindha worried her bottom lip.

“What is it?” Jeeha whispered.

“Jeeha, the man Neopol … he knows that we are connected to Ash. His name is Neopol Jones and he is an Admiral. He knows that I lied concerning the manner in which we discovered Assurance. I don’t know how, but he intends to find out the truth. He will be here when Ash arrives.”

“Then we shall warn him.”

“How?” she asked fearfully. “The man watches our every move. Neopol knows about my offworlder pass. He knows of my visit with Captain Walters and Minavera Mover. He is investigating Ash’s death, looking for his remains. He will find Duanne’s grave. He has the extensive resources from Conqueror at his command. He’ll discover who Duanne really was.”

“Lindha, we’ll work out something, I’m sure of it. Please don’t worry. We will find an answer. There is nothing to fear,” Jeeha said forcefully.

Just then the door slid open, overriding Icom lock out. This was startling in itself, for who had the power to override? Neopol stepped in. He stared at Lady Lindha with a sly unpleasant grin on his face.

The room was utterly silent.

Lindha met his eyes. Neopol here? How? She had suffered too many shocks this day already. First coupling with Huka, then being caught out by Dorian, and now Neopol? She couldn’t even react to this new crisis. She remained absolutely still, barely breathing.

“My dear Prefect, your Lady Jeeha has given you rather worthless advice. If I were you, I would be afraid.” His laughter broke the silence like the explosion of a projectile bomb. “You should be terrified.”

Lindha sent an urgent Icom alarm, a message to all her fellow Sisters on the entire world of Opan, but nothing happened. Icom was blocked.

Neopol’s sharp eyes glittered. He tilted his head. “Having trouble with Icom?” He chuckled and then began a wicked, jeering laugh, this time in earnest. His expansive form shook with mirth at his joke.

23. From Kalar to Opan

“… and thus it can be seen that a few vices are sufficient to darken the brightest of virtues. Yet it is also true that the wildest colt or filly makes the best horse.”

Parables of Jana

Larren woke rested and refreshed after only three hours’ sleep.

Due to the ongoing quarantine on Kalar, the only way on or off planet was via cargo transfer. Thus the four leaving Kalar had to eat and be ready for transport. They would all leave exactly as Ash had arrived, from within shipping cartons. Eventually their sealed cartons would be conveyed onto Minavera Mover, currently docked at Kalar’s orbital space station.

Larren and Rositha strolled into the dining area together; they were arguing in hushed voices.

“A stitch in time …”

Larren pressed his lips together. He tried hard not to smile. “There was no stitch and you know it.”

“Cheaters never prosper.”

“It takes one to know one,” he volleyed back.

Rositha didn’t hesitate. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

This was too much for Larren. He laughed, trying to keep his voice down. “Okay, let’s just say it was a tie, then. But I know what I saw. I still think you started before me …”

“A man whose mind is changed against his will is of the same opinion still.”

He touched his heart and forehead, in the deferential mode. “As you say,” Larren replied with a slow, solemn smile. “But let’s face it; you came a little tiny moment before I did. And I am all out of proverbs. Let’s eat.”

“Okay.” Rositha caught his eye. “But I demand a rematch.”

His laugh was low and carefree. “Excellent plan. We’ll make it best six out of ten.”

“You’re on.”

Larren strode boldly to the breakfast table, holding Rositha’s hand. Larren couldn’t miss the mischievous twinkle in Ash’s eye. As Ash’s mouth opened, Larren cut him off, saying, “Good morning, Trueborn.” Raising a finger, he forestalled further communication. “Uh uh, don’t say a word,” Larren warned, as he poured himself and Rositha a cup of coffee.

“I?” Ash queried innocently, hand to his chest. “I was just going to say good morning. I swear. That’s all I was going to say.”

“Oh, sure,” Larren said. He glanced at Rositha. “Don’t listen to him,” he added, a combination of irritation and amusement coloring his voice. “Ash always has something more to say.”

Rositha covered her smile with a hand. Politely seating the Lady Rositha first, Larren sat down beside her. Tina was still in bed but she would be drugged unconscious for the journey. No one wanted to take chances on any possible outcry. She and Ash would share the same carton.

“Larren, I spoke to the Captain of Minavera last night,” Ash said. “He is absolutely thrilled that his granddaughter, Tina, is safe and with us. He was pretty worried, it seems. Walters doubted me. Can you imagine that?”

Larren snorted and shook his head. He said with a good-natured grin, “You’re unbelievable. And an idiot.”

Ash ignored the jibe and continued, “I was going to send you a message on Icom but I didn’t want to disturb you.” His gaze moved from Larren to Rositha and back again.

Larren saw that Ash was waiting for a reaction to this subtle tease, but Larren refused to bite. Ash hoped to provoke him for sleeping with Rositha and it was not going to work. At least Larren didn’t think it would. Was that disappointment he saw on the young man’s face? With smug satisfaction, Larren rather thought it was.

Ash continued, “Dal Walters saw Lindha recently. He says she is well and sends her love. Captain Walters informs me that he has more news but will deliver an Icom transfer once we’re aboard.”

“That’s terrific.”

“I’ll get us some food be right back,” Rositha said, moving toward the servery. Larren nodded, giving her a huge smile in acknowledgment.

She smiled back at him with stars in her eyes.

Larren found it difficult to turn his head away from her. He did so with effort but his heart and mind were singing, “Rositha Rositha Rositha! Beautiful Temple Prefect. Perfect Prefect, Prefect perfect la la la!” He took a deep breath and mentally slapped himself, forcing his mind back to Ash. Love. There was nothing for it. He was in luuuvvvve.

“Just think,” Ash said, “In a few short weeks time I’ll be back on Opan and married to Lindha.”

Uh oh. Larren bit his lower lip and tilted his head, waiting. Yeah, here came the more obvious ribbing. He knew it was coming and braced himself for it.

“It could be a double wedding,” Ash suggested.

“Ha!” Larren interjected. “I knew it. I just knew you couldn’t keep your mouth shut. You have absolutely no tact.” He shook his head in disgust. “I guess I’ll cut you some slack, seeing as you are still a teenager.” He said the word with distain.

In a vivid flash, Larren recalled a moment of Ash’s memories with his wolf family. Ash had at one time been clumsy, noisy and impatient during the hunt. His wolf father, Long Fang, had forcefully trained him out of those habits. Larren allowed an inward smile, recalling something he had seen during mind-touch with Ash: Long Fang’s sharp, rapidly deployed teeth, nipping Ash’s calf muscle.

Larren had an image of biting Ash himself in the arm perhaps? It would be a salutary and unexpected disciplinary action that might be amusing. He shook his head. No. Long Fang’s tactics wouldn’t work for him. But would smoothing Ash’s annoying rough edges be his job now?

“Sorry,” Ash said, bowing his head. “I am tactless.” But then he glanced up with an impish wide grin, “However, the offer remains open.”

When breaking in junior officers, never let them see you react. And most importantly, never let them get to you. Larren looked across the room at Rositha. She must have felt his gaze, as she turned and gave him a brilliant smile, her eyes shining. He smiled affectionately back at her and said calmly, “We may take you up on it. Let’s see how things turn out.”

Ash’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but Larren’s method was effective. Silenced, Ash bent his head to finish his meal.

The cartons stood open. The four of them would be smuggled aboard Minavera, carried up with a number of supplies, including food and equipment, both heavily radiated to prevent contagion. Larren waited as the others climbed in, taking his turn last. The fullsuit seemed heavy upon him. He was a little insecure about this form of travel. Rositha, from inside the carton, took his hand.

Larren said to Kalar’s new Prefect, Lady Samantha, “Where do we go from here?”

“Oh, you’ll be flown to the export area and placed on conveyor belts to the shuttle that will transport you all to space dock. From there you’ll move on to Minavera Mover. The appropriate guards have been bribed. I have six Sisters at the spaceport overseeing everything.” Lady Samantha gave the metal carton a couple of sharp raps and nodded. “Trust me, Mr. Forseth. The entire operation will go off without a hitch. If there’s one thing the Sisters of Jana are good at it, it’s in following a plan through to effective completion.”

She smiled down toward him as she closed him inside the crate.

Ash checked; Tina was asleep in her fullsuit within the packing carton. He felt the carton move as it was placed aboard the space shuttle, then G forces pulled as they lifted off. Once they had been unloaded onto the space station, he became aware of further movement. He waited for hours, choosing to sleep the time away. Eventually he was in motion again and assumed that he had arrived on the Mover, yet no one came to unpack them.

A message came through on Icom from Captain Walters, a quick note telling him that a police cruiser was following. Walters decided it was best to leave everyone in their packing in case the ship was boarded. Ash forwarded this information to Larren and Rositha.

With nothing much to do and bored with Icom entertainments, Ash let his mind drift and drew on his power.

Infinite space. Warmth.

Endless energy poured like a river of heated incandescence over his skin. His flesh rose and tingled with goose bumps. His gift. Yes. Good. Feels so good. Never ending …

Swish!

He brushed against something nearby, something alive, something unexpected. His mental fingers automatically began to probe for this familiar yet unfamiliar intelligence. Was it even human?

Contact came, sudden and startling.

Ash dove deep into the unknown form. The cat felt nothing as Ash’s consciousness flooded its skin, filling its body like water poured into glass. The animal remained unaware of its secret visitor as Ash settled himself within the unknown flesh.

He heard a noise, something extraordinarily high pitched.

It was a sound that human ears could never know. Ash’s mind registered this fact curiously, but accepted it. So. Not human.

He smelled something warm, alive and inviting.

Ha! I am a cat. Small, light, and predatory, Ash padded silently on four legs. He felt comfortable and clean in his sleek fur. Ash reveled in the flexible body, quick reflexes and sharp retractable claws. Scanning the darkened interior of the ship, his large night eyes viewed everything in distinct detail, but even more illuminating was what he could hear. He heard it now.

A speeding heart. The little creature he was stalking also gave off a high frequency sound. And the scents he could smell everything!

While its olfactory senses were not as complex as those of, say, an eel, the cat still had an astonishing sense of smell. The cat’s nose detected the mouse. Not only could he hear it, he could smell it, the scent of life. He knew where the little rodent had been and how long ago the creature had been there. Such useful information. So exact. What chance did a mouse have against a cat?

Yes. Just there.

At home in this feline flesh, with four limbs and paws, Ash felt his adrenaline rush. Together, he and the cat stalked the prey in total silence.

The thrill of the hunt was in him.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

He crouched low on four legs, muscles bunched, preparing to move. The little rodent began to creep across the floor. It made that sound again, a soft noise issued in a high frequency, still too high-pitched for human ears.

It happened in an instant, all at once.

Blinding speed.

In a silent rush, Ash, within the cat’s body, leapt upon it, sinking his strong sharp teeth into the creature’s flesh. With one move he broke the little creature’s neck.

The cat looked down in confusion. Why did I kill it? the animal thought. I wanted to play with it first. Disappointed, the cat patted tentatively, hopefully, at the mouse with his paw. It didn’t even twitch.

Ash returned to his own body and laughed out loud. Sons of the Deceiver, he snickered. That poor cat. Caught up in the chase, he must have caused it to kill the mouse instantly.

Wolves never played with their prey.

In searching the entire ship for another being, Ash realized that he had an attraction a preference even to the animal mind. Still chuckling, he took his fullsuit helmet off. It must be time by now, surely.

He heard the unmistakable tap of boots on flooring. Someone was coming. Ash held his breath and listened. It could only be Walters.

The carton opened.

“Ash.” Captain Dal Walters peered over the lip of the container. “For the love of the Fleet, it’s good to see you.” His anxious eyes stared down at his granddaughter. Ash picked up the sleeping child, and held her out to her grandfather.

“Come to me, my darling girl,” Dal whispered and his eyes filled with water. He took Tina in his arms and held her gently, as if she were the most precious thing in the world. Walters hugged the sleeping child, pulling her close against him, into his arms. Walters shut his eyes and breathed in deeply.

Ash swallowed and stepped out of the crate, moved by the big man’s tears. He patted Walters reassuringly on the back. “Tina is a wonderful little girl. We all love her. You are blessed by the Goddess to have such a fantastic granddaughter.”

Walters’ breathing slowed as he got his emotions under control. “I don’t want to wake her.”

Ash snorted and then chuckled. “Not likely. It took some time but I wore her out yesterday. We also gave her a sedative. She’ll be under for a while yet.”

Walters started a slow and careful walk out of storage. “Sorry it took so long to set you free. That police cruiser followed us for some distance. They don’t usually do that. I thought it safer to leave you where you were until we entered Omni.”

“Good idea,” Ash said. “It wasn’t difficult to wait, although I admit I was beginning to worry. Where are the others?”

Ash heard the sound of voices. Larren and Rositha walked through the door and with them came Ash’s former cabin mate and simpleminded friend, Jed.

“They were there, Captain, sir. Just as you said.” Jed smiled hugely, and then he noticed Ash. “Sinto.” He grinned with innocent delight. “The Captain said there was a surprise for me. I didn’t know you was coming.”

Ash grasped Jed’s hand and gave him a brief hug. “Jed, you look happy. You got the cat?”

“Yes. He is pure black, kind of scary, with yellow eyes. Soon as I saw him, it was like … well, I just knew he’d always remind me of you.”

Almost everyone laughed at Jed’s description. Larren shook his head, smiling wryly. Ash heard him murmur to Rositha, under his breath, “An accurate observation, more than they’ll ever know.”

Rositha’s lips curved only slightly, as befitted a Temple Sister.

“Good to meet you both.” The Captain easily held Tina with his left arm. With his right he grasped first Rositha’s hand and then Larren’s. “The name is Walters. Ash told me you were coming.”

“A pleasure. Thanks for having us aboard your vessel, sir,” Larren said warmly. “I’m Larren and this is the Lady Rositha.”

Rositha politely inclined her head. “Captain.”

“I understand that you are a Sister of Jana?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“I would have guessed if Ash hadn’t told me. Temple Sisters are renowned for their wisdom and their charm.”

Rositha inclined her head, accepting the compliment with dignity. “Thank you, Captain.”

The five of them went to the ship’s common recreation room and sat down to catch up. The catch up went both ways. Walters was on top of his game, had paid his debts, and had given Minavera Mover a full refit. There was an entirely new crew, except for Jed. Jed was happier than ever now that he had his black cat, “Sinto.” All was well. The recap of Ash’s visit to Kalar proved to be interesting. The list of achievements was rather long. Tina had been rescued, the men who wanted to kill her were dead, the plague was coming to an end and those who had caused the plague were also dead. Ash was now firm friends and allies with Larren, the man he had intended to kill. There were ongoing issues with Admiral Neopol Jones and the United Freeworlds Government but these problems could be left for another day.

Tina woke up suddenly, surprised to find that she was lying in the lap of Captain Walters. “Grampa?” she said with big wide eyes.

“Hello, honey.” Walters sat her up properly on his knee, hugging her gruffly.

She looked around the room. “Where are we?”

“You know how you always wanted to fly in a real spaceship?” Tina nodded. “Well, you’re on one now. This is Minavera Mover. She’s my freight ship, and you are my most welcome guest.”

“Oh,” she gasped. “Good.” Then she saw the others. “Lady Rositha. Uncle Ash. Uncle Larren. Are you going for a ride on a spaceship, too?” Her face filled with the incredulous delight that only a child can display.

“Yes, darling,” Rositha replied, and they all laughed. Tina monopolized the conversation for some time as she and her grandfather caught up, both chatting happily for some minutes. Finally, Ash could no longer hold back his curiosity. “Captain,” he asked, “if you don’t mind, could I see you privately for a moment?”

“Certainly, Ash.” His eyes sparkled. “You stay here with the Lady Rositha, Tina. She’ll get you out of the fullsuit. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, Grampa,” Tina replied.

The two friends strolled down the passageway.

“The ship looks great,” Ash said. “I didn’t recognize her. She certainly has changed since my trip over.”

“That’s a fact,” Walters agreed. “You won’t be needing to work out your passage this time.”

“That’s a relief.”

Walters stopped Ash with a touch to the shoulder and looked at him with gratitude in his eyes. “I still have some credit left over from those jewels you gave me. I owe you so much. I can’t thank you enough for bringing Tina to me. Isn’t she a fine child? She looks so much like her mother.”

“It was nothing,” Ash replied, dismissing these achievements. “And Tina is terrific, but Dal, I can’t stand it any longer. Tell me about Lindha. You saw her?”

“Yes.” Walters smiled. “She’s a wonderful girl, Ash”

“I’ve missed her more than you can imagine. When I get back to Opan I swear I’ll never leave her side.”

“And you will be with her again soon. I have a holo she sent you via Icom.”

“That’s great. Why haven’t you forwarded it? Have you seen it?”

“Of course not. It was made for you. Goddess alone knows what young lovers may say to each other. I thought it would be better if you go to your quarters before I send it. It may be confidential.” He smiled.

“You’ve seen it,” Ash accused good-naturedly.

“No, I haven’t. Go.” He pushed him toward the corridor. “I marked your room on Icom maps.”

Ash didn’t need to be asked twice. He left, turning back once in time to witness Captain Walters looking at him with a secretive knowing grin.

In his quarters Ash sat down and waited expectantly. The message notification icon flashed, and Ash opened it using both eyes. The image of Lindha in three dimensions, with sound, size, and color, came before him. It was difficult to believe that she wasn’t there in the cabin with him.

“I don’t have much time, my love. Ash, I have missed you so. Not a moment of any day goes by when I don’t think of you. Come back to me, dear heart. Soon. Jana grant you safe journey.” She chatted away concerning Carrah and Anton, how well they both were, how they were best friends. She also spoke about Dorian and the ongoing difficulties he was presenting, specifically that he never settled, was constantly up to mischief and was generally out of control. No one knew how to manage him. She predicted serious trouble with the boy unless Ash intervened.

Ash nodded reflexively at that and paused the holo. Dorian trusted no one, except perhaps himself. Even worse, Dorian was a volcano that might erupt at any moment. The magma that filled him was anger and hate. The boy put on a good show he hid it well. Dorian could be outgoing and charming, yet inside the young man had no discrimination. Dorian detested everyone equally. Ash had personal experience of such hatred. He knew guilt, shame and self-loathing were behind the young man’s hate. He also knew that in time, if not purged, these emotions would drive the boy to madness.

Ash took a deep breath. Only mind-touch could restore Dorian, could return him to himself. The idea frightened Ash. Was he good enough? Could he heal such a damaged individual? Maybe if he studied the Testimonials, they would have some suggestion about how to go on. Ash had a clear idea of what had been done to Dorian. Most people would focus on that, and that of course was a factor. But what had been done, ultimately, was not what had damaged the child. Real harm came from what the person did, from personal choices not from what others did to them. So what was behind all Dorian’s hate?

Ash grimaced. The real question to answer was this: what had Dorian done as a result of his experiences? Ash had no idea. He took a deep breath. He suspected that whatever actions Dorian had taken as a result of being abused, they wouldn’t be pretty. And Dorian did not know how face his own moral transgressions or to forgive himself. Ash needed to help Dorian confront his past just as Lindha had helped Ash face his own misdeeds and himself.

On a happier note, Ash was glad Lindha had thought of matching Anton with Carrah. He could see how that would work; they had like personalities in many ways. Anton, a gentler soul, had obviously made much different choices than Dorian had. Anton obviously had less to forgive himself for. Once again, Ash wondered what could Dorian have done?

He hit “Continue.” Ash absorbed himself in Lindha’s long, newsy holo, wrapping the aura of her around him like a thick, warm rug on a cold night. He was enjoying himself immensely.

The image sat down next to him, and rubbed her thighs, nervously. “I wanted to tell you myself, when you were here with me, but it’s better that you are prepared before your arrival back on Opan.” She looked at him directly; he could imagine her right there beside him. “Ash, we are going to have a child.”

Ash sucked in his breath, totally taken by surprise. A child? My child? Our child?

“If you don’t come home soon I am afraid I won’t be the slim young woman that you left. I have no idea how you feel about the use of artificial wombs. I would prefer to use one, but I’ll wait until you return for that decision. Now that you know, the shock when you see me won’t be too great. Are you pleased, my love? In my heart I know you are. It gives me great joy to know that I am going to bear you a fine son or daughter.”

She suddenly seemed hurried. “I must leave. Captain Walters can’t be on Opan long and I need to be sure he receives this Icom transmission before he is out of range. Take care … and think of names. Farewell for now, father of our child. I love you.” Her voice ended abruptly and the image disappeared.

Trembling with joy and disbelief at his good fortune, Ash toggled “Repeat.” The image of Lindha once more appeared, lifelike before him. He watched the holo several more times before he tucked it in with priority saved messages.

Family. Lindha and I are making a family. I’m going to be a father!

He would bring Lindha to visit his other family. Seeta, his wolf mother, would know about the child instantly. She was like that. Lindha thought Ash was clever with his ability to mind-touch, but Seeta and Long Fang didn’t have to mind-touch. They just knew things. All sorts of things. Their children would visit his wolf family to learn their ways. His wolf family. He missed them, too.

When Ash returned to his friends they stared at him.

Ash wondered if they knew his news for they all looked at him as though he had been transformed into someone else. He almost felt he had. He was young to be a father, but it felt so right. He wanted to grow up with his son, or would it be a daughter? No child of his would be able to beat him up the mountain when they raced.

“What is it?” Larren stood up immediately.

“It’s Lindha,” Ash said, still feeling quite dazed. “She is going to have a child. I am going to be a father.” The prospect astounded him.

“Congratulations, Ash.” Larren pumped his hand and slapped his back heartily. Captain Walters came up to shake his hand, too.

“You knew, didn’t you?” Ash asked, the smile permanently fixed on his face.

“Yes,” said Walters. “Lindha told me. She was so happy. Of course when I saw her I couldn’t tell at all, but she knew, sure enough. My word, yes.” He grinned.

There and then they held a party. The Captain, his passengers and the crew all celebrated for hours. Unfortunately or perhaps happily, none of them were able to see into the future.

If they could, it would not be a party that they would be gathered for.

24. Wolf Bait and Trap

The Red Wolf of Opan mates for life. If one of a mated pair dies, the remaining wolf becomes isolated and will not hunt. It is usual for a grieving wolf to die within a matter of days. Extensive studies have been made on such bereaved wolves, with autopsies performed. No physical cause of death has been found. Alone, the remaining wolf loses the will to live. It is a pitiful sight. It is said they die of a broken heart.

Professor Camelia Bob, Icompedia

The evil tidings came by way of a regular UWG transmission.

Ever since Clinton mentioned how false the broadcasts were, Larren had begun a study of them, attempting to understand the methods used and to speculate on which information was correct, which was twisted, and for what purpose. He programmed the holoviewer to automatically switch on when a broadcast arrived.

Sitting companionably in the common area, Larren had his arm around Rositha. The large black ship’s cat, Sinto, sat nestled up in Rositha’s lap. Safe, warm and comfortable, the relaxed creature purred loudly.

“Tomorrow we land on Opan,” Larren said. “Shall we take our formal vows in a double ceremony with Ash and Lindha? Then we can go on a honeymoon.”

“I like that plan,” Rositha said happily. “But I have a better idea.” Her eyes danced with mischief. “Let’s first have a honeymoon, and then we can return to be formally married and go on another honeymoon.”

Larren snorted and smiled down at her. He found himself thinking about how soft and warm her lips were and how she caused such incandescent heat within him. He knew what people meant now when they said they “burned” for someone. He burned for Rositha. His eyelids lowered and he almost closed his eyes with the memory of holding her, touching her. He took a deep breath. “Now that is my kind of plan. I like it. It’s positively …” He paused, searching for the word. ” … excessive.”

Rositha nodded and looked at Larren knowingly. “Excessive. I like that word, too. Extreme; too much; immoderate; over the top. All excellent words. I don’t think you and I have really experienced these words yet. And Larren,” she said, her voice taut and low, “I want to.”

Larren cleared his throat. “You do?” He shifted in his seat a bit, feeling, not surprisingly, that his trousers were too tight.

“You know I do,” Rositha said and she kissed him, a slow, searching kiss that promised more to come. “It is late. Think it’s too early to go to bed?”

Larren snorted. “Only by about two hours, but I think we can sneak out. What number are we on?” Larren asked in a deep voice.

“Nineteen.”

“We have a long way to go to get through all one-hundred and thirty-seven.”

“Especially since I particularly want to revisit five, six and eight.” Rositha said.

“Again?” Larren asked thoughtfully. His pulse sped as he remembered. “That is er, rather interesting. I am rather fond of five, six and eight myself. And you know we have run through them a few times now. I suppose you want to practice until perfect.”

Rositha cuddled into him, her head on his shoulder. The cat settled itself again, refusing to leave her lap, despite her movements. “You are perfect.”

He hugged her. “You are. Rositha, these last two weeks have been the best in my life.”

“I know,” she replied tranquilly.

Damn, Larren thought to himself. It still irritated him that Rositha could read his mind when they were making love. Apparently all Temple Sisters could. He should have realized that fact from the start. Here she was, inexperienced, but knew exactly what he wanted, when he wanted it … and how much of it he wanted. Larren cleared his throat as he recalled those early intimate moments. Nope. That knowledge didn’t come from study. He really should call “foul” in the game they played. She was such a cheater with an extremely unfair advantage. Rositha was currently winning, four to one. Why couldn’t he mind-touch her? He did with Ash. He had with Sartha.

Try as he might, however, Larren couldn’t contact her mind. Ash explained that perhaps Rositha didn’t have the power that Sartha had to become the necessary focus point. In regret, Larren realized that he and Rositha would never achieve a full mind-touch coupling like he and Ash’s mother Sartha had achieved while on Assurance. But it didn’t matter. What they did have was tremendously satisfying.

“Are you still annoyed that you can’t make contact?” Rositha asked.

If he didn’t know better he would have thought that she was currently reading his mind. “No.” He grinned amicably, about to make an amusing comment. He hesitated. “Shush.” He held up his hand, having noticed the holo switch on. He pointed. “The broadcast.”

The commentator spoke, “The mystery of the missing Delian Testimonials of Truth’ has been solved. They were found on board RDS Assurance, which crash landed on the Freeworld of Opan some five standards previous. The Testimonials, worth a fortune in gold, are now on display in the Museum on Opan.

“The Lady Sartha, responsible for conspiring with Larren Forseth to kill her Delian husband, the King of Delian, was verified to have died in the crash. Admiral Neopol of the battleship Conqueror had this to say concerning the matter.”

The view changed and Neopol came on the holovid. He appeared so realistic it was as if he were in the same room with them. Larren stopped breathing. His body went ice cold.

“I have been speaking at some length to the lovely Lady Lindha, High Prefect of the Temple of Jana here on Opan. She believes that the Temple has information of value to the criminal, Larren Forseth. She is asking that Forseth turn himself in.” He paused. “As you know, Forseth, a member of the Alliance for some years, infiltrated the Galaxy Police and gassed the planet of Delian.”

“Forseth.” Neopol eyed the audience intently. In state of the art holo 3D it seemed to Larren that the Admiral was looking directly at him. “If you can hear this broadcast, please contact me. We may be able to bargain. If you know the whereabouts of the Prince of Delian he may be able to negotiate on your behalf. The Lady Lindha, Prefect of the Temple of Jana on Kalar and a neutral party, has agreed to mediate. I make this plea for you to give yourself up. You obviously need mental help. We have the finest doctors willing to assist you. You can be assured that whatever sentence you receive will be just.

“You can contact me at any time via the confidential, emergency frequency.” He stood up straight, shoulders back. “The United Worlds Government never gives up. We seek truth, freedom, peace and justice, for all United Freeworlds.”

The broadcast ended.

Rositha sat open lipped and wild-eyed. The cat stopped purring and glanced up.

Larren toggled repeat broadcast via ships AI and Icom.

The commentator returned and they watched the holovid once more. Larren set repeat and pause. “Burning worlds,” he cursed out loud. He continued to curse, expressively and volubly.

Ash came into the room with a swinging cheerful gait. After one look at Larren’s face he stopped, then strode rapidly to his side. “Larren. What is it?”

“Ash,” Larren gestured. “Come here. You’d better sit down.”

“What’s happened? Is there something wrong?” And then intuitively he said, “Does it concern Lindha? What have you heard? Tell me.”

“Ash, sit down. You have to see this.” Ash sat.

Lips pursed together, Larren replayed the broadcast. The sight of Admiral Neopol brought everything back. Larren’s chest was tight; he felt a kind of numb pain as memories moved through his mind some slow, some rapid, all of them painful. Images shuffled past him like a deck of cards. Neopol stood in front of them, so lifelike, so realistic. As Larren stared transfixed at the holo, the room seemed to darken. Sartha’s warning flashed through his mind: “Neopol could destroy us all.” Larren’s stomach twisted. Neopol.

Larren knew from mind-touch how much Ash depended on Lindha how much the wolf depended upon her. Neopol had Lindha, Ash’s mate. Larren swallowed and felt an impending sense of doom.

Face set and teeth clinched, Ash watched the broadcast. When it finished, he stood up, with a determined expression and strode away.

“Ash? Where are you going?” Larren asked. He jumped up to follow.

“To the communications center. I’m going to find out what the bargain is,” he replied impassively. Ash’s voice sounded unnaturally calm. This didn’t deceive Larren in the slightest. It barely camouflaged the boiling volcano beneath.

“No, wait,” Larren called urgently. “We need to talk this over.”

Ash turned on his heels and swung toward Larren. “What’s to talk over?” he said in an angry tone. “Nothing.” His stride became more rapid.

Larren ran ahead and jumped in front of him. He reached out and grabbed him by the tunic as Ash attempted to pass.

“Ash,” Larren said, “Listen to me.”

“No.” Ash tore Larren’s hand from his tunic and turned on him. “Don’t try to stop me, Larren,” he threatened, his voice a low-toned growl. “Don’t you see?” Ash erupted. “He has Lindha!”

Larren watched in fear and fascination as Ash’s features contorted in a rage of passion, an onrush of uncontrollable fury. “I will kill him,” he snarled, full of hate. “If it is the last thing I do, I will make him dead.” Ash’s voice was hard, his teeth bared. His eyes began to clearly show bright, burning amber.

The cat screamed and hissed, a shriek of sound.

Fur standing on end, the creature leaped up and sped from the room as though a pack of wild pig-dogs were chasing it. In its haste the terrified animal left a large bleeding scratch down Rositha’s thigh where it had raked her with its claws. The entire episode took only a second yet it seemed to punctuate Ash’s murderous intent.

The two men Ash faced each other, as if in a frozen tableau.

Larren, a tall, heavy obstacle, stood in front of Ash, physically preventing him from moving forward. The silence seemed unnatural after the screech of the cat. The lack of sound stood between them like a solid barrier, oppressive and concentrated.

“Get out of my way, Larren,” Ash ordered in a low, menacing tone.

“You’re endangering us all, Ash,” Larren said. He tensed as an electrical current of fear welled up from inside him and washed out over his skin. He felt uncertain of how to handle … the wolf. He made his voice low and bland. “We need to think this over, Ash.”

Think?” Ash spat. “You think.” With blurring speed and the strength of a wild boar he threw Larren across the communal area and continued his intent stride toward the communications center where Icom transmissions could be broadcast over a large distance.

Larren fell to his knees, but without a moment’s hesitation he jumped forward, stomach to the floor. He managed to grab Ash’s legs, tripping him over. Ash fell to one knee but in his blind urgency to reach the communications center simply ignored Larren and continued to move forward.

Larren got back on his feet. With one long leap he sprang on top of Ash’s back. He firmly encircled Ash’s neck with his right arm, held on to his torso with the other. Ash bucked and fought to throw him off, knocking Larren into a wall.

Larren held tight. Then he squeezed. Larren had Ash’s neck locked against his chest; he was choking him.

Out of Larren’s peripheral vision Rositha stood nearby aiming a stunner. Larren’s eyes flew wide at the sight. For a moment he thought that Rositha, loyal Temple Sister that she was, might have been pointing the stunner at him. He breathed out a long breath. He should have known better. Rositha has a stunner aimed at Ash. It will be okay.

He said, “Listen to me, Ashton. If you contact Admiral Neopol you’ll give away our position. We’re not ready for Neopol yet. We must be prepared.”

“No, you listen,” Ash grunted, still attempting to throw him off. Larren hung on desperately, tightening his grip, squeezing the breath out of his friend, determined to make him stop.

“Ash,” Larren said. “We have to think this out. We have to plan our actions … like men, Ash. Like men. There’s time enough for the wolf.”

The combination of lack of air, pain and reasoning seemed to bring Ash to his senses. He stopped struggling and relaxed abruptly. The utter motionlessness, the total cessation of action occurred in an instant, like flicking a switch. The silence seemed like the dead calm in the center of a cyclone.

Ash slid to the floor.

Larren released his grip, panting. He looked into Ash’s eyes, relieved. They were dark once more, black as a piece of coal. The fire had been extinguished. Ash gasped, breathless from Larren’s stranglehold, or perhaps from his own uncontrollable emotions. Who could tell? Larren had little experience with the wolf, and what experience he did have scared the shit out of him.

“All right,” Larren said finally, getting his own breath back. He sat down on the floor beside Ash. “Now … let’s talk this over.”

“What’s there to talk over?” Ash asked. His voice broke like an adolescent upon hitting puberty. “Forsaken worlds, Larren. He has Lindha. He will hurt her.” Ash’s flushed face seemed incredibly vulnerable to Larren’s eyes. “Don’t you understand? He will hurt her. What about our child? She … she may lose it,” he said desperately. “She could die.” Ash blinked a few times. There was water in his eyes.

Larren put his arm around Ash like an older brother and spoke with all the reassurance and comfort he could command. “Ash. We will save her. Neopol hasn’t hurt Lindha. He’ll talk to us first. I know it,” he said with conviction, even though he actually wasn’t so sure of the fact. “He wants to bargain. He wants her alive. Nothing really bad has happened yet. We’ll work out a way to ensure that nothing does.”

“I will kill him,” Ash said venomously. Larren, his arm around him, felt the sudden tension in Ash’s body with those words.

“Hey,” Larren admonished. He regarded Ash with apprehension. A volatile storm of emotion flash across his face: stark terror, grief, desperation, hate and determined revenge. Ash changed from second to second. Larren knew the wolf could escape at any moment.

“Ash. Look at me,” Larren said. He took him by his shoulders.

Larren’s gaze locked with Ash. He felt like he’d actually gotten through this time. He said, “Help me keep the wolf back, will you? We’re going to think this through. Remember, we’re going solve this like men, Ash. Like men.”

“Yes, all right,” Ash agreed with a sigh.

“Good.” Larren pulled himself to his feet, reached over and pulled Ash up with him. Ash stood still as a statue.

Larren said, “I can understand why Neopol wants me. But why does he seem so intent on finding you, Ash? Perhaps he has an awareness of his own and he perceives you as a threat. I don’t know. What do you think?”

Ash shrugged. Larren studied him, gauging his emotions. He wanted to keep Ash’s mind busy, but this despondent thing was okay, too. Anything but the wolf.

Larren began to pace, rubbing his chin. A new thought struck him. It seemed to explain everything, like the missing section of a puzzle. Could the answer be that simple?

Larren raised his hands and said, “That’s it. It’s so obvious. I bet that the UWG wanted Delian destroyed because they knew that your race could read thoughts. Of course. You would all need to be destroyed, each and every one of you, for such a mammoth threat to their plans. Neopol needs to kill you, Ash, to complete the full destruction of your race. Unless he wants to use you, to force you to read minds, to work for him?” Larren shook his head. “No, you are too much of a threat. He wants you dead.”

Ash nodded, his expression distant and remote.

“Yes. I am sure that is it.” Larren paced back and forth, testing the idea out. Rositha sat back down, her stunner put away. Larren took a moment to give her a reassuring smile. He knew that she would contribute to the discussion if she had any ideas. Until then she would sit quietly.

“Good. So, what does Neopol know? If he has Lindha what has she told him? Probably that you went to Kalar to kill me. We must assume that she would tell the truth.” He shut his eyes for a moment as he imagined her under the probe. He swallowed and opened his eyes, forcing that image from his mind. Instead he said, “Neopol would have used mindtap.”

Larren stopped pacing. Ash looked like he was mourning the loss of his love already. Hells of Perdition! Ash was either an immobile grief-stricken man or an enraged wolf. Not much choice there. He had to get him occupied with some positive action. An experienced Leader, Larren instinctively knew what to do.

“Quickly, Ash. Tell me. What does Lindha know about you? C’mon, man. This will save her.” He turned to Rositha. “Keep a record of this, will you? You’re a Prefect. You know what she knows.”

Ash’s eyes focused on Larren and he began to take an interest. “She knows that I can read minds …”

“Yes, good,” Larren prompted him. “But Neopol would already know that because you’re from Delian anyway. What else?”

“Lindha would know the Legends of the Trueborn. He would know that I am the head of all the Temples of Jana.” Ash moved to a recliner and sat down, “Is he powerful enough? Could he have the Temples on every Freeworld destroyed?”

“No,” Larren said evenly. “To do that would take a lot of time combined with a costly and unique plan of attack for each and every world. The Temples carry considerable authority and weight. I think he would rather just ensure your demise. I wouldn’t concern yourself with that, Ash.”

“But what if he learns that the Temple Sisters are capable of reading minds during coupling?” Ash asked.

Larren was silent. If Neopol asked Lindha the right questions during mindtap, then he would know of the Temple Sisters’ ability. Neopol was an expert at interrogation, so that was a real possibility. Depravation. If he knew that, then the Temple Sisters on every world may indeed be in serious trouble.

“Neopol has too much on his plate to think of that, Ash. That is not our concern right now. What else does Lindha know?” Larren said.

Ash sat hunched on the edge of the recliner, elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands. Larren felt something in his chest twist. Ash seemed to be in real pain, like he was suffering a toothache or something.

“I don’t know if she is aware of the specific range, but Lindha would know that in order for me to mind-touch I need to be physically within a certain distance of the subject.” Ash said.

“Right.” Larren looked at Rositha. She nodded. He knew she had made a note of it on Icom. She was making a list. Not just a list, he was certain. With Rositha it would be a detailed analysis probably. “Hmm. That’s a drawback. We must assume that Neopol will not take any chances that you’ll be able to read his mind. I don’t see how we could smuggle you near enough to Neopol in order to discover his plans not if he’s aware of the span of your mind-reading powers.”

Still pacing back and forth, Larren worried at the problem. “If I were Neopol heaven forbid what would I be planning? What would I think?” He frowned, deep in concentration. “I would assume that Ash had found and killed Larren Forseth perhaps?” He considered the idea. “No. Having read Forseth’s personnel brief, I would not envisage him as so easy to kill.” He grinned at Rositha, who gave him an appreciative smile back. She had found a first aid kit and was dabbing her cut with an antiseptic cream.

Larren rubbed his chin. “No. Neopol would assume that you knew my intentions, Ash, by reading my mind.” Attention fixated, Larren sat down beside Rositha. “Yes. I am afraid that Neopol with all his cunning will know that we are working together, Ash. He is aware that I risked everything for you and your mother.” Larren flinched for a moment, recalling the death of his men and the probe. He didn’t think there could possibly be anything Neopol didn’t know about him.

He said, “He would know that I have no wish to harm you. Knowing that you read minds, he would assume that you discovered my real intentions.” He shook his head. “Neopol is aware that we are working together. What else could we do? The only unknown factor we have on our side is Rositha.”

Ash stood up. “I’ll contact Neopol. Let’s see what the bargain is.”

“No. Leave that until we are safely on Opan’s space station. We will be in orbit tomorrow anyway,” Larren said.

“Conqueror is already orbiting Opan,” Ash pointed out. “They’ll probably capture us aboard Minavera Mover.”

The thought of Conqueror, like a far-reaching spider waiting to catch them, sent a chill up Larren’s spine. It had happened once before. He recalled Darla Wu when she had been held by Conqueror’s tractor beam. Minavera wouldn’t have a chance.

“No,” Larren objected, instinctively feeling that it was their only chance. “Neopol couldn’t know. Neopol had no possible way of discovering that we are aboard this vessel. How could he?” With an utterly sinking feeling he suddenly realized the truth. “Good God.” Larren said in an empty voice. “Lindha knows about Captain Walters and Minavera Mover.”

Ash said, “Captain Walters visited her last time he was on Opan. Lindha knew Walters planned to allow me to board on Kalar, and she would be aware of the estimated time of arrival and Minavera’s movements. Perhaps that was why the police vessel was following us. They were keeping track. As you say, no doubt Neopol has guessed that we are aboard her by now.” He paused and then whispered, “I … I think Lindha would … have told him.” He cleared his throat and shut his eyes.

Larren knew Ash was probably recalling the details he found during mind-touch, how Neopol had used mindtap and the probe. Larren had told Neopol everything he wanted to know. Lindha would do the same. No one could withstand the man.

With that thought all was quiet. It was like a minute of prayer and silence at a funeral.

Ash sat up, his back straight, plainly trying hard to be strong. Larren thought he looked very young. Ash had all his sympathy. Larren didn’t want to imagine the state he would be in if Neopol had Rositha.

“I agree, Ash.” Larren said in a more normal voice, “Lindha would not have willingly told, but I do not believe she had a choice. Neopol knows we are on board right now. The scanners of Conqueror probably have Minavera on their screens at this moment. That’s why he chose to send that broadcast when he did.”

Ash shook his head. “Then why hasn’t he intercepted us? Or had the police pick us up? It doesn’t make sense. Why send a broadcast at all?”

There was more silence as all three of them considered the matter. There didn’t seem to be any logical explanation.

It was Rositha who hazarded a possibility. “Perhaps,” she surmised, “if it is true that Neopol is as insane as you believe, perhaps he himself wishes to bait a trap and watch you both fall into it. It could be that he would rather risk losing you in some strange game of his own than be certain about your capture.”

“That’s it.” Larren’s face brightened. He spun on his heels and moved across the room. “Good girl. Clever girl!” He smiled at Rositha, took her shoulders and kissed her. “Neopol prides himself in being able to predict the human animal,’ as he calls it. Yes. He has discovered the breaking point’ on Ash, that being Lindha. He feels sure that Ash will come to him and he is willing to risk everything on that gamble.”

“Then arrogance and pride are his weak points,” said Rositha with satisfaction.

“Yes,” Larren breathed. “We must find a way to use that against him.”

Ash didn’t comment. He was staring, absorbed in his own dark thoughts.

“All right, then,” Larren said. “We’ll use Minavera’s two-man lifecraft. It’s small enough and it has a communications center. He will expect us to do that, probably, but there is nothing to be done about it. We will separate from Minavera before she docks, but we won’t be able to avoid Conqueror’s detection equipment.”

Larren snapped his fingers. “But Neopol couldn’t know about Rositha.” He smiled at her. “Rositha will be our wild card. Perhaps she can contact and find out more from one of the Temple Sisters on Opan. We must be able to obtain more of an advantage than we have now.”

Larren moved to Ash, and patted him on the shoulder. “There is much to do tomorrow.” Ash was gray-white. He looked terrible. “Listen, Ash, I’ve planned my way successfully out of a few scrapes in my time. I’ll come up with a solution for this one. Trust me.”

Ash nodded.

“I want you to get some sleep,” Larren said, pulling Ash to his feet and walking him toward his quarters. “Rositha and I will keep working on this. She knows everything a Prefect would know. Together we’ll figure out a strategy don’t look so miserable. It’ll work out. Rositha? Will you please fetch a sleeping draught and bring it to Ash’s room? Make it a really strong one.”

“Of course.”

Larren had a tight grip on Ash’s arm. He said, “Have you ever taken drugs, Ash?”

Ash paused for a moment. “Not in this body.”

Despite the circumstances Larren had to smile at this odd reply. The funny thing was, Larren knew exactly what Ash meant by that cryptic remark.

Reaching Ash’s bedroom compartment, Rositha joined them there with the brew. Ash drank the concoction without protest. “You’re chemically naive, kiddo. That’s good. No tolerance. So you are going to lose consciousness real quick, and that is just what you need.”

Larren nodded to Rositha. Without a word, she left them alone.

Larren squatted down and tucked him into his bunk, activating the protective sleep web. He said lightheartedly, “Hell, Ash. I haven’t even known you for one full month and already I’ve put you to bed three times.” He smiled with dry humor. “People are going to talk.”

Ash just stared at him with deep hollow eyes.

“Listen,” Larren said, patting Ash’s arm reassuringly. “Just leave everything to me and get some rest.” Larren figured Ash had travelled the full gamut of emotions now: shock and fury; fear and hopelessness. Now he resided safely, solidly on the bottom of the scale.

But at least the wolf is gone.

Larren stayed with him for about a half an hour, until the draught began to take effect.

“Larren,” Ash spoke in a drowsy slur as Larren stood up to leave. “Neopol it seems has an unswerving ability to find the exact thing that an individual cannot endure. I … I cannot live without Lindha.” He said. “She … she is the best part of me. She must live. We must save her. I … I am … I am nothing. I am neither a person nor animal. I … feel half a man.”

Clinton’s words came rushing back to Larren, shouting in his mind: “You were there, Ash, only you weren’t. Only half of you was there. The other half was missing …” Larren gave a long sigh. For some strange reason, he felt only relief. Lindha was only missing not necessarily finished. She simply couldn’t be. For if she was, what hope did they have?

“Have faith, Ash,” Larren said positively. “Trust in the Goddess. She wouldn’t have led you this far only to reach a dead end.” He swallowed, regretting his choice of words. Ash didn’t appear to notice. “And if you can’t trust Jana then at least trust me.” He gave him a reassuring smile and patted him on the shoulder, hoping to cheer him up. “I’ll get you both out of this. I swear it.”

Larren saw a glimmer of hope in Ash’s eyes. It was a small thing, a tiny light, but it was the best he could do for now. He left Ash in his bunk with his eyes shut and his breathing slow. Ash would sleep now.

Larren strode down the corridor, his booted feet making a reassuring sound. He swallowed nervously. We’ll get out of this. Somehow. Like a recording, a reference from documentary data came to mind: “An Opan wolf mates for life. Studies prove that with a matched pair of wolves, should one die, the other goes into a decline, expiring shortly after.”

Well, he would save Lindha, Larren thought with determination, as yet unaware of how it possibly could be done. There must be a way. The question was, could he rescue her from the entire crew of Conqueror, outsmart the genius of that madman Neopol and come through it all alive himself? He ducked past the common area Rositha wasn’t there. She must have gone to their room. He changed direction.

Not likely, he decided practically. He didn’t like the odds. But then he’d been in some pretty rough spots before. The eternal optimist, Larren found the idea of someone actually succeeding at killing him difficult to imagine.

Unintentionally, the worst possible option came, unbidden into his mind. Larren swallowed and cleared his throat. There was one thing that he could not endure. One thing that would truly be the breaking point for him. He wiped his forehead, having suddenly come out in a cold sweat.

The unbearable thought nagged at him, compelling him to consider it. What if Neopol captured Rositha? What if he had to choose between her survival and that of Ash? And if fate would be so cruel as to force him to make that choice, what then would he decide?

Striding rapidly down the corridor as if running away from the idea, Larren forced himself to relax. No matter what consequences might lie before him, surely his options would never come to that. No, that was simply an irrational and unreasoning fear, he reassured himself.

But in the end, despite all attempts at solace, the thought gave him no relief.

25. Breaking Point

I am constantly amazed by what an individual will willingly endure, how the average human will willingly sacrifice themselves for complete strangers, be they man, woman or child. What they will sacrifice for a loved one is particularly astonishing. Such irrational behavior is difficult to understand.

Admiral Neopol Jones, personal file

Insane, thought Gene Pagett, Captain of Conqueror. And what insanity awaits me now? He moved warily to the admiral’s room and tapped on his door.

“Yes, what is it?” Neopol said.

“Sir, it’s Captain Pagett. I have a message from High Command.”

The door swished open. “You may enter.”

Neopol was sitting in front of a workstation with his hand out. Pagett put the message into his open palm. “Thank you, Captain,” he said, without looking at him. “Good of you to bring this capsule. You may want to give me an Icom heads up next time.”

“Yes, sir.” Pagett left the room in momentary confusion, gathering his wits. He was sure that last time he had been ordered not to inform him via Icom. Pagett swore under his breath. That man. He began the journey back to the Bridge. While Admiral Neopol appeared to be an effective, functioning superior officer, he was in fact insane. It had taken him years to fully appreciate that fact. For too long he had justified the man’s aberrant behavior, but in truth his madness was self-evident. He turned down a cross corridor, returned a salute to a junior officer and boarded a tube. All the while his mind maundered along these lines, disturbed and arriving at no conclusions.

Arriving on the Bridge, preoccupied with his own thoughts, Captain Pagett came back to reality when confronted by his first officer.

“Fresh orders from HC, sir?” Officer Nelson inquired politely.

Pagett shook his head, irritated. “No idea, Number One. The only orders I have are to continue to orbit this Godforsaken planet, with no liberty for the crew. When our good Admiral graciously decides to inform us otherwise, you’ll be the first to know.”

Nelson, displaying prudence, remained silent.

Captain Pagett had no idea what was going on, and his first officer knew it. For days now they had been keeping track of that obscure offworld freighter, Minavera Mover. The vessel remained on their scanner’s full rotation watch and no one had any idea why. And now Neopol had taken women prisoners, Sisters of the Temple of Jana, no less. The Creator alone knew what they were supposed to be guilty of. Just the idea of what Neopol may have planned for them would shake the foundations of the most hardened of Fleetmen.

“Never mind, sir,” Nelson said. “I expect that we shall know soon enough what our next commission is.”

“Yes,” Pagett agreed absently, his attention elsewhere. Those Temple Sisters. Why did Neopol have them on board? He had kept their arrival a closely guarded secret. Few knew they were there, just Pagett himself, his first officer, Neopol’s adjutant Janson, and the medical staff.

His right hand dipped into his pocket, where he had a little blue stone encased in clear plexiglass. Pagett had found the stone years previously when checking prisoners inventory. For some reason he had been drawn to the harmless little marble. In truth, he had stolen it. He had picked it up and put it safely in his pocket. Then he had deleted it from inventory almost before he was aware of doing it. Such a strange compulsion and quite out of character. He never regretted it. He hoped it would bring him good luck. Worlds of Perdition, with Neopol around he certainly needed luck. Pagett rolled the soothing smoothness of the marble in his hand and some of his tension left him.

Nelson coughed. “Excuse me, sir. The hourly status appraisals wait at your command center. I’ve taken the liberty of placing a hot cup of coffee next to them.” He grinned.

Pagett smiled. “Thank you, Number One. Service above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Yes, sir,” Nelson smiled amiably. He touched his Captain’s arm, a reassuring gesture. “Things will sort out, Gene. You’ll see.”

Pagett smiled and nodded. “Thanks, Eric.” His second in command was well aware of the stress he was under. That was because he was under it, too.

He marched up to the Bridge, sat down in the command chair and began to flick through the reports with a handheld reader. If the reports were not acknowledged and time-stamped within a specified period there would be hell to pay. Good of Nelson to remind him.

He put his thumb print on the verification unit, hardly aware of what he had read. Then he sat back, opened the seal on his coffee and took a sip. As usual, due to the self-heating probe it was hot enough to scald his throat. He gasped from the sudden pain, but it helped to bring him back to the present. His temporary relief was short-lived.

Forsaken Worlds. No matter what he did his thoughts returned to those Temple Sisters. Why were they here? Knowing Neopol’s morbid preoccupation with the study of pain only added to his concern. At least Neopol wasn’t interested in women not as a man would be.

Pagett reflected back, welcoming the sudden surcease from his present concerns. He smiled, recalling those other Sisters he had known, back on his Homeworld of Shaku. Gene Pagett had grown up on the tablelands, farm bred. His heritage assured, he would own his father’s farm some day, like his father’s father before him. Everything was settled. Except for one thing: his burning desire, the driving need he had to get offworld, to explore other systems. More than anything else, he wanted to be a pilot.

Pagett shifted in his chair, remembering the conflicts he had faced with his father and one particularly vivid argument. “You’re a farm boy. Bred and raised for it. It’s in your blood, son!” his father protested.

“But father,” he pleaded. “I don’t want to work the land. I want to visit other planets, to pilot an interplanetary or even an intergalactic ship.” The thrill of adventure, that was his goal.

His father had been unrelenting. “You’ve been watching too much of that good-for-nothing holovid. It’s poisoned your mind with its fantasies. No son of mine will become space flotsam space trash.” In a fury, his father had stomped away.

Pagett, however, had bred true, not in his desire to till the soil but in the obstinate quality he had inherited from his sire. Even as a boy, Gene had been as stubborn as his father, perhaps even more so. His poor mother wanted them both to be happy. If anything, she was the one who suffered most, always coming between them during their constant bickering and out-and-out fights. In the end his father had acquiesced. He remembered his words to his mother: “The boy has his mind set. There is nothing anyone can do about that.”

Captain Pagett’s eyes began to sting. Bless his father. Always gruff and unyielding. All those years when he was a child he had never really appreciated him, or shown him how much he cared. Now he was dead and it was too late. His father had been a perfectionist. Nothing he had ever done seemed to be good enough to really please him. The sound of his father’s voice seemed to come back to him, as if he were there:

“I tell you, son. If a task is worth doing, it’s worth doing well. Don’t ever do anything only partial, boy. Do it better than anyone has ever done before.”

Filled with bitter resentment, he hadn’t understood his father’s repeated lectures. He always took it personally, never listening to what his father had been trying to convey. Father was right, Pagett thought. And it was his father who had scraped and saved to pay the Temple fees, to send him to school there so he could receive the best training possible. Entrance examinations were difficult and only students with top marks would qualify for pilot indoctrination.

“If you have your mind set, boy, then there is no use doing things halfway. Better you do your learning at the Temple of Jana. Get to your studies and don’t waste those tuition fees,” he admonished churlishly, his usual rough and surly self.

It had been like a dream come true. Never had he imagined that his father would suggest that he study at the Temple. The tuition alone was a small fortune.

It wasn’t until much later he had realized that beneath that gruff exterior, his father had actually been proud of him. Uncomfortable with displays of affection, the old man hadn’t been able to show his pride, or even how much he had loved him. Father had never said anything, but Pagett was certain of it.

Life at the Temple for a boy of his age had been like heaven. So much to learn. And the Sisters. Pagett swallowed. Like the innocent child that he was he had fallen hopelessly, helplessly, in love with the Temple Prefect. With long dark hair and dark coffee skin, she had been beautiful, intelligent, pure and moral … everything any man would want in a woman and more. It was too bad she was strictly hands-off.

Pagett smiled in pleasant reminiscence. In the two years he had spent at the Temple, he had learned everything; absolutely everything. Pictures flashed through Pagett’s mind: his first chance for love and the satisfaction and pleasure it had brought; his confusion, uncertainty and embarrassments; the genuine concern and interest of everyone there.

The face of the Lady Lindha flashed by suddenly and he was confronted with an image of her, one he hadn’t planned on recalling. Unfortunately, he couldn’t forget her if he tried. The Lady Lindha had come aboard Conqueror hopelessly proud. Even with wrists locked behind her back, her will, her spirit, had been bright and unyielding. Even though she resembled her not at all, the Lady Lindha still reminded Pagett of the woman he had first given his heart to, that Temple Prefect of all those years ago.

Pagett stared, unseeing, recalling how he had later discovered that the Lady Lindha was also a Temple Prefect. Was she sitting in the detention quarters, waiting for certain humiliation … or pain? Was she, even now, praying to the Goddess for safe passage, for succor … for rescue?

The thought caused his heart to twist. This time Neopol had gone too far.

“Captain Pagett,” Neopol suddenly barked.

Pagett jumped up in surprise. “Yes, sir.” Pagett stood at attention. The Admiral had come up behind him without warning. Neopol did it on purpose, always trying to catch him out on the least little thing. Pagett reflected grimly that everything Neopol did had some sly reason. Always testing, working everyone out. There was nothing the man didn’t know.

Neopol’s eyes narrowed. “Did you have your mind on something particular, Captain?”

“N … No, sir,” Pagett stammered, gesturing to the reader that sat on his desk. “Just finished going over these reports.”

“So I see.” Neopol raised his eyebrows. His disbelief was apparent. Pagett was glad when he chose not to pursue it. “I have come to tell you that I’ll be in my quarters in preparation and then on the detention decks for some time. I do not wish to be disturbed for at least twenty hours.” He stared at Pagett, searching for a response.

“Yes, sir,” he replied, his voice and expression carefully impassive.

“High Command has given me permission to interrogate the Temple Sisters,” Neopol said quietly, as if revealing a secret. “We have good reason to believe that they are spies.”

“Will there be a trial, sir?” Pagett asked. According to UWG tenets, every citizen had the right to a fair trial. How could the Sisters of Jana be guilty? Everyone knew that it was in their own scriptures not to interfere with politics.

“No need.” Neopol’s innocent glance seemed less than innocent to Pagett. The Admiral regarded him closely. Was he still looking for a reaction? He could swear Neopol was psychic. Did the man know how much he disapproved of the arrest or was it kidnapping? of those two Sisters?

“Sir,” Pagett said in a moment of daring. “Correct me if I am mistaken, but I believe that the Temple Sisters are Freeworld citizens. Surely they have the right to council petition and trial.”

“Yes, of course. Except in cases of high treason.”

“High treason?” Pagett felt the blood drain from his face. “There is proof of this?”

Neopol laughed. “There will be. I shall have all the proof I need quite soon. Once I have the signed confessions, I’ll let you view them. It should be quite educational, even fascinating. Don’t you agree?”

With an evil little grin, Neopol left, not even waiting for a reply. He began the walk toward the lift tube in cheerful, jaunty steps. That weird, emotionless sub-lieutenant of his, Janson, followed him like some sort of robotic dog.

Captain Pagett stared after them both, shattered.

He watched their retreating figures numbly, his conscience screaming at him, imploring him he should do something. Stop Neopol. Help those women somehow. Perhaps he could send a discreet message to the Council of Civil Liberties? But could they even help?

Pagett swallowed, moved back to his command chair, and sat down. He felt the beginning of a cold, nervous sweat. If he notified the civil liberties people he would be severely disciplined, certainly court martialed. Maybe, like his friend Barlow, he would end up killing himself.

Nothing terrified him more than Admiral Neopol.

Neopol and his robot Janson were out of sight. Pagett’s stomach twisted. He felt empty, crushed and defeated. Deep down, he knew that he would make no attempt to rescue the Temple Sisters. He just didn’t have the nerve. He could portray the imposing captain of Conqueror, he could act composed, but he was in fact scared stiff. He wanted to throw up at the thought of going against Neopol.

The words that his father often repeated seemed to echo in his mind. For the first time in his life, Captain Pagett completely understood their full meaning.

His father had said: “Son, you just remember. All your life you can get away with anything you set your mind to. Anything. You can fool me, you can neglect and avoid chores and duties why you could do only the bare minimum of any worthwhile task, just to keep me happy. You can live a life of pretense and you may even think you’re happy while doing it. “But, boy …” His father had stared at him intently. “Just you remember this one thing. There is one person you can’t fool and you can’t escape and that person is you. In the end, when it comes right down to it, it is you yourself that you have to live with.”

Captain Pagett sat frowning, torn with indecision. What should he do? Blessed Jana, how true his father’s words had been.

Pagett knew why he had survived successfully under Neopol for so many years. He obeyed. Always. And he never questioned orders. In his heart, Pagett knew that, more and more each day, he was becoming exactly like Janson.

He bit his lower lip, holding back the desperation and despair that threatened to engulf him. There was no doubt about it. He was afraid.

And he was a coward.

Neopol lay on his bunk contentedly, while Janson mechanically massaged his feet. Sarack’s Fifth Symphony resounded though his quarters. It commemorated the attack of the advancing armies and the resulting destruction of Bogada.

This is such appropriate music. So inspiring. He wanted to be inspired. Preparation was half the pleasure in breaking a subject, the mental joy of planning an attack, outlining one’s strategy and then moving ahead with one’s plans.

Neopol wondered about Captain Pagett. Did the man expect to champion the women? It couldn’t be, he decided firmly. Pagett was too spineless to stand up for any cause. Still, the Admiral frowned in deliberation. Every human behaved out of character from time to time.

Pagett had certainly been affected by the women’s arrival. Neopol recalled Pagett’s face as the Lady Lindha and Lady Jeeha were brought aboard like common criminals. The man had turned ashen. Regarding them both with features that were white and strained, he seemed prepared to intervene, beg on their behalf for their release. He had remained silent, however, as expected. Interesting. He would bear watching.

“That’s enough, Lieutenant. Get out. You may wait outside my door.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, in his monotone voice. Obediently, Janson left.

Good, Neopol thought to himself. He didn’t want any distractions while he contemplated locating the breaking point of the Opan Temple women.

He chuckled, placing his arms behind his head. He and Huka had smuggled Lady Lindha and Lady Jeeha out of the Temple of Jana without incident. The two Sisters were supposedly being given a special tour of Conqueror. It was a unique privilege and honor. They would return in a few weeks’ time and the Prefect would send regular Icom messages, once he knew her security code.

So many intensive protective mechanisms to break through in order to kidnap the Prefect and her Second. The Temple was a fort, surrounded by surveillance both electrical and human. Redundant systems par excellence. It would have been impossible without Huka infiltrating from within.

Once cornered, Jeeha and Lindha were informed that if any sign were given that they were being taken against their will, they would be condemning whatever Sister or student they told to death. Threatening innocent people with death was so basic. But it always seemed to work on those of charitable mentality.

The Icom block had prevented either of them from sending an Icom alert, but the Sisters of Jana were ever watchful for hand signals and facial expressions. They had their own unique codes. That Lady Lindha. He sighed with real pleasure. She was a clever one. She had almost successfully sent such a covert message. Alert to such a possibility he was able to stop her. Conqueror’s intelligence database did have some useful Temple information, which was how he knew about such signals.

It was just as well that he had Huka plant the listening devices. The Temple was insulated against electronic ears. They were passionate about ensuring that confessions were not overheard. The Ispy units, secretly controlled by Conqueror, had done the trick. He grinned in satisfaction. Superior intellect or not, no one possessed his extraordinary cunning.

Neopol spent some time in peaceful meditation, detailing exact plans for breaking the Temple Sisters and recording them on Icom.

Successful men researched. They knew all there was to know before they acted. Then they mapped their strategy, detailing relevant information and determining possibilities for how to proceed. For example, the Lady Lindha loved her horse. There was so much one could do just from that one slip of information. “Animal lover” brought forth a host of possibilities. The Sisters, of course, cared a great deal for one another, and again, that one detail spawned an exponential array of strategies. At the least he felt certain that either woman would sacrifice herself if she thought it would help the other. Neopol snorted. So predictable.

It was his task to narrow this information, to find in it the most psychologically effective levers possible. Neopol never felt more alive than when precisely planning and preparing for an interrogation.

And such an interrogation! The women were exquisite.

When he was ready, he gathered his sub-lieutenant and marched happily off to the detention deck.

Days later, Neopol’s eyes glittered with an absorbing captivation.

The Lady Lindha was superb. He could still feel her yielding skin under his fingers, all that supple softness combined with mental strength. His nostrils were filled with her sweet fragrance, her sweat, her fear. He couldn’t recall feeling more thrilled. Neopol looked around his quarters once again, as if to ensure they hadn’t changed. They hadn’t, of course, but he had!

Wonderful. The most incredible experience of his life.

And this pleasure had been his for days. And it wasn’t over yet. There was so much more to do, and to learn from the Sisters of Jana. And there were thousands of Sisters on every Freeworld. Neopol felt water well in his eyes. Fate has given me a great gift. How had he missed using Temple Sisters as subjects up until now?

He sat at his desk with Icom prepared to make a record of the interrogation. Attached to Conqueror’s primary system, Icom would store this information and add it to his personal encrypted files. He would read over this report, making alterations as necessary later. For the time being his most urgent priority was simply to get these incredible facts recorded.

He started a file, “Favorites; Temple Sister on Opan; Breaking Point, Sister Jeeha.” He started another file along similar lines for Sister Lindha, Prefect of Opan. He had recordings of everything. He would be viewing each subject again and again. Both subjects were at the top of his favorites list now.

Composing himself, Neopol activated Icom and began to speak. “The following is a report on progress to date. Unwilling to damage the subjects, but vitally needing information concerning the Delian escapees and Forseth, I employed the use of mindtap. Neither subject responded to psychochemical intervention. It was as if they had the ability to turn off their consciousness at will. Specific physiological reactions were a lessening of pulse, brain waves measured at almost body death readings, and lowered body temperature. Note charts attached, Appendix A.”

Neopol paused and gazed fondly at the charts. It was unbelievable. These were the first subjects he had ever discovered that did not, in any way, respond to mindtap. And they were both Temple Sisters. Was it a genetic trait or some sort of hypnotic training that made them impervious? They were the first Temple Sisters he had ever interrogated, but they most certainly would not be the last.

He activated Icom once more. “Neither subject replied to any question offered while in the drugged state. Instead they each recited an odd litany of words again and again.”

Having carefully noted the litany during interrogation, Neopol repeated it for future reference. “As one can see, the verse begins appropriately enough, “Tortured tissue, heart and veins …” He gave a faint sardonic smile. “But it soon becomes apparent that it is a mysterious account of incomprehensible meanings.

“One false concept is repeatedly included in the refrain, I quote: Only the Spirit is eternal, freed you know you cannot die’.” Neopol frowned and shook his head. “The statement is utterly meaningless because, of course, all living things can be killed. The religious order of Jana appears to be of the old world belief that they are a Spirit’ or some such nonsense. This belief in the “Soul” has been disproved time and time again by those of reputable authority.” His voice finished on a high-pitched, almost frantic note.

Neopol felt compelled to defend what was to him the only possible truth. Humankind were animals. A man or woman could be killed. They could be controlled. After a few moments of gritting his teeth, he successfully calmed himself and was able to continue.

“Incidentally, I removed the Damithst crystal from the nostril of the subject Jeeha. Within one day in my possession it lost its vibrant blue color and turned black. Quite odd. Was it attached to her personally in some way? Never having any interaction with such a gem I have sent it to be chemically examined. The loss of her stone made no real change to the good Sister however. She was still capable of beating mindtap interrogation with or without the Damithst.

“On day two I subjected both subjects to the probe. The chart showing levels, length of time exposed, along with points of unconsciousness and physiological reactions are included, Appendix B.

“The subject Jeeha, on day two, received two separate, hourly attentions from the probe. Dr. Chang cautioned this as maximum due to the age and condition of her heart. The younger individual, the Lady Lindha, received three hourly visits with the probe.”

He paused Icom, savoring the memory. His groin tightened and stirred. Exquisite! The Sisters had suffered. Watching them in the throes of agony had been one of the most exhilarating sensations of his life. Intelligent. Courageous. Both extraordinary worthy adversaries. Despite everything, they had not answered his questions. How had they done it?

Neopol examined his emotions curiously, his face flushed with heat. Why had that been so thrilling? Was it because they were women? No. He had tortured women before. These Sisters created the same attraction that he found in baiting Janson. It was the same fascination that he experienced when he closely monitored almost any intelligent subject’s behavior.

He was a bloodhound on the trail, a heat-seeking dart that could not be deactivated. He persevered until he positively KNEW, without any doubts or reservations, that he held the secret to an individual’s sanity, that he alone held the key. Even more, he was free to use that power he could control or destroy another any time he wished. And the ecstasy, the pure ecstasy he felt when he finally delivered the coup de grâce. When he used his knowledge to crush an individual completely, to destroy them.

Neopol sighed. For him there was no greater pleasure. Those Temple Sisters superb. They seemed able to endure anything. He had not found their breaking point, despite completely exhausting all his normal methods as well as employing many new techniques. It was incredible. Like having an orgasm that lasted forever, just on the tip of relief.

Composing himself, Neopol resumed Icom recording. He coughed and swallowed, until his voice became normal once more. Then he continued, “Unbelievably, the probe did not break either subject. On day three, after considerable thought and research I tried the following: 1) Sexual humiliation. 2) Various physical assaults. 3) Severing the small right toe of the subject Jeeha with a laser. 4) Severing the little finger of the right hand of the subject Lindha. 5) Threat of disfigurement.

“After analysis and research I experimented with other activities, Appendix D, to no avail. Fears were examined: fear of heights, claustrophobia, fear of animals and insects, several others, all with no apparent effect. The final diagnosis, in my estimation, is that intimidation, pain, fear, and threat of death are not a sufficient threat to make them submit.

“On day four I informed the subject Lindha that I would destroy the subject Jeeha, if she refused to answer my questions. From previous experience with the sympathetically inclined, threatening another with death has almost always produced results. Emotion supersedes logic. To my surprise the Lady Lindha did not respond. My intention in any case was to destroy Jeeha. Understandably it appeared that these women were of some uniquely superior genetic strain, in order to undergo what they did without breaking. At least one of them needed to be dissected and examined by Dr. Smith.”

He stopped Icom recording once more and thought back over the interrogations. Lady Lindha’s behavior had been highly unexpected for her cultural conditioning. She should have done anything to prevent the death of her friend. Her conduct was not at all what he had predicted.

He shut his eyes and recalled the circumstances of Jeeha’s death, reliving the moments in exact detail as he had so long ago trained his mind to do.

Both women were strapped in probe recliners.

“Lady Lindha,” Neopol began calmly, “I’m afraid that if you do not tell me about the young Prince where he is, what his plans are then I will be forced to kill Lady Jeeha.”

Lindha’s eyes showed no reaction. She said, “As I have told you. The Lady Sartha is dead. This can be confirmed through forensic examination of Assurance. Ash told me she died upon crash landing on Opan. I do not know where her son, Ash, is.”

Looking at the lie detector, Neopol smiled. “I can see Sartha is dead, but you’re lying about her son. What about Forseth?”

“The son,” she replied wearily, “has gone off world and is searching for Forseth to kill him.”

“Good.” Neopol smiled, knowing she spoke the truth. “When will he be back? And on what vessel did he depart? Was it Minavera Mover? I know you saw Captain Walters in the offworld compound.”

“I have no idea.”

Neopol studied her. This was the point where she would submit to him. She had been nonchalant, pretending not to care that she held Jeeha’s life in her hands, but he knew the truth. She would react as Forseth had when his crewmember had been threatened with death. “You are lying, Sister,” he observed. “Is there anything you wish to say to the Lady Jeeha before I have her destroyed?”

Lindha’s eyes filled with moisture, but she gritted her teeth in a set jaw.

“I … I’m sorry, Jeeha,” she said. “Go with Jana.”

Jeeha smiled, her eyes communicating acceptance, understanding … and something more. Neopol snorted. Probably related to her concept of love the complete biological reaction.

Jeeha said, “You have never faltered, Lindha, and you do the right thing now. I have always admired your courage and persistence, my Lady Prefect. Remember. Jana chose well.”

Neopol kept his features motionless, but frustration welled inside him. The woman did not react as she should. He nodded to Smith, who raised a laser. Jeeha closed her eyes, her face oddly serene. Without hesitation, Smith activated the lethal blade and slit her throat past the bone. There was a momentary smell of burnt flesh until the air conditioning sucked it away, but Jeeha’s body barely moved. Strapped in the couch, her forehead was firmly held in place. Strangely enough, her expression hadn’t altered. The woman appeared to be simply asleep, her features comfortable and composed.

Watching the Lady Lindha to observe her reaction, Neopol’s eyes narrowed. He stared intently, annoyed, but not really surprised. She was reciting that stupid litany again.

Coming out of his reflections, he began recording once more. He should have waited to kill Jeeha. Maimed and tortured her more. Perhaps that would have obtained the truth. He had lost his careful control and that irked him, although he had planned to kill one of the Sisters in any case. Neopol continued, “The subject Jeeha had tests run as planned but results came up negative. The subject in question was normal humanoid. No unusual genetic deformities were found. I have attached the report on the body as produced by Dr. Smith, appendix C.

“It is now day six and I’ve finally obtained the information that we required. Never having to extend interrogations to this length, I’ve become quite resourceful.” He relaxed back into his comfortable chair and smiled.

“From day four to day six, a total of fifty-three hours, I ensured the remaining subject obtained virtually no rest. At the end of that period she was allowed to sleep. My assistant dressed in civilian garb and wore a rather realistic holographic projection of the Delian Prince. The subject was given mindtap and dillusor, to chemically make the woman susceptible. He then woke the subject up with a high dose of adrenaline, after letting her sleep for two hours.”

Neopol gave a gleeful laugh. “The subject believed that her true love had come to rescue her. While her bindings were being loosed, the subject unwittingly told everything. My advice concerning similar cases is to deceive them in this manner.”

He had yet to break the woman.

Neopol took a deep breath and shut his eyes, his mind full of possibilities. Oh, he would break her in time, but this outcome, knowing how to get his hands on the escaped Delian and the talisman, was more than enough for now. Pausing momentarily he could think of nothing else to say. He could add more later. Mentally, he toggled the Icom recording off.

The Admiral stood up. He knew everything now. And to discover that the Sisters of Jana were able to read minds during coupling. How interesting. The Temple Sisters were as much of a threat to HC plans as the Delians had been. He didn’t plan to document this little bit of information. He wanted to notify his superior in person. And the Lady Lindha was pregnant. She was supposed to have been untouched until Huka took her. The man was a fool.

Neopol walked out of his quarters to where Janson was waiting, as always. “Status report on the subject,” he snapped.

“She sleeps, sir,” he answered. “The doctors have nourished and hydrated her through skin blankets. She is regaining color and remains confined in detention.”

“Good.” Neopol nodded. “Leave her. I want her to be alone for now. Let her rest, to prepare for what I have planned next. She’s not to be moved.”

“Yes, sir.”

Whistling happily, Neopol strode to the Bridge. Captain Pagett was waiting for him there. Lines of strain showed around his eyes.

Pagett has no stomach for my experiments, Neopol thought. Such a weakling created no fascination or mystery. He already held the key to the man, but there was hardly any need to use it. What was the challenge in forcing open a door that wasn’t even locked? He already knew he could break Pagett with the lightest shove. Pagett, unfortunately, was totally predictable.

“Captain Pagett, did you have the opportunity to view the United Worlds holo concerning Assurance and the Testimonials? I think I came across rather well on that.”

“Yes, sir,” Pagett agreed.

Neopol said, “I want a shuttle prepared immediately, as I’ll be leaving for Opan within the hour. Only contact me if HC sends a message, or to inform me when Minavera Mover lifecraft ejects. I’ll need to know when and where it lands. I’ll be staying on Opan for a few days with my medical aides, Janson and Vice Regal Huka. The two prisoners are not to be contacted by anyone, in any manner. They are in no danger. They are both being well taken care of. They’ll not suffer while they await my return.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” Neopol nodded, keeping the knowledge of Lady Jeeha’s demise to himself. Let Pagett and his second believe that both prisoners were alive and well, at least until he returned. At that time he would personally quell any noble sentiments or reactions on the dead woman’s behalf.

Ash would be on the lifecraft of Minavera Mover, Neopol felt absolutely certain of it. After he captured the young prince, he would have him severely beaten and taken to detention. The Lady Lindha would wake to witness her love, bloodied and broken and she would know that all was lost.

The Delian prince would be all too easy to manage. A threat to the woman or the unborn child would be all it would take.

It was all too easy now.

A faraway look came into Neopol’s eyes and his lips curled with satisfaction. He couldn’t wait to see the shattered expression on the Lady Lindha’s face when she saw that he held captive the one person she had been determined to protect. He was positive that that would prove to be her true breaking point. She would know then that everything she had sacrificed and endured had been for nothing. A resilient subject, yet through his careful machinations, through testing and torture, he had worn her down. She had no more resources available to help her compensate for and deal with further shocks.

Neopol smiled with delight. The lovely Lady Lindha, Prefect of the High Temple of Jana, would lose her mind at that point, becoming hysterical, raving completely unhinged. Yes. That is the effect I want to create and nothing is going to interfere with that.

Frowning suddenly, he stared at Pagett. He wondered if the good Captain could be a threat to his plans. But why concern himself with the man now? Intuition? Neopol held his junior officer’s gaze with a fixed and malevolent intent. “If you or anyone else enters the detention deck while I am on Opan, I’ll have you court martialled with maximum penalties. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Pagett answered, snapping a smart salute. The Captain almost squirmed under the Admiral’s intense gaze.

“Good,” Neopol nodded, satisfied. With Pagett suitably cowed, he strode off to prepare for his departure to Opan.

As the Admiral left, Captain Pagett watched, his face flushed with fear … and shame.

In his heart he felt that the Admiral was unnecessarily concerned. He didn’t have the guts to disobey Neopol, even though he wanted to help the Temple Sisters from the depths of his soul. He was simply too afraid. He would never be able to overcome his terror and contravene a direct order especially an order that was made under threat of severe punishment. Only a incredibly brave man would dare to make any attempt to offer comfort to the Temple Sisters.

A coward could never become a hero, he reflected grimly.

It seemed that both he and Neopol knew exactly into which category he fell.

26. Snakebite

It has been said that the great things in life are exactly what they seem to be. Such simplicity can be difficult to understand. I have had many visions that I could not interpret, visions meant to be passed to a greater soul. I am but a thread in the fabric. Nevertheless, I do know this: even the finest and most self-sacrificing actions must be paid for. Strangely enough, that is what makes them so fine.

Seer Narda Chayton

Time was running out.

Larren gathered a few last minute things, stuffing them into a backpack: a rubber stanchion, a stunner, explosive ordnance, and a handheld compass for Icom would be blocked offline by Conqueror. He prepared to depart on one of Minavera Mover’s lifecrafts.

Only he and Ash would be aboard.

Larren took a tube down to the lower levels. A few short hours had passed since they had received the UWG broadcast and Admiral Neopol’s ultimatums. Minavera Mover had already received clearance and slip details from the orbital space station for Opan. He and Ash planned to jump ship well before it docked.

As he entered the holding area, Larren regarded the serious group that gathered in an anxious knot around the escape hatch. Rositha bit her lower lip in a worried frown, Captain Walters’ seemed slightly panicked and Ash … well, Ash just looked despondent. Portal ajar, the small craft waited restlessly for departure, its comparatively tiny operating systems already online. Only last minute farewells and instructions remained.

“Larren,” Rositha said. “I don’t understand why I can’t go with you.” Larren mused that he’d seen that expression on her face before. It reflected a strange combination of affection, frustration and concern. “There is plenty of room on that escape pod,” she said. “I want to go.”

“Don’t argue with me on this, Rositha.” Larren said in a voice of command. “Not now. I’ve been in many battles. Your presence would only hinder us. I don’t doubt your capability,” he was quick to reassure her. “But I’d have my attention on you and the danger you were in, not on the task at hand. I’m sorry. You’re not coming. Besides, your task will be to rally support from the Temple on Opan not that Ash or I will need any help, mind you.” He attempted to keep the mood as light hearted as possible. “Seriously, we need information. The data you acquire, not to mention back up from the Temple Sisters could make all the difference. Neopol will know where we land this lifecraft. He’ll know exactly where Ash and I are, but he’ll have no idea that you’re on Opan. Coming with us will give up that advantage.”

Rositha gazed down toward at the grooved plastiflooring of the ship. “As you wish,” she said.

“Good,” Larren kissed her forehead to lessen the blow. “You have our landing coordinates?”

“Yes. Eighty-one degrees latitude by thirty-six degrees longitude, about eighty kilometers away from the wreck of Assurance.”

“Good. We’ll have no trouble guiding our craft to that location. When you get to the Temple, refuse to confide in anyone except the Acting Prefect. Don’t use Icom. Neopol will have it monitored. Ensure you’re in a counselling room to guarantee you can’t be overheard. You can’t be too careful. The place may be full of Neopol’s agents. If all is clear, contact us on our confidential frequency zero-zero-twenty-three, not on Icom, remember? And let us know what assistance you can provide. We’ll wait until 1400 hours for your call, Rositha.”

“You’ll hear from me well before then,” she assured.

“And Rositha. Be careful, won’t you?” Larren cautioned, holding her firmly by the shoulders to emphasize his concern. He eyed her gravely. “Whatever you do, don’t endanger yourself.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll take no unnecessary risks.” She stressed the last few words. “I know how keenly you would feel my loss.” She gave him a meaningful look. “I’ll be as careful of my own well being as you will be of yours.”

Larren stared at her in surprise and then turned away, releasing his hold of her shoulders. “Good, good,” he commented absently. Inside his thoughts were running wild. Was Rositha as aware of his plans as she seemed to infer? No. How could she be? But she had undoubtedly been admonishing him. Perhaps she had guessed his intention? The scheme he had contrived to put into effect as a possible last resort?

“Captain Walters, do you have any suggestions or ideas you want to add?” Larren asked, thrusting the uncertainties from his mind.

Walters shrugged. “Sorry, this sort of thing isn’t my line. The crew and I will stay on board and remain at the ready on Opan station. Not much help for you on the ground, I’m afraid. But if you need to if you manage to evacuate we can try to run.” With Conqueror in orbit they all knew how helpful that would be.

“Thank you,” Larren said, nodding his approval. The crew of Minavera wouldn’t be of any direct assistance. Still, it was good to know that they would be available.

He chewed his lower lip. “We won’t delay any longer than 1400 hours. After that, Ash will contact Neopol and discover what the bargain is. With the help of your information, Rositha, and once we have an idea of Neopol’s schemes, we’ll decide our next course of action. If there is any problem communicating, just round up any Temple Sisters you can and come and rescue us, right?”

He glanced toward Ash for confirmation, and felt his features soften with concern. Ash was white and strained, as if experiencing actual physical illness or pain. Larren breathed in slowly to control his irritation. He had seen all manner of suffering and loss, observed battle fatigue as well as vibration and sound shock. By the Goddess, he had seen his men tortured. But never had he seen anyone as badly affected as Ash. Adopting positive actions or attitudes hadn’t helped, nor the other efforts he’d made, attempts that almost always worked on others.

Ash was either a wild, unpredictable wolf, or a despondent, despairing young man. Frankly, he was rather pathetic. Neither side of him was of much use. Although, Larren decided, he much preferred the man.

Resigned, Larren sighed. Whatever pain Ash was experiencing through the loss of his mate had cut him deeply, and it appeared that he was still bleeding; his life force seemed to be fading in front of his eyes. Ash’s deep need for Lindha was bound up inside him in some way, intrinsically part of his unique personality, that dark wolf side of him, the animal facet that could not be exorcised.

“Ash?” Larren queried tentatively.

“I’m all right, Larren.” Ash gave a faint, fleeting smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “I’ve been thinking.” He hesitated and Larren noticed that Ash’s knuckles were white from where he had been rigidly clenching his fists. Thinking’ didn’t appear to have done him much good. Ash said, “My sleep was filled with weird dreams, filled with snakes and one-armed monsters seeking in vain for their missing right arms. So strange. My mind never stops, but sweet Jana I can’t imagine an answer. I’m afraid there is no way to free Lindha.” He frowned, his face lined with desperation.

“Hey, kid,” Larren said with forced cheer. “I’ve been doing the same thing, only I’ve got plenty of ideas. I keep telling you just leave it to me. We’ll get your Lindha out of this. Just trust me, will you?”

“I … I trust you,” Ash said in a lowered voice.

“Good.” Larren said, settling the matter. “Captain Walters, do you envision any difficulties in carrying out your part of the plan? Rositha must arrive at the Temple on Opan, without anyone aware of the fact.” He hesitated, considering the consequences. “Are you certain that this can be accomplished without peril? If there is any real risk, we’d better count on Rositha remaining on Minavera.” He glanced toward her. “There is no need to unnecessarily endanger her life.

Rositha raised her chin in defiance. “It’s my life and I’ll imperil it if I wish.”

Captain Walters raised his arms in a placating manner. “There’ll be no hitches. Leave it to me. You’ve no need to worry about Rositha, Larren. She can easily be delivered as normal freight, hidden in a cargo crate. Nothing could be more secure and less dangerous.” He smiled and glanced knowingly toward Ash. “And I ought to know. I’ve done this sort of thing before.”

“That’s one thing off my mind then.” He grasped Walters’s hand. “We’d better get moving. It’s been a pleasure meeting you, sir. Thanks for everything.”

Walters returned his grip. “Good luck.”

Ash stood and moved to board the lifecraft. He hesitated in front of Rositha with a pensive expression, as though undecided. Apparently making up his mind, he removed his sacred armband. “Lady Rositha, I want you to take this,” he said, placing the Talisman securely in her hands.

Rositha’s face paled with shock. “Trueborn,” she said in low voice. “I cannot. It’s yours, a protection against evil, given to you and your line by the Goddess herself.”

“Yes. It’s mine, but for now it is yours. What authority will you hold, a stranger to the Temple of Jana on Opan? Show the talisman to the Acting Prefect. Tell her that you are my messenger. She is to speak to you as though to the Trueborn himself.” His face darkened. “If my Lady cannot be saved and I do not return, then I name you Trueborn, chosen of Jana. You have done wrong, Lady, but always for the right reasons. Your integrity will not be questioned.”

Rositha’s eyes widened. She looked more than startled, Larren thought. Kind of terrified, perhaps? She resorted to protocol, formally touching heart and forehead. In a voice deep with emotion she said, “You honor me, Trueborn.”

“Perhaps,” Ash gave a slight smile. Larren smiled too, pleased that Ash appeared to be genuinely amused. “Holding the title has been a duty, not a choice,” Ash said. “And it has been both a blessing and a curse. But an honor? I suppose.” He squeezed her hand. “I suspect honor rarely falls to those who haven’t earned it.”

Ash hugged Captain Dal Walters. Walters patted Ash’s back. “You and Lindha will be with us soon,” Walters reassured gruffly. “This friend of yours …” He grinned, glancing askance at Larren. “… he’s a crafty one. Never did trust those Freeworlds police, weasely sorts of fellows, but if you have to have one around, better that they’re on your own side, eh? Besides, I’m looking forward to this wedding. Did Lindha tell you that she asked me to give her away during the ceremony?”

“N … no,” Ash stammered. Larren watched the young man’s face drown in a wave of emotion; happiness, fear, and despair. “Good choice,” Ash said in a broken voice. He moved quickly to board the lifecraft where, Larren supposed, he could be alone with his black mood. Larren sighed.

“I’ll … I’ll get up to the Bridge and prepare for pod ejection,” Walters said in a brisk manner, in a voice not quite his own. “You’ll get better trajectory if Minavera controls the initial propulsion.”

“Sure. See you.” Larren nodded, and suddenly he and Rositha were alone. With one step, Larren took Rositha in his arms. He lifted her off her feet, crushing her to him.

“It’s time,” he said, his voice deep.

“Yes,” she said. Larren shut his eyes as her warm breath whispered against his neck. They held each other for some time. Then Larren opened his eyes and pulled back from her. He stroked her hair, noticing the classic beauty of her features in counterpoint with her square, manly jaw. “God grant I return. Rositha, if this is the last time we’re together, please don’t cry. I want you to be happy. Always.” He brushed the soft skin of her cheek with a knuckle, memorizing her.

“Don’t talk like that,” Rositha said, her face flushed in anger. “You speak as if you were already dead. I don’t want you to die.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Listen, Rositha. Whatever happens will be as Jana wills. You said so yourself. But at all costs I will save the Trueborn and his Lady. We are both duty sworn.”

A tear rolled down her face.

“Come now, Rositha,” Larren scolded, wiping her eyes with a cloth from his breast pocket. “This won’t be the first time someone tried to shorten my life. I’m not easy to kill. The Trueborn himself discovered that, and you know how formidable he is, what he is like when possessed by the wolf. It’s too early for tears. If these are our last moments, and pray Jana they aren’t, let’s cherish them. Being with you has been a precious gift. I am a lucky man.”

Rositha nodded and stopped crying. “You’re right, of course but you worry me. If you die …” She held her breath at the thought. “As you say, it will be Jana’s will. But why is it I feel that you predict or even worse you already expect your own end? It’s as if you mean to sacrifice yourself. At least tell me what you plan. Promise me that you won’t intentionally contrive to give your life away.”

Larren frowned. Was it true? In helping Ash and Lindha, was it his intention to be a martyr, a human sacrifice, some sort of payment for Ash and Lindha’s life? Or was he only hoping to achieve what must be done, with death a necessary evil should fate provide him no other option? He simply didn’t know anymore.

He hugged her close to him again, enveloped in her softness, her fragrance. He didn’t want to lie to her. “I already have too many doubts and uncertainties. Please don’t add to them. The only promise I can make is that I will do what I feel is best. I don’t know what our exact design will be. We need more information from you and from Neopol before we can plan a specific course. Just know, my love, that I’ll do what I must. I can’t say more than that.”

She smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “All right,” she said.

They came together with a desperate kiss and embrace. Moments later they broke apart, breathing deeply, eyes locked together. The love they shared was like a living thing with an energy and power of its own.

“I’ll love you forever.”

“And I you.”

“Farewell. Jana be with you, Larren, and the Trueborn.” Their hands remained touching for as long as possible and then he was gone. The portal of the small lifecraft shut with grim finality.

The docking clamps released. Aboard the tiny vessel, Larren listened to external sounds until the doors opened and the vacuum of space silenced all outside activity.

Larren stared gravely out into the black of the solar system. Minavera Mover retreated from his vision with incredible speed and was now far, far out of reach. He sighed and breathed in deeply, thankfully. At least that ordeal was over.

He’d been able to keep his actual intentions successfully hidden. Rositha had suspected something, but she didn’t know. If he had given in and confided in her he felt certain that her beseeching eyes alone would have weakened or crushed his already wavering resolve. There was no need to unduly worry her and she would never have willingly agreed to his scheme. He wasn’t in love with the idea himself.

Larren wiped his brow. The future wasn’t entirely dark. He had been in some tough scrapes before. As in previous tight spots, he would find a way out. Rositha herself might provide a solution when she contacted them in the early afternoon, Opan time. The power behind the Temple was formidable. His ultimate plan was only to be used as a last resort. Surely it wouldn’t come to that.

He would get out of this alive.

Shaking his head, Larren’s thoughts returned to Rositha. He had passionately wanted her only hours before during what may have been their last intimate moments together. However, though he had needed her with urgent desperate longing, he had successfully hidden his desire and refused to make love.

Rositha raised a puzzled brow, but he had been adamant. He told her he didn’t have a moment to spare. Like a general in charge of an approaching battle, he had to spend every minute formulating plans and considering contingencies. Rositha had been satisfied with his excuse at the time, but now it seemed that her nagging doubts combined with his distinctive silence had given him away.

Frustrated, Larren frowned. It was simply bad luck that Rositha was able to read minds during coupling. Giving her up last night had been difficult. Not at all what he wished but, unfortunately, necessary.

Forsaken worlds, he thought unhappily to himself. He had just spent the best two weeks of his life pleasantly and completely enjoying Rositha’s company. His face lightened for a moment. They had gotten all the way to nineteen. He smiled as he recalled. Nineteen. A really interesting position. He wanted to try that one again for sure. His brows drew down again with frustration. Why should he feel such loss and regret over one night’s abstinence?

The vague recollection suddenly came back to him. He remembered reading somewhere that in earlier times on ancient Earth, warriors always engaged in plentiful sex before going to battle. Was it the Romans? Now he could understand why. Was it an urgent desire to procreate before possible death? Or simply a way to help one forget? Either way, giving Rositha up on what may have been their last night together had cost him a much-needed relief from tension, a respite from his desperate worries, and a vital few hours of pleasure and oblivion.

Larren sat and stared, his jaw rigidly clenched. He was as human as anyone else. He too could be overcome, crushed and defeated by his fears, his horror of what the day may hold. And in the end, would he be given no choice? Would fate actually be so cruel as to force him to take the last resort?

Larren tried to swallow. His mouth was unnaturally dry. His attention was transfixed, completely preoccupied with the unanswered question. Was this where he was destined to finally meet his end? Now? Suddenly it seemed too soon. Thoughts of the future seemed to squeeze the breath out of him. With icy, needle-like tingles, Larren broke out in a cold, nervous sweat.

“Are you all right?” Ash asked.

“Sure.” Larren commented with forced cheerfulness. “No problem.”

“Oh.” Ash said. “Good.” Ash turned his head away and momentarily Larren let his guard down.

He stared intently at the controls. Unmoving, Larren sat seeing yet not seeing them. He was absorbed, as if attempting to peer down into a deep and unfathomably dark well. What if worse came to worst? And should that time come, that precise instant in his rapidly approaching future, would he have the courage to carry out his plans?

Neopol, his medical assistants, Vice Regal Huka and Sub-Lieutenant Janson all waited on Opan, aboard one of Conqueror’s modern shuttlecrafts. Their vessel had set down within a short stroll of the old wreck, R.D.S. Assurance.

“Have you memorized your orders exactly?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed.

“I could place it on Icom, but I want no record.” The men nodded agreement. “Very well. I expect that we shall be contacted soon now. I believe that we are prepared for the arrival of our distinguished guests.” He laughed out loud.

Neopol was thrilled. This was the most exciting set of predictions concerning the human animal that he had successfully envisioned to date. First he had realized the connection between Minavera Mover to the Temple of Jana on Opan. Oh, he had been exceedingly clever, his brilliance astounding even himself. Once he found that the Lady Lindha had applied for and granted a pass to visit the offworld segregation area, he had immediately sent for a list of vessels in port at the time. Only one ship had Kalar, where Forseth was, on its itinerary. Had it been a coincidence? Neopol smiled knowingly. Where espionage and traitors were concerned, there were no coincidences.

To confirm or negate any possible connection, he had Minavera Mover closely tracked. It wasn’t until much later, when he had tricked the Lady Lindha into talking, that he learned Ash had been transported to Kalar aboard the freight ship.

Minavera was a vessel from the fleet of one of the shipping lines he was destroying. His little war of attrition against the enormous commercial shipping enterprises was going rather well so far. Most of the giant concerns were holding on by extremely frail threads indeed. And all of them were highly mortgaged and financially overdrawn. Through careful machinations he arranged for various bona fide but easily manipulated banking establishments to lend funds to the companies in question. These poor, unfortunate transport companies were only going through temporary difficulties. Except, of course, that he was making certain that the hot water the shipping lines were in was now rapidly coming to a boil.

Neopol grinned. Soon, rather soon the banks would be “forced” to foreclose. That last interest increase had really put the pressure on. He shook his head as though with genuine regret. Such an unfortunate state of affairs when a company went bankrupt. It could result in almost anyone buying it out and taking over. And that was exactly what he intended. Before long there would be no interworld voyages whatsoever without High Command either covertly or overtly involved, ultimately controlling all space travel in the United Freeworlds.

With a sudden mental shift, Neopol frowned. How had Ash discovered that the Captain of Minavera would be compassionate to his cause? Had he read his mind? Interesting. The young prince would make an intriguing subject for study.

Neopol licked his lips and caught his breath at the thought of Ash under the probe. Captain Walters and his crew could wait. There would be plenty of time to attend to them later.

His nerves tingled. Ash would contact him soon now. Had he gauged the man correctly? Was the Lady Lindha actually the crux of his breaking point? He had so little information on the Delian youth, even after tricking the Prefect. Still, with as little as he knew, he didn’t doubt that his judgment concerning the prince was flawless. With his superior intelligence, how could he be wrong?

An Icom alarm sounded and Neopol instantly connected. “What is it?” he snapped. His entire being hummed in a turmoil of anticipation and arousal.

“Conqueror here, sir. The lifecraft has ejected from Minavera Mover as you predicted, Admiral.”

“Yes, yes. Of course. Have you extrapolated possible landing areas?”

“Yes, sir. It’s too soon to say exactly. Currently, the computer estimates it will land approximately one hundred kilometers or less from where you are now, sir.”

“Excellent. Inform me immediately when and where it finally sets down.”

“Yes, sir.”

Neopol turned slowly, studying the main compartment of his craft with eager eyes. He stared hungrily at each of his men in turn. Everything is ready. The Delian boy and Forseth used the escape craft as expected. They were landing precisely where he anticipated, in close proximity to Assurance.

This was all so easy.

A deep exhilaration surged through him. Interrogation of the Temple Sisters had enhanced his already keen awareness and perception. Their suffering no, their challenge had inspired him. Surely no one could predict and control the destiny of the human animal as he could. No one and nothing could stop him. Was he a God? He could very well be. For if he was not a God, then who was?

Unable to contain his joy, Neopol laughed out loud. The sound of his sudden, inexplicable mirth echoed harshly throughout the shuttle. After some time, the Admiral’s laughter subsided and then abruptly ceased altogether. It was as if it had been turned off with a switch, ending as instantly and unpredictably as it had begun.

Neopol’s eyes, however, hadn’t changed. They gleamed from surging madness. “Gentlemen,” he said, as if to a large audience of close friends, “phase two of our operation is well underway. Be prepared for phase three. You’ll be pleased to know that everything, absolutely everything, is proceeding according to plan.”

Neopol’s minions stared at him with disbelief and fear. Their eyes were riveted upon him. Neopol noted with pleasure that Huka and his two medical officers, Smith and Ching, were all frightened of him. His entire retinue was afraid of him, except Sub-Lieutenant Janson.

What, Neopol wondered for the thousandth time, would break Janson?

Janson watched Neopol complacently, straight-faced and unemotional as always.

Aboard Conqueror, Captain Pagett was at his station on the bridge, wrestling with his conscience. For hours now he had achieved no relief or respite from his dilemma. His hand grasped the plastiglass marble in his pocket. He had developed a series of movements, altering the portion of the hand it rotated over, or changing the movement of the ball with his thumb so that it gracefully followed to each finger or even particular finger joints. It was somewhat calming, almost a form of meditation.

He wondered why it was that the thing one least wanted to think about always, of its own accord, thrust itself into one’s mind? Burning Worlds. He could understand why people believed in ghosts. Surely it was his own conscience that was haunting him. Like a separate entity, his conscience arrived uninvited and unannounced, to plague him with unpleasant possibilities.

Images varied, but they basically had the same theme regarding the prisoners on the detention deck: suffering, pleading. They were begging for his help. In his imagination they were dying and it was his fault. He should do something. In the past few hours Captain Pagett had been on a roller coaster of emotions. He had been through guilt, blame, remorse and terror, over and over. Three times he had walked resolutely toward the detention deck and each time he had broken off, changing his mind.

“Sir?” It was his Number One, Lieutenant Eric Nelson.

“Yes?” Pagett said, instantly composing his strained features and releasing the marble.

“Sir, the lifecraft of Minavera has ejected toward Opan, as Admiral Neopol predicted. I notified him immediately in accordance with his instructions. When the vessel lands, the Admiral wishes to be informed of its exact location.”

“Very good, Number One,” Captain Pagett said dispassionately. “You may inform the Admiral yourself when you have the information he requires. I have no need to speak with him.” And no desire to either, he thought privately.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ah … Eric, I think I’ll go to my quarters for a rest.” Pagett said casually, making unusual use of Nelson’s first name. “Will you be all right to take over here?”

Lieutenant Nelson raised his eyebrows slightly. Then he grinned. “Certainly, sir,” Nelson replied. “Don’t worry about a thing. If you’re needed I’ll come to your quarters and inform you myself. There will be no Icom record.”

“Ah … thank you.”

Nelson’s implication had been clear. Good. Nelson knows what I plan. Usually if a senior officer was required from his quarters, except in an emergency, a Duty Officer and certainly not the Acting Captain of the ship, was sent to politely fetch him. In addition, an Icom alert would be transmitted. And on a ship like this, all Icom communications were recorded. Lieutenant Nelson was aware of his intended destination. If he was needed his Number One would personally procure him not from his quarters, but from the detention deck.

Captain Pagett stood up and put his hand on Nelson’s shoulder. “I appreciate this, Eric.”

Nelson shrugged. “Forget it.”

Pagett nodded formally, as any superior officer would. Then he made his way to where the Temple Sisters waited. He couldn’t stand it anymore. It was time to give in to his nagging doubts. He was only going to look through the one-way windows, just to observe for himself that everything was all right.

Pagett noticed he was trembling now that he was actually committed. The cold fear that began in his belly spread like ice through to his limbs. The closer he came to the detention deck the more his stomach churned.

There is nothing to worry about, Pagett reassured himself. He wouldn’t go into the women’s cells; he was only going to look. Admiral Neopol would never find out.

The Lady Rositha was dressed in fullsuit, as Ash had been on his journey to Kalar. She would be transferred as cargo, in an oxygenated environment, but the fullsuit was a sensible precaution. Besides, it would be cold without it.

Minavera Mover arrived at the Opan space station and docked without incident. If Neopol planned any retribution toward Captain Walters or his crew for their part in assisting Ash, he wasn’t letting on. The large freighter docked and began unloading its cargo.

Rositha gazed at the crate with a grim, suspicious frown. “I’m not looking forward to this. I hate to be subject to other people’s management. Once I’m inside I’ll be stuck, waiting. What if I’m discovered? Who will help Larren and Ash then?”

“No one will find you,” Walters assured. “They don’t check for that kind of thing. Who’d want to smuggle themselves onto Opan? If they did they would be found out the moment they applied for work; mandatory scans are used to prevent illegal immigrants. Not only that, but offworlders discovered outside restricted areas are put to death. Believe me, no one will suspect anything.”

“If you say so,” Rositha said doubtfully. There would be serious trouble if she was caught, but more importantly she had a job to do in enlisting help from the Temple for Larren and the Trueborn. She sighed. Captain Walters’ cheerful certainty concerning cargo travel hadn’t brought her much comfort, especially that part about being put to death. Not that she was afraid to die. Rositha ignored the chill of foreboding that tingled down her spine and put her helmet on.

She swallowed. There was only one thing that terrified her, just one thing she was really afraid of.

Captain Walters nodded and began to close the crate. “Next stop, High Temple of Jana, Opan,” he said with a peculiar smile. Rositha’s rounded, distorted visor made him look like some sort of leering clown. It reminded her of a bad dream she had as a child, a nightmare.

Wonderful. Such an auspicious beginning to this journey.

The last sounds of the crate being closed about her ceased, leaving her in eerie silence and total darkness. Rositha stayed in the dark, not accessing Icom. She wanted to be alert, able to hear anything, and she wasn’t sure if they were monitoring Icom transmissions in the secure customs areas. She heard the sound of ship couplings disengaging, and the soft white noise of a ship’s engine.

Gravity changed … she was away. Once in space she trolled Icom news, finding nothing useful. Cramped and impatient, she waited. Hours crawled past, torturously slow. Further gravity alterations informed her that they had landed on Opan. She stopped using Icom.

Why hadn’t someone come to get her? What was taking so long? The crate was solid metal. She couldn’t break it and she didn’t dare make any noise. She was on Opan illegally. She couldn’t afford to be caught. That would be no use to the Trueborn or to Larren.

Come on! Come on! Let’s go!

A tendril of fear iced through her. What if she didn’t get there in time? Would they both be taken captive? She swallowed and her chest tightened. What would she do if Larren died? She thought then of her greatest fear, the one thing she most dreaded. Rositha took deep regular breaths in an attempt to maintain her calm.

What if Larren died because she wasn’t able to get there in time to save him?

27. Pagett Faces His Fear

“Larren was there. And the wolf. The snake was going to swallow Larren. Without warning, the wolf came. Unpredictable, unstoppable, it rose up and killed the snake. The armoured giant stumbled, but didn’t fall. Instead it stood up again, but this time it had lost its right arm.”

Clinton D. Williams

“Why hasn’t she called? What happened to Rositha?”

Larren paced restlessly aboard the lifecraft, visions of Rositha’s capture and torture filling his thoughts. Although small, there was just enough room to walk down the aisle of the fuselage into the cargo section and back. The outside view was of Opan flora. New summer growth showed violet in the trees; in the meadow the grasses waved in blues, mauve and purple. Above all this was a light green sky. Opan was a beautiful, unique world.

Larren hardly noticed the sight nor did he care. Where was Rositha? They had landed their escape craft hours ago. Rositha should have contacted them over an hour ago. She should have been delivered to the Temple, gathered Temple backup and met them here by now. Rositha and a hundred trained Sisters could tip this battle. There would be so many possibilities. Why wasn’t she here? Larren swallowed. If Rositha didn’t come he would have to go ahead with his plan.

“Well,” Larren finally said, speaking with a neutral calm that he didn’t feel, “we can’t wait any longer. We’ll have to contact Neopol without further information or Temple backup.”

“Fine,” Ash agreed instantly.

Larren knew Ash wanted to call Neopol right from the start. All Icom was blocked and had been upon re-entry. Only Conqueror could manage that. Perhaps they would be lucky. Maybe Neopol didn’t know he was there.

Larren remained carefully out of viewer sight as he made the connection. All at once a visual of the man stood before Ash on a console.

Neopol looked extremely pleased with himself. “Ah,” he said amiably. “Lady Sartha’s son, I presume? So pleasant to meet you after all this time, Ash, young prince of Delian. Or perhaps it would be more appropriate to call you king? Of course one needs subjects in order to rule and I believe that you are the only Delian left.” He laughed heartily.

“What is your bargain, Neopol?” Ash snapped.

Larren watched nervously from out of the console pickup. He could swear he saw the hackles of the wolf beginning to rise. For a moment he visualized Ash in full wolf mode, ripping into Neopol’s throat, tearing out his jugular. If Ash ever got that close, Larren knew that Neopol would be a dead man. If he could only get that close. Ash remained very still. Larren recognized that peculiar stillness as suppressed rage. Clearly Ash was using considerable effort to remain composed. It appeared to be working … so far.

“Tut, tut,” Neopol admonished. “Where are your royal manners, dear boy? We have only just met and you are already discussing business. Never mind. I propose that you give me the traitor, Forseth. In exchange I will provide you with the Ladies Jeeha and Lindha, unharmed. Of course you will receive safe passage. I have no quarrel with you, Ash.”

Larren frowned. Lady Jeeha? Neopol had the Temple Second, too?

Ash asked, “How do I know that they are safe?”

“Why, see for yourself.”

A vid feed came on, but no sound came though. Lindha and the Lady Jeeha were walking back and forth in a small sterile cell, some sort of detention chamber. A bunk was on either side. Larren thought they seemed composed and dignified. They were talking to each other, but he couldn’t lip read. Their hands were moving, too. Some sort of secret code? He suspected as much. He knew neither woman, but recognized the Lady Lindha from mind-touch with Ash. They were unharmed.

The sight of the two women disappeared and a real time view of Neopol returned. He said, “So you see, Ash, your fair Lady is well. Not only that, I would like to congratulate you, dear boy,” Neopol said with a jovial tone. “You’re going to be a father, I understand.”

Larren’s s eyes narrowed at Neopol’s disclosure. Was it that obvious? He didn’t think so. Ash’s Lindha must have told him or had she lost the child? He forced that thought out of his mind.

Ash said, “I want to talk to her.

“Not possible and not part of the deal.”

“How do I know that that is not just a recording, made before you … harmed them?”

Neopol smiled. “You don’t.”

There was a long pause. Finally Ash said, “I accept your bargain. Where can Forseth be found?”

Neopol burst out laughing. “Oh, how amusing you are my dear boy. But surely you jest? Forseth is in the same vessel as you are, listening to our conversation.” Larren swore to himself. Ash was no actor. Ash gave the truth away from his expression.

“Where are you?” Ash asked in a resigned voice.

“My men and I are in one of Conqueror’s fine and, might I add, fully armed shuttles. Our vessel set down within a short walk of Assurance for old time’s sake you know. Your Lady and her companion rest safely aboard Conqueror. I will give you an hour to consider,” Neopol offered tersely. “If you attempt to harm either myself or my men, I’ll have both women put to death and you may believe me when I tell you that I will not make their passing painless. Make up your mind, young man. I’ve already made up mine.” With that he disconnected.

The small lifecraft was silent, both men momentarily speechless.

“Right, Ash,” Larren said quickly, diverting his attention. “No problem. I have a plan.” He pulled out a notepad and stylus. “Can you sketch where Assurance is located in relation to where we are now?”

“What difference would that make? Ash said. “I can’t let you trade yourself.”

“Never mind that now. Just draw the map,” Larren ordered with the authoritative voice of command.

Taking the stylus in hand, Ash began to sketch a map, noting Deep River, the settlements and feral haunts, with everything clearly marked. Larren saw that the demanding effort it took in recall and artistic skill utterly absorbed Ash. Consequently it was easy to take him by surprise. Swiftly and heavily, Larren clocked him on the head with a rubber stanchion brought along especially for that purpose.

Without a sound, Ash slid over unconscious, falling off his chair. Larren caught him without effort. “That was easier than I thought it would be,” he said out loud, relief in his voice. Larren had a vigorous and enduring fear of the wolf. “Thanks for the map, Ash. Sorry I had to do this, but it was the only way. This may give you a headache, but I didn’t have the heart to stun you. Not after the last time.” He grinned, recalling their rocky beginning.

Swiftly Larren began to bind Ash, tightly strapping him to the navigation chair of the small vessel. “Seems to me that I’ve done this before, too.” His smile was ironic as he completed the task. With confident, professional skill, Larren ensured that Ash would hardly be able to move, much less escape.

“You know,” Larren continued, “I was afraid to hit you. I felt certain that you’d know beforehand. Worlds of perdition, Ash. There’s nothing scares me more than those amber, wolf eyes of yours.” Larren frowned, realizing that that wasn’t quite true. There was one person that frightened him more. Neopol.

He finished his task, stood back and surveyed his handiwork. Then he reached down into his kit and pulled out a note. He didn’t want to send a message via Icom; it wasn’t safe. This message had been carefully worded, in case it was needed, while aboard Minavera Mover. It said:

My darling Rositha,

Please forgive me but I can only do what I feel is right, the only way I know how. Don’t cry, my love, for in my heart I do this willingly, largely because of my love of you. You have made me happier than anyone alive, perhaps more than anyone has a right to be. Look after the Trueborn and tell Clinton that his vision didn’t fail him. Remember, we shared a lifetime of love in our time together, so please don’t grieve. Now you can return to Kalar and marry a polite, wealthy young man. I’m happy to think that you will surely live as a queen and have a Temple full of beautiful children. Name one after me. I love you,

Larren

He placed the note back in the envelope, addressed to her. Where was Rositha? She was hours overdue, and Neopol’s time limit was running out.

Larren reached back into his bag he brought out an explosive device. He smiled with malicious satisfaction. Such a tiny object but so completely deadly. He would give himself up, as Neopol demanded. But unknown to that madman, once he was within the enemy camp, he would blow them and everything within a twenty meter radius sky high.

He checked on Ash, his color was good and he was breathing easily. He would wake soon. Larren’s lips curled up into a grim rueful smile. Oh yeah, Ash and the wolf were both going to be mad at him for hitting him on the head and tying him up. Well. At least he wouldn’t be here for that. With one last check around the lifecraft, Larren strode cheerfully out the portal door and unloaded the lifecraft’s small, one-man speeder.

He frowned and worried his lip. What had held Rositha up? When assisting him and protecting the Trueborn were the most important things in her world? Larren couldn’t help her now and with all his heart he needed to believe that she was safe and well. He snorted, imagining her with an armada of Temple Sisters at her back. He smiled at the thought. Rositha was an extremely capable woman. She was coming as fast as she could. She would rescue Ash, but would she get here in time to save him?

Only if she arrives right now.

He looked up hopefully, into the light green sky of Opan. Nothing.

Larren warmed up the speeder, and waited until the last moment. He was stuck. There was no choice. He hadn’t wanted to use his “plan of last resort,’ but life was full of disappointments.

Ah well. Time to go.

It was so strange, he thought to himself, amazed at his composure. He had been afraid that if worse came to worst he wouldn’t be able to go through with it, that he would balk at the final jump. In actual fact it had been easy. Once he determined that there was actually no choice, his fear had mercifully left him alone. Oh, yes, he had Chinter’s Chance at survival, which of course was the same chance poor Chinter had no chance at all.

He got in to the speeder and flew off toward the place where Neopol waited, filled with purpose and a peculiar joy. This sensation called life was quite amazing. The closer one came to its end, the more fantastic it seemed to be. He felt completely alive, exhilarated and reckless. He became completely aware of Opan then. The world seemed bright and clear and filled with wonders.

Such amazingly deep blue trees on this planet, growing lushly under a light green sky. Unique. Beautiful.

Streaming just above the trees, out of sight and hopefully out of range of detection, Larren flew on. He would destroy Neopol and any attendant parasites. Lindha would be freed, Ash would carry on and Rositha would have her future guaranteed. With Neopol alive, no one could ever be safe.

Yes, he decided, with the serenity of total conviction. Perhaps this was his destiny from the start. And by destroying Neopol he would avenge his crew. Achieving that alone would balance and justify every account.

Soon now, soon. All my plans will come to fruition, Neopol thought.

Near Assurance, Admiral Neopol scanned the light green sky, at once anxious and excited. Conqueror’s Lieutenant had reported the position of the lifecraft. Since then Ash had contacted him and he had stated the ultimatum. Now the question was: Would Forseth give himself up? Or would they have the audacity to attempt an attack? What exactly would they do?

He grinned, his straight white teeth bared. Neopol clearly remembered Larren Forseth. He knew him thoroughly, more intimately than any lover ever could. He had had him under the probe, had cajoled and caressed every truth out of him. He had whispered soft tender words of endearment to Larren as he writhed in agony, and he had meant every one. Theirs was the ultimate union, the joining of the victor to the victim, the scientist to the subject. Could he have misjudged the man? Impossible!

No. I have carefully analyzed every option.

Neopol had prepared for any contingency and, inside his cold heart, he felt certain about the future. Every factor had been taken into account. His predictions wouldn’t fail. The events of today would be unquestionable proof to Lord Andros and High Command.

He was the foremost authority concerning the behavior of humankind.

“Jana, no!” Captain Pagett exclaimed out loud. He froze momentarily with shock.

Aboard Conqueror, nervous and frightened, Pagett had gone to the detention deck, ensuring that no one saw him. With even more care, he checked for electronic monitoring systems and Ispy’s. He took his time, scanning. Finally convinced he was safe, he had entered the viewing area. Here he expected to be able to view the Temple prisoners. He located their detention cell it was in total darkness. He stood behind the one-way window, confident he was unobserved, and turned on the interior lights.

The physical shock made him sway. His skin became cold and clammy. A loud sound, like the scream of wind rushed through his ears, only the room was quiet. He made a gesture of disbelief and an inarticulate noise. Then, “Jana, no!”

Pagett never expected this.

The Lady Lindha lay naked, strapped to a couch, with cuts and bruises covering her body. Fully conscious or perhaps suffering from a feverish dream, she was moving her head back and forth, side to side. Her once proud and indomitable spirit seemed eroded, crushed and broken.

Pagett cursed and straightened. All his doubts and fears left him, as though burned away. Just as one separates taint and contamination from metal through superheating, thus leaving the stainless essence, Pagett was purified by this heated trial. Consequences no longer mattered. He wasn’t going to stand by and watch anyone, much less a Temple Prefect, be treated with such inhumanity.

Racing to a medicine cabinet, he drew out a blanket, some stimulants and a soothing liquid. He strode to the detention door and, using Icom, mentally tapped in the security code. It didn’t open. He tried again with no success. He frowned, urgently trying all known codes. Nothing worked. Neopol had changed the release symbols.

Frustrated, Captain Pagett streamed through Icom access codes. Finally, with a shout of frantic relief and achievement, he discovered the right sequence. He tapped it in quickly and ran to where Lindha lay. Leaning down before her, he stared into her face.

“Lady?” he spoke softly.

Lindha didn’t appear to have heard him. He pressed the release for her tightly bound limbs, setting her loose. Freed, she raised a hand to her face.

Unintentionally, Pagett gazed at her unclothed form. She looked so helpless, so vulnerable … and so beautiful.

He quickly threw the blanket over her, averting his eyes. Guilt stabbed at him from an unexpected and unwanted physical arousal at seeing her bound and naked. He was appalled by the unsummoned ideas that flew through his mind. Only an inhuman monster would think of such things now, he admonished himself. Only an inhuman monster or a human male.

Biology! Sometimes it’s just biology, he consoled himself.

Lindha moaned and her eyes fluttered. He lifted her head and shoulders in his arms and broke an inhalant under her nose. It was a common, gentle stimulant one that refreshed as well as eased pain. She reacted instantly, opening her eyes and raising her head.

“Who are you?” she demanded in a ravaged whisper.

“Ah … I’m Captain Pagett,” he stammered, disconcerted by the attack. “I’m here to help you.” Pagett understood her anger. The Lady Lindha would assume that he was another antagonist, yet another foe.

The effects of the drug wore off abruptly and Lindha collapsed back. He was afraid she might fall off the slightly elevated interrogation chair. With an arm under her shoulders and her legs, he lifted her and walked to a large recliner. He pulled her onto his lap and into his arms.

“Lady?” Pagett asked tentatively. His hands were gentle, his voice full of compassion. He offered her a drink and she finished it. “What can I do?”

“I … I hurt,” she said, tears welling into her eyes.

“Oh, Lady,” Pagett said unhappily. “I’m so sorry.” Reaching into his pocket he drew out another inhalant and once more released it under her nose. She breathed deeply and nodded. He wrapped his arms around her, offering comfort.

Lindha started to weep and Pagett felt the tension in her body ease. Something she saw in him had soothed her. Good.

“You’re different from the … the others,” she said.

He thought of Neopol, Janson and the two medical doctors who had attended interrogations. Well, he was surely different from them. Oh, yes. “Here,” he said, giving her a cloth to dry her tears. There was a bit of color in her face now. She looked better already. He stroked her hair, attempting to soothe her.

Her brows drew down. Pagett regarded her pale expression, a compound of doubt, disbelief and uncertainty. He knew that as Temple Prefect, she was unaccustomed to anyone touching her.

Captain Pagett shook his head at Lindha’s distrustful expression. “My dear Prefect,” he said. “I can assure you that this is not what you fear. I have a wife and three children, of whom I am most fond.”

He offered another inhalant. She nodded agreement and he broke it under her nose. She inhaled.

Pagett wondered if, had he not come here now, he would have discovered later that she had “committed suicide,” as the previous Captain of Conqueror apparently did? Pagett recalled Carolle, Captain Gene Barlow’s widow. He had visited her, to sympathize and support her after her husband’s death. Together they had found comfort. Both had talked endlessly about Barlow, discovering their mutual affection for him.

Pagett frowned. No one knew why Barlow had taken his life without even leaving a note. Pagett had felt resentment at first, but now he was positive that Barlow must have had good cause. Had he sacrificed himself for someone else? That made sense. Captain Barlow had never done anything without logical, sound reasoning. Neopol had been Barlow’s superior at the time and Pagett was convinced that he had somehow caused his predecessor’s death.

Even on his last leave, he and Carolle had discussed Barlow. They often talked about his humor, his pleasant and genuine interest in others, each of them recalling amusing anecdotes. They had both looked up to him utterly, almost with a worshipful affection. If Barlow had somehow returned to life, Pagett would have naturally, even gladly, given Carolle back to him. And she would have gone. Barlow was undoubtedly the better man.

Lindha studied him. Her attention drew him back from his thoughts. He said, “Do you feel better now?”

“Y … yes.”

Suddenly Pagett noticed Lindha’s severed finger. The stump had not been properly treated, having bled until it itself staunched the flow. He reached for her hand in disbelief. “By the love of the Goddess, Lady. Did he … do this?” Pagett breathed.

She nodded.

Pagett was appalled. He was well aware that the Admiral could use the probe the council would allow that for interrogation of a spy but these vile acts, never. Apparently the probe, agonizing as it was, hadn’t been enough for Neopol. He had beaten and maimed her as well. And he had not even bothered to treat the wound with skin and bone regrowth.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. He stood and gently deposited her on the recliner. He returned momentarily with a medical kit. Jaw set, face grim, he properly covered her wound with a plastic-like gel. The action didn’t take long.

“I … ,” he swallowed. “I’m afraid that it was left too late, Lady,” he said, a trace of anger in his voice. “Your finger will not regenerate now.”

“No … but it is of no consequence. Thank you.”

“Are there other wounds I should treat, Lady?”

She shook her head.

Pagett gazed down at her bruised and blackened arms. He thought of the rest of her body, hidden under the blanket. He didn’t need an imagination to guess what else had been done. He nodded and said, “Lady, I was trained at a Temple of Jana and have much to thank your fellow Sisters for. I’m well aware of your scriptures, your love of Truth, and your sacred vows never to interfere in political matters.” He hesitated, choosing his words with care. “As Prefect of the Temple of Jana, will you answer me honestly? Admiral Neopol claims you are a spy. Are you in fact guilty of conspiracy? Have you any connection with the traitor Forseth?”

Lady Lindha met Pagett’s gaze, her expression earnest. “I swear as Prefect, chosen by Jana and by all that is holy to me, I have never met this man Forseth. And neither I nor my fellow Sisters have interfered with any government. This man Neopol has taken me for some perverted reason of his own.”

Pagett nodded, completely satisfied by Lindha’s reply. Why should a Temple Prefect break her vows and damn herself eternally? It didn’t make sense. Sooner would a mother kill her own child. He gazed around the room, suddenly puzzled.

“I assumed the Lady Jeeha would be here with you. If you will excuse me, I fear she may be suffering..ah, a similar confinement.”

“There’s no need to search for her, Captain,” Lindha said, her voice deceptively bland. “The Lady Jeeha is where no one can harm her.”

The significance of her comment sunk in. Pagett said, “Lady, no. Her heart? Did her heart give out?”

“No,” Lindha replied tersely. “Neopol had one of his henchmen slit her throat. I watched while Jeeha’s life blood drained away.”

Captain Pagett dumbly stared at Lindha. It was his fault. If he had done something earlier the woman would be alive and this Lady Prefect would be well and whole. He had been too afraid to act, too quick and willing to believe that all was well, and now he knew what his vacillation had cost. Never would he forget. The blood of a Temple Sister was on his hands.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Lady,” he said softly.

Lindha nodded, her eyes bright with moisture.

Pagett stood up. He had made up his mind. There was only one possible course of action. He would do exactly as his predecessor would have done. Captain Barlow would have set Lady Lindha free. Barlow wouldn’t falter or stop to consider the consequences. The idea of so blatantly disobeying Neopol gave Captain Pagett a thrill of exhilaration. He felt liberated … freed. His mind expanded. Free from what? There was a cathartic thought hidden in there somewhere, something important. Had he trapped himself? How? If so, had he also released himself? His flesh tingled with energy, inspiration, joy, and some feeling that he couldn’t quite identify.

He said, “We had better get moving. I’m going to set you free, Lady, and get you off this vessel. Admiral Neopol is on Opan and may not stay long. While he is away … I am in charge.” Pagett strode to a nearby emergency locker, pulling out a fullsuit. “I’m afraid that this is all I have for you to wear.” He nodded. “At least it will fit.”

Lindha smiled. Pagett was astonished at how much it transformed her face. “There could be neither sweeter words nor finer garment to my eyes. I shall never appreciate anything as much or more, Captain Pagett of that I am certain.” She paused and added, “This act of yours, it will be considered treason. May I ask you … why you are doing this for me?” Both she and Pagett were well aware of the trouble he would be in when Neopol came back and found her gone.

Pagett frowned and looked away. Pictures of that earlier Temple Prefect and all that the Sisters of Jana had done for him flooded through his mind, as well as visions of his father and Captain Barlow. Did he feel that he somehow owed this to the Lady Lindha? Or to the memory of those who had gone before? Was it some sort of unpaid debt, perhaps?

No, he decided with certainty. The people he had known and loved were partially a factor in his actions, but not the main one. This was his decision, one he had made, incredibly, despite any pressure or danger compelling him to act otherwise.

“I … ,” he stammered, unsure of how to word his reply. “I have to live with myself, my dear Lady Prefect.”

Lindha inclined her head gracefully.

Pagett smiled, knowing she understood. Pagett swelled, aglow with some inner, spiritual peace. I am doing something good. Something right. Yes, he thought to himself, alive with new understanding. There is some filth that won’t wash off. It stays there, becoming blacker, growing to immense proportions, eventually tarnishing one’s very soul. Even death was preferable to living a life of grim and bitter regret. He grinned suddenly, changing the mood as well as the subject. “Will you be all right to dress yourself, Lady?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Good. Take what you want from supplies while I arrange a few things. It would be best for you to leave for Opan on an escape pod. Can you pilot such a craft?”

“You ask that of me?” she queried, raising an eyebrow. “I am a Temple Prefect after all.”

“Silly question.” He shook his head, consciously aware of her attraction and her charm. Lindha had courage and countenance, despite all she had been through. Even a cruel sociopath of Neopol’s calibre couldn’t crush the spirit of a Temple Sister and that was really saying something.

Pagett returned with everything organized. In the short time he was away he had instituted some general alarm drills. His men would be too occupied to notice as he smuggled Lindha into an escape pod. No one would see her or have the opportunity to ask questions, at least not until she was well gone. “Everything is ready, Lady. We’d better hurry. Now remember,” he warned. “I’ll get to the Bridge and fire your craft. The initial impulse is better handled from Conqueror herself.

Lindha nodded. “I understand.”

As he motioned for her to sit in the pilot’s chair of the small vessel, Lindha hesitated. Touching his arm, she reached over and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Pagett’s face heated. He had been kissed by the High Temple Prefect. It was a privilege to be so favored. To his knowledge, such a gesture was never made.

“Thank you, Captain,” Lindha said. “I’m well aware of what the cost of your actions will be and so, no doubt, are you. It could mean your position perhaps your life. You are a good man, Captain, a man Jana will reward. I am honored to have met you.” She bowed her head formally.

Pagett said, “Lady, your homage and your kiss are wasted on me, for I surely don’t deserve them. I am a coward and, in truth, I acted too late.” His fear and trouble with his conscience returned, overwhelming him. “You see, I was afraid, Lady. And because of my apprehension and delay your Lady Jeeha is gone … and you have been hurt. You waste your respect and regard on me,” he finished, hating himself.

Lindha studied him intently. Pagett felt stripped naked in front of her. Those penetrating blue eyes saw everything. She smiled with endearing charm and said, “You know the saying, Sure and certain as a Temple Sister?’ Such an adage came about for a reason. Trust me when I tell you that I know what I am talking about. You may think on this after I am gone.

“My dear Captain Pagett, listen to me. You do yourself an injustice. Don’t ever let the mistakes of your past cloud your judgment of your true worth. Inside we all have known dread, even terror of consequences. Few indeed are able to overcome those fears. An action such as this is both courageous and heroic. You, my esteemed friend, are a brave and principled man. I am honoured to have met you.” She inclined her head and touched her heart and forehead, in respect and esteem.

Lindha strapped herself into the small escape craft, but Pagett could make no reply to her words. “Fare thee well, Captain Pagett.”

After a moment Pagett found his tongue. Unable to express his feelings Pagett fell back on the formal response, “May the Goddess go with you, Lady.” His face felt hot with warring emotions: shame at his failure and pleasure at both her kiss and her unexpected high regard. Then the vessel door was shut.

Deep in thought, Pagett walked quickly toward the Bridge. Was Lady Lindha’s judgment correct? Was his opinion of himself unnecessarily harsh? Arriving on the control deck he noticed that general alarm drills had finished. Good. He would send her off immediately.

“Lieutenant Nelson,” Captain Pagett said, with the experienced voice of command. “Prepare escape pod sixty-eight for ejection. Please notify the crew that this is a drill, except the actual pod will be released.”

Surprise flashed across Nelson’s face. “Yes, sir,” he said, moving to carry out his orders. “Escape pod ready as ordered, sir.”

“Very good,” Pagett acknowledged. He put his hands behind his back. He grinned suddenly, his expression transformed from formality to flippancy; from grave solemnity to lighthearted action. “I believe that I shall do the honors, Number One.” He pressed the release controls and they both looked on as the comparatively minuscule pod ejected out and away from Conqueror’s gigantic bulk. It moved rapidly toward Opan.

Nelson turned toward his Captain, unable to conceal his amazement. “Sir,” he said, his voice low so no one else could hear, “were the Temple women aboard that pod?”

“Yes, Number One, they were,” Pagett answered. Informing Nelson of Jeeha’s death would serve no purpose. Besides, the knowledge may somehow implicate or endanger his second-in-command.

Lieutenant Nelson stared at his Captain, his features bright with awe. “Sir, that was the most courageous action I have ever witnessed. I would never have had the guts to do what you just did.”

Pagett saw admiration in his junior officer’s eyes. By the Goddess, he thought to himself. Nelson considered him brave. How could he? Hadn’t the man noticed the hours he had spent wrestling with his fear? Hadn’t he seen his indecision and uncertainty as he grappled with his conscience?

Pagett managed to hide his feelings. He put on a satisfied but moderately deadpan expression. “Eric, it is always a surprise to find out what one is capable of. You would have done the same thing.”

After a moment he said, “I really will be going to my quarters for a short time, Mr. Nelson. I have some correspondence to catch up on.”

“Yes, sir,” Lieutenant Nelson replied, with new respect in his voice.

As he strode away, Captain Pagett once more felt that elusive sense of freedom. Unaccountably carefree, he had resolved what he would do now. He would compose a long letter to Carolle and explain what had happened. There was no question that Barlow had suffered a similar fate.

He smiled. If the decision was to be killed for doing what was right or to go on living while unable to live with oneself, then there really was no choice. Carolle would understand. Suddenly he felt sure of it.

28. Larren’s Eternal Soul

Plutarch, born over three-thousand years ago, observed that the soul, being eternal, is like a caged bird that has been released after death. If it has been a long time in the body and has become tame through flesh affairs and long habit, the soul will immediately take another body and once again become involved in the troubles of the world. Temple research has found nothing to refute this conjecture.

Richard Gill, Temple Histories

The Lady Rositha lay alone in the metal cargo crate. Once she knew she had arrived on Opan she removed her fullsuit as she was far more comfortable wearing only the light jumpsuit that she wore underneath. She had been transferred as cargo, and had worn her fullsuit as a precaution. Who knew how cold it might get in the freight section of a shuttle? Her metal carton was also airtight. If she waited much longer she would have to put her fullsuit back on in order to breathe fresh air.

She read a note on the back of her helmet, “Manufacture warranty, air recycle safe range, two-hundred hours.” Well. She didn’t plan to spend the next week in this carton.

Rositha was smuggling herself onto Opan. Her plan? To alert the Acting Prefect of the High Temple of Jana. It was vital that she obtain their assistance and rescue the Trueborn and Larren. It was totally dark in the crate. Rositha grasped the Delian Talisman, the Mirror Stone armguard. Once she showed her Sister’s this they would mobilize at once.

Time passed. Rositha was forced back into her fullsuit in order to breathe fresh air. Noon, 1300, 1400, the hours came and went and still she remained.

Trapped.

Larren! Trueborn! She voiced in silent prayer. I’m sorry. There is nothing I can do. I am a helpless prisoner in this carton. Was this also part of Neopol’s plans?

After some time, Rositha felt herself moving again, once more on her way to the Temple of Jana. Later Rositha discovered that the irradiation equipment at Kalar Wharf arrivals had developed a fault. It had taken hours to repair, but during that time the damage had been done. Confined in her crate, Rositha had been unable to contact the Opan Temple Sisters for information or assistance. And she had been unable to reach Larren and Ash.

By the time she was finally set free, it was already too late.

Their fates were sealed.

Larren silently trod through the Opan woods, occasionally checking his compass.

A red, three-eyed lizard scurried away into the shrubbery to avoid his descending boot. Curiously it distracted him. He didn’t think anything was capable of distracting him at this point. And what was that smell? He had no idea what the name was of the flowering ground cover he was walking on. The plant was dark blue with tiny yellow and orange flowers. As he walked it released a scent, sweet yet peppery.

He ditched the speeder thirty minutes before, not wanting to give Neopol any advantage. This way he might expect him, but would not actually know exactly when he would arrive.

He spotted Neopol’s rangefinder shuttle through the trees, along with the wreck of Assurance. A pang of memory hit him as he recalled how he had boarded her in space all those years ago. The poor crippled vessel looked so reduced. Despite everything, Assurance still gave the impression that she was proudly erect, in defiance of her actual state.

Well, he thought to himself, he was going to put the old girl out of her misery. Assurance and everything within a twenty meter radius was going to be blown to the lap of Jana. Larren grinned at the analogy.

Checking the explosive device again, positive that a mere touch would release the full force of the blast, Larren was ready. He noticed that there were five people waiting outside the shuttle. Neopol and Janson he recognized, but there was no telling who the other three might be.

Never mind, he thought cheerfully. There would be neither the time nor need for introductions. They would all be dead shortly vapor on a passing breeze. Pushing aside any last minute thoughts or regrets, Larren strode purposefully into the clearing. He would need to get closer before he detonated the device.

“Ah, Mr. Larren Forseth.” Neopol’s voice boomed cheerfully across the meadow. “Welcome! I am exceedingly glad to see you.”

Larren frowned. There was no surprise in Neopol’s voice. None at all. Not a good sign. He remembered Neopol’s uncanny ability for predicting human behaviour and felt uneasy. Well, more uneasy than he had already been, anyway. He had been expected. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now he would have to press on.

But what in the world was Neopol up to?

The huge snake attacked.

It circled him, long and large and thick. It looped around him, encompassing his entire torso. It tightened its grip, squeezing painfully. It crushed the breath from his lungs, smothering him, killing him.

Ash awoke in a cold sweat.

“Sweet Jana,” he said out loud. He had been having a dream, but it had been far too real. A groan escaped his lips. His head ached, a dull hurt that spread from the back of his neck upwards until it lodged behind his eyes. He tried to move his hand toward the pain, but it wouldn’t obey him. What was going on?

Rope? He swore. No wonder he felt squeezed. He was bound by ropes. He suffered a moment of devastating animal panic and struggled and thrashed. His efforts tore the skin on his wrists before he realized how futile his actions were. He forced himself to control both instinct and fear. Scanning the small vessel, his memory began to return. The last thing he remembered was speaking with Neopol and drawing a map for Larren. He could recall nothing after that.

“Larren?”

His mouth felt like parchment. “Larren!” he shouted. His eyes widened with a sudden understanding that was all too clear.

“No,” Ash whispered. Larren had taken him unaware, hitting him on the head and binding him up. Larren’s intention was unmistakable and it explained his need for a map. Unfamiliar with Opan, he had no way of locating Assurance. Larren intended to give himself up in exchange for Lindha’s and Jeeha’s lives.

Ash panicked. He had to stop him Neopol would kill him. He couldn’t allow Larren to forfeit his own life. It was most certainly an ambush. Larren would give himself up for nothing.

Desperately Ash fought against the ropes but his efforts were futile. He was helplessly, hopelessly trapped. The wolf in him wanted to thrash and fight, but the man recognized pointlessness.

Yet he knew more than one way to be free.

Ash focused, drawing upon his gift. Infinite space. Warmth. Heat. His flesh rose and tingled. Goose bumps. Energy and life poured over him like an incandescent waterfall. Yes. So good.

Ash’s mind brushed against something outside the vessel. Contact.

He sought to merge and like the incandescent waterfall he fell into the flesh of something living. Oh. Opan mouse. He was a minute, yellow-colored rodent, a long-legged woodland mammal with sharp gnawing teeth. Perfect. He gazed through the rodent’s attentive eyes with keen interest. The little creature had a tiny form next to which the violet-bluish vegetation of Opan seemed impossibly large. Ash scanned the woods until he found the black metal shape of the vessel where his body was held captive.

“There is no danger. I will find food there,” he thought to the little animal. He visualized the lifecraft and projected thoughts of tasty roots and bulbs, as well as safety.

“Jump,” Ash thought

The little creature obeyed. With small but powerful hind legs, the mouse could cover eight times its own height with a single bound.

He urged the little rodent for maximum elevation and speed. Taking into account comparative size, he leapt higher in this tiny mouse body than in that of any other animal he had contacted.

Upon reaching the lifecraft, however, his pleasure ended abruptly. The portal door was tightly sealed. Perhaps he could hit the lock release. The creature leaped and jumped, knocking against it several times to no avail. The animal was too small to hit the mechanism with enough force. There was no way for the rodent to enter the lifecraft and chew his bindings loose.

Disappointed, he dropped his light contact with the tiny creature and returned to his own body, where he grimaced. His head hurt. He didn’t let go of his power and that helped with the pain. The energy heated and hummed within as Ash searched for another mind and body to move into.

Contact!

A whitehawk.

Ash rejoiced in the whispering rush of air through his feathers as he soared above the lifecraft, cutting through the sweet smelling drafts of air. The air felt heavy and cool, which made the hawk turn faster, spinning up or down. Such a pleasure. Hot summer air was thin and boggy to fly in. A whitehawk knew every kind of air there was, as a sailor might know different types of sea. The haughty birds took real joy in the different factors and currents of air. This was perfect flying wind. The whitehawk caught updrafts while watching over its territory.

As usual, his sight was so much more distinct that for an instant Ash was caught up in the wonder of it. These birds could distinguish infrared and a spectrum of colors that the human eye could not detect. For a few timeless moments Ash’s dilemma was forgotten as the sights, sounds and sensations beguiled him.

Reality, however, returned all too soon. “Go there,” he ordered and the whitehawk flew to the small craft, spiralling around it. The whitehawk could not enter, but what if the bird’s powerful beak struck the lock mechanism? Might it get that portal open?

Again and again the large bird hit the mechanism with its beak and claws.

It didn’t work. A human hand was needed. As pleasurable as it was being a whitehawk, it was of no real use. Ash couldn’t release his own trapped body with a beak, sharp and deadly though it may be. He couldn’t get inside the lifecraft. Reluctantly, he broke contact.

Ash let go of his power and grimaced. He imagined Taro the Deceiver laughing at him. Taro would enjoy his predicament because, as if to punctuate his Ill-conceived attempt at escape, he had returned to his body to discover not only that he was still uncomfortably bound, but that his head was still aching. The short freedom from that suffering had made him forget. Now that he had returned, it had only served to make the nagging hurt worse.

I am trapped.

Ash shifted with discomfort, worrying the problem from many directions. What could he do? What was Clinton’s foretelling? He hit Icom replay and Clinton spoke: “Larren was there. And the wolf. The snake was going to swallow Larren … Without warning, the wolf came. Unpredictable, unstoppable, it rose up and killed the snake. The armored giant stumbled, but didn’t fall. Instead it stood up again, but this time it had lost its right arm.”

Ash sat with his eyes shut, the dull ache in his head a shadow of his own bitter thoughts. Larren was going to die. That is what Clinton had foreseen. And Larren had gone alone to Assurance to sacrifice his life. Larren planned to die. Ash blinked. Well. He would not allow it. He could do nothing about Lindha right now, but somehow he would find a way to save Larren.

Larren knew Neopol; he would know he was without honor. Larren would have gone planning to destroy him … perhaps with some sort of ordnance. Ash frowned, irritated. No wonder Larren seemed so sure that all would be right. He had made a plan and kept it to himself.

Pausing abruptly, he recalled that Clinton had had another dream. What was it? Icom replayed it. Clinton’s voice sounded in his mind, and pictures of the William’s farm flooded through his thoughts. “You were there, Ash, only you weren’t. Only half of you was there. The other half was missing … gone. Then you were tied up tight. No one could possibly escape those ropes, but suddenly … you were free. You were there, but not there. Then the vision turned red. I felt fear, a frightening, gripping terror. Before I could run, the vision was gone.”

So! The vision seemed to be coming true. He was bound. Perhaps the foretelling could help solve the dilemma of how to escape. After all, Clinton had predicted that the wolf would destroy the snake. The thought gave him hope.

Ash began to piece things together. First, his “other half” had to be Lindha. And Clinton said she was “gone” and not, thankfully, dead. Ash frowned. This still gave him no clue as to how to escape and be “there.” Yet he was supposed to suddenly “be free.” Was Rositha’s arrival imminent? Without help it would be impossible. The distance he’d have to reach across in order to mind-touch was too great … or was it? Could he reach over that far removed a span? He’d never been able to before. Was he supposed to be there not physically, but mentally in contact with another?

Ash shifted more with frustration than to lessen the pressure of his bindings. Clinton’s strange dream and his words seemed even more cryptic than the Testimonials. Thinking about it made his head ache even more. His limbs felt cramped and he couldn’t move. This trapped feeling made him feel a little hysterical. He wanted to thrash and scream.

Ash sighed. Thinking the matter over was proving to be a hopeless exercise. His only real chance of being cut free would be when Rositha came for him … or Neopol. The thought sent a chill of fear tingling through his body.

He set his teeth with sudden resolve. Ash knew he would achieve nothing by staying within his own body and mind. If he was going to see Larren, it wasn’t going to be with the vision of his physically trapped form. Why couldn’t he be there?

He thought of his father and his Sioux heritage. The Sioux saw the universe as ultimately incomprehensible. They regarded time as non-causal and did not embody notions of change and progress. Nothing in the universe could be considered inevitable. Their spiritual beliefs were a precursor to quantum physics and the Principle of Uncertainty that all knowledge is limited. His father taught him that there were no absolutes.

I am trapped here only in my body, not in my mind or soul.

Could he escape? He shut his eyes and willed himself to traverse the distance. He tried to picture Assurance as it would be now partially covered with violet and blue vegetation under a light, emerald green sky.

Ash let go. He thrust all thoughts of impossibility from his mind. He must be there. He would contact any mind, any spark of intelligence. From the depths of his being he wanted at least to witness Larren’s sacrifice, to be a small part of that grim destiny, to be with Larren and the snake as Clinton had foreseen.

Ash lost all sense of time in his mentally reaching state. Spiritually disembodied, he refused to return to his own form until he had contacted a human being. He no longer had awareness of distance or direction. The timeless void was without space, light, or sound; he experienced total sensory deprivation. For a moment he considered whether he had perhaps lost his mind, but even that thought seemed to hold no real consequence.

I must go on.

Bang!

What was this? Finally, he had contacted someone, or was it something? He felt like metal attracted by a magnet. Both objects collided without true joining. With relief he looked around, but his relief turned to confusion. This was new. This was like no other mind. Had that stretching, extending, reaching state unbalanced him?

He thought: “Where am I?”

Incredibly, a mental voice answered.

“You are here, of course,” it said with simple certainty, radiating a purplish glow. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” Ash asked in return, instantly on the defensive.

“I don’t know.” The voice paused. “I answered your question. Now you must answer mine.”

Ash hesitated in a stormy wave of confusion. What should he reply? And where in Jana’s name was he? Someone was able to communicate to him through mind-touch, but whoever it was seemed like a robot, or a child. And how had he obtained two-way contact? He needed to find out more.

“It depends,” Ash finally answered.

“‘It depends!’” the thought echoed gleefully. “Oh. That’s a good one. It depends.’ Allow me to introduce I must obey’ and this is It didn’t happen’.”

“How do you do?” a black thought radiated.

“Pleased to meet you,” a white presence thought.

Where in the entire Forsaken Worlds was he? The other entities didn’t seem to notice his confusion. He seemed to be in one mind, but now three other beings had arrived here too. Were they separate personalities?

“Tell me about yourself,” Ash said to the purple entity.

“No,” the dark thought replied fiercely. “I am: I must obey.’ I am the Leader. I am in control. You must speak to me.”

“Of course,” Ash replied, playing along. “Please, sir, tell me about yourself.”

The dark image beamed. “I make him obey. That is my duty. We do not hesitate, not ever. We obey our Master, exactly. Always. Don’t we?”

“Yes!” came a chorus of voices.

“I see,” Ash replied. He was, it seemed, somehow in full contact with this peculiar, multifaceted, yet utterly literal mind. These beings were unlike any others he had ever encountered. It was like speaking with software. The answers and questions forwarded by these extraordinary little entities didn’t have any depth to them. They seemed to be almost responding to some rote sequence not quite real, yet they were there.

Ash scanned the area, but he was unable to view through the eyes of this person. He wanted to leave, to find Larren, but he wanted to solve the mystery as well. Where was he?

Ash asked, “Who is the Master?”

“Neopol is our Master. Master Neopol,” they chorused.

“But who are you?” Ash demanded, frustrated. Was he in Neopol’s mind and body? Was the man stark raving mad?

“I don’t know,” came one reply.

“I must obey,” came another.

“It didn’t happen,” the last presence whispered.

“Fine,” Ash said. “‘I must obey,’ can you tell me what you are doing here?”

“I am the enforcer,” the dark voice explained. “I ensure that we obey the Master without question.”

“Yes!” they chorused.

The dark voice continued, “‘It didn’t happen’ also has an important task. He makes sure that HE’ doesn’t remember and nobody finds out, so it never happened.”

“He doesn’t remember what?” Ash asked, utterly bewildered.

“I don’t know,” the purple presence said.

“It didn’t happen,” the white voice replied.

“But,” Ash said, protesting the confusion of it all, “who then is HE’?”

“We are he,” the dark voice replied. “Don’t you know anything? We all live here. We are Sub-Lieutenant Janson. HE’ has gone away.”

“Yes. HE’ couldn’t take it.”

“Now, WE are in control.”

“WE do a better job.”

An inkling of understanding began to seep into Ash’s mind. Janson. He knew that man. During mind-touch with Larren, Ash experienced Larren’s awareness of this man. Ash paused to recall. Janson was an emotionless servant, a robotically obedient slave to Neopol. The man was an enigma because the way he acted was both heartless and soulless. True, Neopol also acted heartless and soulless, but there was a vital difference. Neopol had emotions, albeit evil, cruel ones. Janson on the other hand was entirely devoid of emotion and almost of life. He seemed unreal, like some sort of artificial intelligence; a human computer. Ash, piecing the scant information together, was beginning to understand why.

“Where is HE’?” Ash asked.

“‘HE’ is hiding,” the dark voice stated.

“‘HE’ is afraid,” came another thought.

“I shall look for him,” Ash projected.

“Why? What will you do when you find him?” the dark voice that seemed to be in control demanded ominously.

Ash paused to consider the correct response. He didn’t want any trouble from the Enforcer. “It depends,” he replied, suddenly remembering the name he had accidentally acquired.

The strange entities seemed to pulse with understanding. Of course. They each had an important function to perform.

Moving away from the bizarre programmed personalities, Ash searched for Janson, the actual person inside the body. The journey was a long one, a voyage that went deeper and deeper, through mental confusion, pain and various other illusions and hallucinatory blocks.

While he searched, Ash considered the matter. There was no doubt. Sub-Lieutenant Janson had also been implanted. There seemed to be a lot of that going around. Janson’s own mind had been twisted, causing it to divide among itself, in the end providing him with various separate personalities.

One successful implant objective was to ensure Janson never reacted. No one knew that Janson was a many-faceted individual and no one was aware that he had been unnaturally created to be what he was. Whoever had implanted Janson had certainly known what he was doing.

Ash felt numb. Realization of the unlimited possibilities and implications caused him to rock in disbelief. Implants had been outlawed for hundreds of years, but the technical skill with which the procedure had been performed on Janson was far advanced beyond anything Ash had encountered previously, even beyond the technique used on Tholl and his servant. Someone in the UWG had thoroughly and secretly continued research into that vile subject.

To create a man an unwilling robot like Janson this idea was beyond him. It seemed that whoever had done this had absolutely perfected the technique.

Apparently the three main implanted suggestions had taken control of the real Janson. “I don’t know,” “I must obey,” and “It didn’t happen” were probably the main hypnotic commands but who could know what other suggestions Janson had received?

Ash recoiled in fear and disgust. To take a man’s own mind and turn it on itself! Janson, from what he understood, had been Neopol’s servant for years. Ash breathed a mental sigh. He didn’t hold much hope for the man. When he found him, he felt certain that the poor fellow would be utterly insane.

After searching for some time, Ash finally located Janson. The man was in hiding. He had gone to an obscure location in his own body, leaving the implanted, unnaturally created personalities to take over. Was it the man’s soul that Ash had discovered or his mind? Was Janson actually somewhere else? Perhaps this degraded thing was a mental dream that Janson had made of himself. Either way, Ash was convinced he had found the essence of the actual person.

“Janson?” Ash tentatively queried.

There was no reply. He was right. The man was quite mad. Waiting patiently, Ash tried to comprehend the fleeting pictures that Janson unwittingly projected, to understand the sporadic impulses he seemed to radiate. There wasn’t much to understand. He had vague impressions of an agreeable, normal childhood mixed randomly with violent emotional reactions, visions, and awareness of Neopol. Janson’s main thought was clear: He wished he were dead. More than anything else, he wanted to die. Ash carried on with his mental touch, hoping for a more complete understanding. How had Janson come to be this way?

Suddenly, Ash discovered a thin shred of information that hit him as forcefully as a blow. The abrupt insight was so surprising it almost made him lose the elusive contact he had created with Janson. Sub-Lieutenant Janson had come from Orone. The man could have been Linetta’s brother.

Janson had been taken from Orone against his will and implanted as a virtual slave for Neopol. Even more ghastly was the discovery that it was not Neopol who had been responsible for Janson’s kidnap and graceless mental desecration. Neopol, it seemed, was only a minor servant of Taro in the United Worlds. The man who had ordered Janson’s implant was someone else, someone much more powerful and, if possible, even more cruel. He was a man Ash had never seen before, but he had been wearing the UWG insignia, the military insignia of High Command.

A picture of the man responsible was burned into Ash’s awareness, a holovid projection from Janson’s twisted mind. Incredibly the vision was clear, without distortion. It was as if in trying to forget, Janson had even more completely etched it into his mind, burning it into his soul.

Ash watched as Janson replayed the memory.

The UWG man smiled with pleased satisfaction as Janson was drugged into unconsciousness. He was a slight man, a gentle, inoffensive looking fellow with a blond, wavy shock of hair. It was the man’s hair that first made a vivid impression on Ash. The color reminded him of the cunning long-toothed rats of Opan. It was this inoffensive man of slight build who commanded the respect of the others and was absolutely, unquestionably in charge.

There had been other men, medical men, circling Janson, preparing to operate. The tools of their trade, equipment for implantation, surrounded them, ready for use. The yellow-haired man stood watching his physicians. He gazed toward Janson only momentarily. Then, as clearly as if he were addressing Ash himself, the man spoke.

“Excellent. He will make the perfect aide for Neopol. Ensure that he is made to comply with the Admiral’s orders instantly, without human emotion or reaction. As long as he does, Neopol will not destroy him.”

The gentle-seeming man sighed and shook his head, smiling as though annoyed with a mischievous child. “That Neopol. He simply can’t help himself. But it is becoming increasingly difficult to find him fresh aides. Such a shame really. He compulsively breaks people, either destroying them himself rather rapidly or else driving them to suicide. If this man Janson is properly programmed then I’ll not have the problem of finding a new personal aide for Neopol for some years to come.” The government man had smiled an enchanting, magnetizing grin.

The men around him smiled stupidly back at him, in response to his practiced charm. He was, in truth, quite boyishly handsome. It appeared as if the physicians felt compelled to help him, to perform the task to perfection.

“Yes, gentlemen,” the man continued, “Neopol is a valuable tool. I need him. Solving this chronic issue of regularly replacing his aides will be an irritating nuisance well off my plate.” For an instant the man gave Ash the impression of someone humoring a dangerous, recalcitrant pet, but the perception was only momentary. One thing was for certain, however. The man Janson was never even vaguely considered. Janson was a means to an end, an object on display, a device to be used for a specific purpose.

The government representative nodded to the physicians, who instantly began their work. The slight man had turned away, suddenly white-faced. He seemed unable to stomach the sight of blood.

Ash came out of Janson’s memory swearing. What an appalling creature! The contrast was intense. He would never forget his seemingly pleasant expression, his handsome features and his blonde hair. The man’s gentle appearance, combined with his inhuman cruelty, had made a vivid and lasting impression.

Poor Janson, the unfortunate wretch. How long had he suffered under Neopol, trapped in an obedient body, fully cognizant of the perversions he was engaging in, of the cruelty he was inflicting? How long had he himself been a victim, unforgettably, painfully conscious? Aware of the merciless actions he had been forced to perform against his will?

Hopefully the poor fellow had lost his mind early on. To endure otherwise would have been the definition of hell itself.

The wolf in Ash raised its hackles in protest of this obscenity. It seemed to lick its lips, salivating in anticipation. Death was now this being’s only escape. Pure, sweet death.

“I will kill this man,” Ash thought, as the wolf in him smoldered.

Incredibly, his unintentionally projected thought brought an instant reaction from Janson. Janson seemed to come out of his safe place, out of hiding. He was begging, “Yes. Yes. Kill me. Please, I beg of you. Kill me. I want to die.” Janson implored, reaching toward him with a degraded, squalid touch a mental sewer of emotions.

Ash tingled with repugnance and the wolf within disappeared. By the Goddess, the man was disgusting. He was mentally crawling in supplication. Seeing anyone so completely reduced was unbearably traumatic. It was the ultimate insult.

“Yes. Yes. I will kill you,” Ash thought, attempting to escape Janson’s tainted mental touch. “But … I have to go,” he stammered. If Janson is here so are Neopol and Larren, he realized, finding a sliver of solace in the thought.

Filled with dread and panic, shock and horror, Ash fled that sick awareness.

He reached out, attempting to contact any other body, any other mind.

He had to get away. Now.

In a wild effort at escape, Ash soared out of Janson’s mind and body. He ended up far above Janson’s motionless form, looking down.

Incredibly, Ash was in contact with no fleshly form, no body. He was in no one’s mind. He hung in mid air, suspended. It was an uncanny, unreal sensation. Was he dead? Was he some sort of a ghost? He seemed to be disconnected from all form, existing as pure spirit. For some reason this development didn’t concern him. He felt disoriented, yet oddly comfortable. He gazed around stupidly, in silent non-comprehension.

The confusion abruptly disappeared.

Suddenly he was able to see, smell and hear everything around him. Disembodied Ash saw better than a whitehawk with 360-degree perception. He had never experienced anything so vividly and completely, and his senses were momentarily blinded, filled to capacity and beyond.

Ash had no body, no corporeal form.

Somehow he had transcended flesh.

Having mind-touched and become other people and animals, this was not as big a jump as one would think. He recalled Clinton’s words from his vision, “You were there, but not there.” Oh. This is what he meant.

Overcoming fresh disorientation, he stared at the scene below. He saw Larren, his companion, his friend. Larren! Ash thought, trying to scream out loud.

Disembodied, he created no sound.

The picture was complete. His surroundings appeared more distinct than if he had been viewing them through his own eyes. Larren stood on a blue-velvet, grass-covered hillock, slowly walking down toward the cluster of men waiting for him, their weapons drawn.

Ash studied Sub-Lieutenant Janson intently, in awe and amazement. He had never actually seen the man before. Janson’s emotionless face was staring ahead at Larren, dark, blank and neutral. He seemed like a soulless puppet or perhaps the grim reaper.

Neopol stood out among them, forceful, vibrant the man was radiating confidence and joyous amusement. He was concealing his intentions, but to Ash they were as obvious and transparent as if he could look at them through glass. Neopol intended pain and death for Larren. He was already anticipating the pleasure and gratification that it would afford.

Three other men also stood nearby. Smiles were set on their faces like masks. Their aimed weapons, however, stood oddly out of place. The combined visual impression was that these men were polite and interested hosts.

It was a lie.

Ash was paralyzed, gripped with terror. They were going to kill Larren. He had to stop them! He felt trapped, immobile. Like part of the air around him, he was translucent and ineffective, an utterly silent witness. Was this some sort of incredible dream?

For a few short moments he embraced the idea with wild hope. And for an instant in time, he experienced heartfelt relief. He wasn’t really here. This wasn’t happening.

And then the dream became reality.

In disbelief, Ash unexpectedly found he was able to perceive each man’s mind.

He had been experiencing auditory shutdown, and then suddenly everything became so loud!

When he looked toward each man, their thoughts and intentions seemed to speak out loud to him, to register in his own mind as clearly as if they were shouting.

“Ah, Mr. Larren Forseth,” Neopol’s voice boomed cheerfully across the meadow. “Welcome. I am glad to see you.” Ash watched and heard the Admiral speak, but he also could hear Neopol’s every thought.

Neopol’s eyes focused on Larren’s moving form.

It’s Forseth, Neopol thought with delight. And, as expected, he is alone. Of course, if anyone else had been coming from Minavera Mover via the space station, that fault in the irradiation equipment would have delayed them. Neopol had no idea if someone would be arriving as backup, but he liked to cover every possibility. Such a simple thing to get one of his agents to create a technical problem, and no one would question such a circumstance. Poor Forseth. Neopol had made sure there really was no one else who could help.

Ash understood then why Rositha had not contacted or come to them. Neopol had outstanding abilities in prediction and intellect. Without even knowing she was there, Neopol had stopped her.

A look of joy transformed Neopol’s features. A smile spread across his face. Neopol was clearly satisfied. And why shouldn’t he be? Everything was proceeding exactly as he planned precisely as he had predicted. The Admiral’s malevolence was hidden, but Ash knew. Forseth had escaped him before, Neopol was thinking, but not this time. Now he would pay.

“Neopol,” Larren shouted back.

Ash knew Larren’s thoughts, too. The torture and death of his crew stood out, still fresh in his mind, like it had happened yesterday. Those events were right here with Larren now. Larren said, “I’ll give myself up and you will release the Lady Lindha and the Lady Jeeha. That was the agreement.”

“So it was, my dear fellow,” Neopol nodded, his voice echoing across the grounds. “Except what is going to stop me from killing you where you stand?”

“Your honor as an officer and a gentleman, of course. An Admiral of the Fleet would never tarnish his reputation and good word, surely.” Larren voiced with unconcealed sarcasm. Ash heard him remember how Neopol had lied, promising not to kill Heet and then had done so. All the while Larren continued his steady stride towards Neopol.

Mortified, Ash saw Larren’s easy movements. Ash mentally spoke to him, begging him to go back, but Larren was unaware of the desperate pleas. Why was Larren so complacent? He was going to die. It didn’t make sense. Neopol wouldn’t honor any agreement. His death would be for nothing.

“That’s far enough, Forseth,” Neopol said. There was fear in his voice.

Ash stared at the Admiral. Why was Neopol afraid?

A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions swirled through Ash, radiating indistinctly from each man. Merging and combining, embroiled together, each thought was disorienting and confusing. Too much! Too much! For a moment Ash couldn’t process it all. Ash felt in full mind-touch with every person here in this clearing. Never had he experienced such a thing.

Everything was happening too fast.

Larren continued walking. “But surely you wish to restrain me?” He reached into his tunic to detonate the bomb. This wasn’t as close as he had hoped to get, but it would have to suffice. Luckily, even at this distance he should be able to achieve the main objective. Neopol was too suspicious for further risk.

Ash stared, utterly numb, physically mute.

Larren had an incendiary. The courage of the man. Larren was planning to kill Neopol even though it meant his own death. Such self sacrifice and valor. Larren’s thoughts were on Ash, Rositha and Lindha. He wants me to live. He wants us all to live.

“Now,” Neopol sent a brisk order of command via Icom.

Neopol’s men fired their weapons.

Four vivid flashes of blue flared momentarily, three of them striking their target. One hit Larren’s thigh, one his chest and one his neck. Ash heard a piercing scream of surprise and pain, a timeless instant of sound that was abruptly cut off. As if in slow motion, Larren fell heavily to the ground.

NO! Ash mentally screamed. Disembodied he made no sound. Ash watched in disbelief and horror as Larren crumpled in front of him.

Ash reached toward Larren with his mind. He could hear and feel everything Larren did. He knew his thoughts.

I’m shot, was the first thought Ash heard in Larren’s mind. His friend was dumbfounded. The attack had come as a total surprise. He hadn’t even attempted to run. Larren vaguely realized that he had not been hit by an annihilator, but unfortunately a laser was no less fatal than the instant disintegration caused by that weapon.

Larren knew he had been properly laser-burned because it was worse, much worse than any stun. At the moment of contact he felt as if his entire body was burning from within. The pain went beyond the probe, beyond anything he had ever known.

He had never experienced such pain.

The world darkened, and realisation set in.

He thought, I’m dying. But I must detonate the bomb!

But his fingers wouldn’t comply and he hadn’t had time to construct a dead man’s switch so that the bomb would go off when he released it. And then he thought, This can’t be happening. He was consumed by a sense of unreality, then grief and regret. I’m sorry, Ash. Larren radiated the anguished thought to the empty nothingness that surrounded him, the cruel truth that engulfed his mind and soul. His despair could not have been put into words.

Rositha, was his last thought as a dark and endless infinity overcame him.

Though he was separate from him, Ash experienced it all. He felt the anguish of despair beyond words. It was as if Larren had spoken to him, confirming his defeat. Filled with an overwhelming grief, Larren’s final feelings echoed resoundingly through his mind, along with a pervading sense of failure:

Neopol lives. And I am dead.

The lasers. They had used lasers. And Ash suddenly understood why. If they had used annihilators Larren would have disintegrated entirely. With lasers Neopol would be able to display Larren’s face in death. Neopol had thought of everything. Larren’s intact body would be proof positive that the UWG perseveres. They seek out and destroy any criminal, wherever he may be hiding, on any Freeworld.

An individual would be able to perhaps survive one laser burn if they received instant care and attention, and if the burn wasn’t in a vital area. Larren could not have survived three hits, however, and his death was especially rapid due to the neck wound.

Larren was dead. Dead!

And he had died for nothing.

29. Instinct of the Wolf

Instinct: an inbuilt pattern of behavior or inclination that is characteristic of a species. It is often a response to specific environmental stimuli. Fixed action patterns are inherited, not learned. For an animal there is no more powerful motivation or impulse. While humans have predispositions and behaviors due to biological wiring for example the drive to mate these needs cannot be categorized as instincts. Humans have choice. In the final analysis, using strict definition, there are no inborn human instincts.

Dr. George Bettencourt, Icompedia

Dead! My friend is dead!

Disembodied, in shock at the death of his friend, Ash still took everything in. He heard everyone’s thoughts so clearly. It was as if they were shouting.

Neopol couldn’t stop laughing. He shrieked and jeered with a wicked laughter, holding his sides, doubled over and out of control. With a broad smile, he took out a cloth and wiped tears from his eyes. Eventually he regained his composure and said, “Quickly now. You, Huka. Ensure that Forseth’s incendiary isn’t a time-release mechanism. It’s doubtful, but you’d better make certain of the fact.”

Huka stared at Neopol.

Ash knew his thoughts as clearly as he knew his own. Guided by self interest and personal gain, Huka was torn with indecision. The man’s fear was as bright as a star that had suddenly gone nova. Huka knew deactivating a bomb was dangerous. But so was disobeying Neopol. What should he do? The alternatives and consequences clicked rapidly through his mind, the entire process lasting only an instant.

“Yes, sir,” Huka said. Then he galloped off to comply with the Admiral’s order. A live bomb was not as dangerous as Neopol’s wrath would be if Huka disobeyed. After all, he may survive the bomb.

Huka ran to Larren’s body, searched it and reappeared with the device. “You were right, sir,” he said, greatly relieved. “It was a touch detonator. I’ve deactivated it.”

“Of course, I was right. Have you ever known me to be wrong?” Neopol asked, his eyes fierce.

“No, sir.” Huka shook his head emphatically.

Neopol grinned. “Of course not. I knew Forseth would bring a bomb. I knew exactly what he planned. It was to be expected from that predictable, do-gooding fool. How typical of him to attempt to save the others at the expense of his own life. And I have no doubt that we will find the young Delian prince in a Minavera lifecraft. He will be bound or perhaps stunned to unconsciousness, quite unaware of the noble sacrifice that his cherished companion has made.”

Neopol stared intently at Huka and his two medical officers, Smith and Ching. “Bring the young Delian king to me. We shall allow him to visit the resistant, unbreakable Lady Lindha. I’m sure she’ll be overjoyed to be reunited with her love.”

Pictures, thoughts and emotions from Neopol’s twisted mind flooded Ash’s awareness, suffusing and pervading his consciousness. Like pure, unshielded atomic radiation, the visions flowed and seeped into him, bombarding every attention unit, absorbing him entirely.

Lindha!

The full impact of the Truth suddenly hit Ash with a vivid, shattering awareness. It exploded through his mind, ricocheting through his essence, discharging and bursting with a blinding energy as if reaching some sort of overload, a mental critical mass.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

The pain was acute. It was similar to what he had experienced through Larren’s death agony, except it was worse, much, much worse. But he had no flesh to feel this pain. This agony injured his spirit, his essence, his soul.

Violent, fiery, he felt an intense, indescribable implosion/explosion from within.

Lindha. Neopol had tortured her. He planned to find her breaking point and was intentionally driving her mad. That Taro’s spawn had beaten her and cut her. Even now she lay bound and devoid of hope. With further shock he suddenly knew … Jeeha was dead.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Like fuel added to a white hot flame, Ash grew. Larger and larger, hugely immense, he was more enormous than the isolated mountain that Assurance rested upon. He was aware of Opan, of everything below him. Ablaze, he felt an all consuming terrible rage, a burning, flaming fury.

It was the strangest feeling.

Ash had often heard the saying “Time stood still.”

He felt it now.

Time stood still.

He was thrown into a memory from his childhood, sitting atop a precipice with his father. A Delian eagle soared nearby, an auspicious spiritual omen. His father’s face lightened and he knelt down, wrapping an arm around him, pointing toward the sacred creature. With the eagle soaring above, they sat cross legged, and spoke of their Sioux Indian heritage.

To the Sioux, nothing in the universe could be considered inevitable. There were no absolutes and time was an illusion. Did the past cause the future or did the future shape the events of the past?

Did time pass moment by moment? Or was all now?

Ash felt he had entered a trancelike state. It was the most intense sensation. He felt light, disembodied. It was the Light Sankomin. It created the Godlike feeling. He felt it now. He was a God.

Time stood still.

Ahhh. I understand. Ash knew this instance, he knew this precise moment in time. It was déjŕ-vu. He had felt these sensations beforehand. He had known this exact instant previously when he was there at Clinton’s farm.

It was an event from his past, reflecting on an event from his future, culminating in this exact moment.

NOW.

Time may have stood still, but nothing could stop him.

The essence of his soul seemed to flow and burn faster as he let the Truth unfold. It wasn’t that he could act like a wolf or howl like a wolf, or pretend to be a wolf in fun. He really was the wolf. The leader. The power was his.

A surge of energy passed through him, a bolt of charged electrical energy from the burning intensity of this knowledge.

All animals were his to command.

I know. I have always known.

The awareness was eternally there, unviewed.

There is no time: time is an illusion.

At that thought a loud cacophony of commotion and noise sounded: he knew those animals, he knew those sounds. His reach was enormous: whitehawks, wolves, snouts, pig-dogs, twills, rats every animal from kilometers around. Squeals, shrieks, hissing, barking, bleating, squawks, whistles, brays, bellows, cackles and yelps: the animals were going berserk. Screaming crying out, in fear in defiance? Who could say?

As suddenly as they started, the animals stopped.

Time stood still.

The words of the Testimonials sounded in his mind: “Hate hides the power. One sees only the enemy or revenge, not the Truth.” But the words fell from his thoughts like dried leaves from a tree. Withered and broken on the ground, they were set alight, disappearing, consumed by fire. They were of no consequence.

Of what use were words to a wolf?

Far away in the small lifecraft from Minavera Mover, Ash’s body opened its eyes momentarily. They showed a bright and burning amber, an eerie, terrifying sight.

No.

This will not be! And then, like a God, he spoke to the animals: all of them as one, every creature within a hundred kilometer radius.

Kill. Kill. Kill them all, he thought, and the animals were filled with purpose and need. They rushed, set alight with violent craving, the turbulent maelstrom of desire: To kill. To destroy. To obey.

Huge and fantastic, Ash expanded. All was illusion time held still. As if each particle of his awareness was in contact with each creature individually, he became the leader of them all. He knew them as purely as if they were himself. He felt them listen to his call, he felt them respond running, jumping, screaming out in fear, in surprise. They were alive with his purpose, his burning rage.

He felt the wolves as they sprang toward the mountain. Leaping with desperate necessity, they homed in on Neopol and his men. He felt their hackles rise, their saliva drip and their teeth bare back. He heard them growl and snarl.

He felt the wild boars submit, their blue coats gleaming. Their long pink tusks, like deadly magnetic pikes, were pointed toward the frail humans upon the rocky crag. They knew his hate and his fury, and they too obeyed. Exploding with violence, rampaging wildly, the boars rushed toward their prey with the solidity and speed of a freight ship on re-entry, roaring toward the surface of a planet. Their mouths were frothing with exertion and drooling with the desire to kill, to spill bright, fresh blood. Their beady little eyes gleamed. The boars were intimately familiar with danger and the desire to tusk, to destroy, to ravage a foe.

The whitehawks were relishing the fight. Inspired with bloodthirsty need, protection of mate and survival, they dived and soared dangerously, flying toward the hated humans. Unaware of crossing into one another’s territories, they were scarcely cognizant of each other at all. Filled with rage, each perceived only one objective: seek out and destroy the hated humans on the mountain. Kill. Kill. Kill.

Even the gentle twill birds, not intentionally called, responded to the summons. Racing full stride, they drove their large, ungainly bodies toward their own annihilation. Incapable of violence, the twill birds were no less intent. They were urged on as if starving, blindly rushing with a hungry, instinctual need.

Ash screeched, squawked, wailed and howled. Snarling, growling and roaring, he was part of the animals of Opan. Exploding with violence and vengeance, he was a maelstrom of white hot wrath merged with ranting, raging hate. Sprinting, flying, bounding and leaping, he sped toward the evil men.

Ash combined and melded, as if moulding and sharpening an already acutely edged blade into a well-honed razor sharp knife. The surge of menacing creatures was united through him, almost as if it consisted of one animal, one terrifying, immense phenomenon: an unstoppable bestial horde.

Ash was seized with an incredible feeling of invulnerability, of omnipresent and infinite power. I am as powerful as a God. Feel my vengeance!

Nothing could stop him.

Nothing.

I will kill them all.

The wolves raced past the boars and the twill birds, but it was the whitehawks that arrived first. At least ten of them appeared at once. They soared and dived, flying directly for the eyes. The men tried to take cover and fired their weapons in blind fear, but the hawks were too fast for them. Turning instantly in mid-air, they were at home in the sky. They effectively kept the men pinned down, arms and hands over their faces.

Only moments later the wolves arrived and shortly after, it was the boars. The blood and carnage was incredible mass murder and savagery undreamed of. Everything moved rapidly, all at once. Ash witnessed the massacre. Experiencing it all, he saw it through more than a thousand sets of eyes. Nothing evaded his glance and perception.

The man called Huka was the first to die. A dedicated, self-interested coward, he had moved to flee the moment the whitehawks had struck. Unknowingly, he had run toward his own death. Huka’s terror was radiating wildly for, unfortunately for him, animals could not be bought or blackmailed with wealth and power. They could not be bargained with.

A fierce and angry boar, running toward Huka, paid no attention to his beseeching pleas for mercy. Instead, speeding full tilt, it ran its long pink tusks into Huka’s hard flat belly, skewering him from front to back. The boar abruptly stopped Huka’s headlong rush to escape, as well as his abject supplication.

The two medical men were the next to go, the last to run. They stood staring in utter disbelief. Two wolves and a boar acted, quite unprecedentedly and unnaturally together. The three animals, in full cooperation, joined in the tearing, tusking, stabbing and rending death of both men.

Neopol, that large and powerfully built individual, was moving steadily toward the safety of Conqueror’s shuttle. The man was cunning to the end. Neopol rapidly crawled toward safety, the whitehawks having taken great chunks of flesh from his head, back, neck and hands. Yet he was the only one effectively fleeing.

No, Ash thought the vehement command. Don’t let him get away. The thought was a death knell for Neopol.

The Admiral looked up.

Like a voice from God, Neopol somehow heard Ash’s fearsome command. Even his acute intellect couldn’t calculate or comprehend what was happening. In all of the Admiral’s vast experience, these circumstances were unique.

Neopol wondered if he was hallucinating.

There were four wolves converging and his weapon was already spent. Like a drowning man suddenly noticing a nearby raft, Neopol focused on his aide. “Janson. Help me!”

With freedom so close, the real man buried beneath the implants recognized at last what he must do. Janson came out of hiding. He made no move to protect or assist Neopol in any way. Instead, dropping his weapon and stretching out his arms like a crucifix, Janson welcomed death. Neopol watched in shock and amazement as a wolf pulled him down and ripped open his throat in one practiced leap.

At the moment of his death, Janson was no longer dispassionate, neutral or robotic. He had finally, after all these years, reacted to a situation.

His face was alive with life and emotion.

Janson died smiling.

Neopol stared in shock and disbelief. “No … it can’t be!”

Yes, Ash’s thought was fierce. There was no mercy in him. No one can help you now. I will avenge my Lady, my friend Larren and my people. Now I will see you dead. His thoughts rang out, shouting in triumph.

Unbelievably, Neopol heard Ash’s proclamation of revenge. What was happening? This is insane, Neopol thought, but someone seemed to be talking to him, talking directly to his own mind. He looked around wildly. In fear and confusion, he searched for the source of that wrathful mental voice. Ash had clearly projected his intentions as well as vividly colored pictures distinct impressions, a foretelling of the exact manner of Neopol’s death.

A clear picture of Ash formed in Neopol’s mind.

Suddenly, he KNEW.

It took less than a second for Ash to absorb Neopol’s mental processes, to follow his thoughts and feel his sudden enlightenment and startling realization. Almost solid in their intensity, Neopol’s thoughts and emotions radiated from him in a crazed frenzy. They seemed to shout out loud in disbelief, incredulity and finally complete and utter terror.

You! Neopol mentally gasped. Where are you?

I am here.

Staring into the transparent air above, Neopol whispered, “You can’t be. You’re in Minavera Mover’s lifecraft. You must be!”

I am here. It is my body that rests in the lifecraft.

Neopol stared, dazed. Transfixed. “You can do more than read minds. You have powers that I’ve never dreamed of. I’ve misjudged you.” He threw his hands in the air and shook his head in wild panic. Could it be that a man or a woman was not just a human body and brain? Did humans have souls after all? No. It couldn’t be. He had certainly never found any such thing in all his research. But had he been searching for the human soul? No. Never.

He yelled, “It can’t be! I was wrong!” Consumed by overwhelming terror, Neopol made a last, desperate attempt to flee.

Ash observed his hopeless efforts toward escape with cruel satisfaction. Yes, you misjudged me … and now you have made your last mistake.

With brilliant perception, Ash watched and felt as two wolves leaped upon Neopol. He recognized them both. A part of him registered this fact and was thrilled to see them, his wolf parents, Long Fang and Seeta. But his mind was focused and intent on his all-consuming purpose. He held them, and restrained them, forcing them to temper their resolve. He made them hold back on their natural impulse to tear out his jugular. With triumphant satisfaction almost a perverse spiritual rapture Ash looked on as an entire pack of wolves descended, clamping their teeth savagely into a limb or a portion of his well-fleshed torso. The wolves bit down lightly, teeth entering non-vital flesh. Compelled by Ash, they held him but they did not pull.

Neopol had rarely experienced discomfort, and if he had, it was only small and inconsequential hurts. His own knowledge of pain was limited solely to the causing of agony not receiving it.

At first Neopol called out, desperately begging for help and mercy, his image of himself, of his power and position, reduced to nothing in the face of his torment. But as his fear and pain became blindingly intense, his desperate, single-minded desire to do anything, absolutely anything, to make the pain stop overwhelmed him. He finally achieved, firsthand, a deep and personal understanding of the hours of agony he had caused others.

For an instant, in the last moments of his life, Neopol fully and completely regretted anything and everything he had done that had led him to this indescribable misery.

As the wolves tightened their grip, he began to cry.

Two whitehawks flew down and each took an eye.

Neopol screamed and screamed.

The sight and sound caused Ash a fierce, inhuman joy. He held the animals, pushing against their nature. They wanted to finish it, to tear out Neopol’s jugular. Ash wanted to wait, to make it last. What was this need he had for revenge? Was it a human need? Something more man than wolf? While Opan wolves could be merciless, they were never cruel. I am a man, he realized with shock and wonder. This sadistic pleasure comes from me.

Neopol continued to scream.

Yes! Yes! Yes! Ash thought. I want to hear him. I want to see the monster suffer! Let him feel his own pain for a change. He hurt Lindha. No death can be gruesome enough to repay that. Ash boiled with fierce and bloodthirsty pleasure as he watched.

The sound of anguished screaming echoed for some minutes. It was followed by raspy moans and whimpers, then soft odd grunts and then it was quiet. Neopol’s mouth worked, but his voice was gone. His mind was a confusion of babbling and begging. The knowledge that his life’s research was wrong combined with unceasing pain to send him into total madness.

Ah, but have I found Admiral Neopol’s breaking point? Euphoria and delight bubbled through Ash. Oh, yes. He decided with total satisfaction. I rather think I have.

Enough. It was enough. At Ash’s command, the wolves slowly tore Neopol, still conscious and alive, limb from limb.

Neopol was full of white, oozing fat and deep red muscle tissues.

Tearing and rending savagely, the wolves swallowed great chunks of flesh. They all agreed with Long Fang’s declaration that he had never enjoyed a more succulent repast.

30. I Have an Idea

Ideas are more powerful than any weapon. Once imagined, they cannot be stopped. A mind that has expanded with an idea can never be small again. Ideas are the spark, the fire that begins all things.

Aeon Miller, Professor Emeritus

Neopol is dead.

Ash watched the animals eat him.

There was blood and death everywhere. Various creatures lay about, crushed and broken like scattered autumn leaves. Half-eaten corpses stared open eyed in an abhorrent rictus of death.

Ash’s lust for pain and blood was suddenly sated. His invincible, all-pervading supremacy began to erode, ebbing away. The animals began to return to their own conscious awareness. No longer possessed by Ash’s wrath, they acted normally. The predators continued feeding, the whitehawks flew off to their own territories. The remaining twill birds were momentarily disoriented and then, discovering the circumstances including the profusion of predators and lack of food, they sped away on their two powerful legs as fast as possible.

Everywhere Ash looked he saw red: red, red, crimson red the sight and the sweet, musty, copper-iron smell of fresh-spilled blood and death. He could taste it. Abruptly he felt sickened.

The chilled mountain air seemed to be able to touch him now. He felt cold and unreal. He felt himself wafting away, floating propelled by the strong breeze. Someone was calling him. Whispered voices and the keening moan of the wind echoed harshly though his mind. He was being pulled, drawn slowly back to his body.

He had no will to resist.

Ash felt drained, his energy washed away blown away. Without a struggle, he surrendered to the call, flowing helplessly on currents of air, a breeze in the wind. As if expelled from the very breath of the Goddess, he was completely capsized in a sea of unreality. Life was a transparent shadow and then it was gone.

Vaguely, he was aware of returning to his own flesh and form. His body was where he had left it: it seemed to rest an eternity away. He was still aboard the lifecraft, that tiny legacy from Minavera Mover.

Like an obscure dream, Ash vaguely recalled Minavera Mover, the freight ship that he had once travelled upon. He was happy there, once. Mental images passed through his mind, pictures of Jed, Dal, Rositha … and Larren.

Now it seemed a lifetime ago.

“Ash. Ash. Wake up.” Someone was shaking him. He felt as if he were being drawn someplace, rushing through a dark tunnel or up from a blackened well. He was moving toward the light. He felt his sleeping body wake.

“Ash?” a female voice called.

He opened his eyes and saw his mirrored reflection in one of the lower shuttle cabinets. His face was pale, but what struck him were his eyes. They were bright, burning amber. He watched the fire that was burning in them slowly dwindle into dark embers and extinguish entirely. The effect left him hollow and empty. His normally dark eyes looked dead, like unlit shadows. He stared back at them, dark as coal. Had he really returned? Was he here in his own body? With Minavera’s lifecraft? Or was this an illusion?

He heard a sound of surprise, deep gasps of breath, and turned toward the source. Rositha was on her knees, bent over him. Next to her was Lindha.

Lindha! Here! Alive! Illusion? Or reality?

Lindha held him, tight in her arms. So extraordinary, these disconnected sensations he felt as he returned to the physical world. The strength and smooth, cool skin of Lindha’s arms encompassed him. His own body was heated, hot as a rocket combustion chamber during ignition. His talisman armguard beat with life a curious sensation. Rositha must have returned the talisman to him while he, or at least his body, slept. Not for the first time, he wondered if Delian Damithst crystals were living. Could one assign emotion to the King’s Mirror? If so, he would say that for some reason his armband was sated, elated and content.

Somehow everything seemed flat and strange when seen through his bodily sight. It was no longer shimmering, bright and alive with uncanny iridescence. He was no longer a Quantum God, the master of energy and animals.

“Lindha?” he murmured in disbelief.

“Yes,” she reassured. “I’m here and we shall be safe. But quickly, Ash, you must get up. We need to leave this place.”

Ash smelled her then, the unique scent of his mate. Not an illusion. He sat up and reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “Lindha.” His voice was a sob of relief. The last of his spent emotions squeezed from him, the final drops in an empty well. “I thought I’d never see you again.” His voice broke. Ash pulled back and held her by her shoulders.

Their eyes locked and he gasped, “Lindha, I’ll never leave your side again.”

She gave a sort of exhausted, exasperated, determined kind of smile and said, “I will never let you.”

Ash scanned the cramped vessel, reorienting himself. He studied the woman he loved, acutely aware she had suffered. She appeared strained, bruised, older, changed. He held his breath. “The child?”

“The child lives,” she said.

Ash breathed out with relief, but he knew they would both continue to wonder what kind of child this would be. An unborn child who had experienced the agonies she herself had barely survived? Would it be healthy and well? They would both have to live with that mystery, that unknown fear. Luckily, that was one worry that was far in the distant future. There were more pressing concerns right now.

“Show me the wound,” he said to Lindha, suddenly brisk. He already knew what she endured through mind-touch with Neopol. He could not give her the consideration she deserved; strong and impersonal would have to serve for now. There was still much that needed to be done.

Reluctantly, Lindha held out her hand. Ash was not surprised. It was what he had expected.

“It’s been treated?”

“It has now. It may grow back.”

“No.” Ash said harshly. “You’ve lost it.” He had seen glimpses, odd flashes of the future in that strange god-like state he had experienced, and in it he had seen Lindha. But in each future, she was missing this finger. Ordinarily a genetic copy could be grown, but apparently not for her. His jaw clenched. It was wicked to be so intentionally maimed, but in truth, as long as the child was well, it was a small price to pay. Larren paid the greater penalty, the full price of their freedom.

Understanding began to dawn on Lindha. “You have contacted and read Neopol’s mind? Is that how you know of my wound? Is that where you were?”

“Yes and no,” Ash replied, clenching his teeth, holding back the grief and pain that threatened once more to overwhelm him. Larren was dead. If he hadn’t been so absorbed by Lindha’s loss, if he had been more aware, then things might have turned out differently. Larren would be alive.

Lindha remained silent. Ash knew she was waiting for an explanation, but he didn’t know how to speak of Larren. Dead. He took a few deep breaths. Lindha knew him well enough now to know not to disturb his own dark thoughts.

“Ash?” Lindha said in an anxious voice. There was panic in her eyes.

Ash looked up, surprised by her interruption. He saw her concern. “We have time, my love,” he said, gripping her hands. “I should have told you. The snake, Neopol, is dead. We have Larren to thank for that.” He stood up, astonished to move freely after all he had been through. There was nothing wrong with him. His body, well rested, wasn’t even shaky. Relieved, he left her and went to find Rositha.

Rositha had politely left the couple alone, once Ash woke. Ash walked through the cramped quarters. He found Rositha with tears silently streaming down her face. “Rositha?”

“Yes, Trueborn?” she replied. She turned her head toward him but did not meet his eyes.

“Is it a letter? A note from Larren?” he asked.

“Yes,” her words were a whisper, an echo. She sounded far away. “What did he do?” She breathed in deeply. “How … how did he die?”

“He …” Ash’s voice broke and his resolution to be strong faded like her whisper of grief and despair. “He … he saved us all. Without him, Neopol would be alive. Larren gave his life for us, Rositha.”

“Yes,” she said. “But rather would I have given my own.” She tucked Larren’s note into a sleeve of her garment. “Can I go to him? He … he will need … ,” she stammered. “We will need to attend to his body. May his spirit be with Jana.” She touched her heart and forehead in the ecclesiastical sign.

“Are you certain?” Ash asked. “It may be best if Lindha and I …”

“No,” Rositha reacted instantly. “Whatever needs to be done, I shall do it.”

Ash left the shuttle, pleased and relieved to find Lindha had brought an armed contingent of Sisters with her. He doubted their assistance would be necessary, but the sight of so many, after all they had endured, was no small comfort. Ash assured the Ladies that Neopol and his minions lay dead, but as a safety precaution they would be welcome to accompany them to Assurance. They were to guard, but not to interfere. Rositha, Lindha and the Trueborn would personally attend Larren’s body.

The fleet of speeders rose, as if in preparation for battle. They flew off, one huge army of transport, towards the combat zone that surrounding Assurance. Within moments they circled the scene of destruction. Ash was not surprised. He had seen this carnage before. Rositha and Lindha looked on appalled. It was like a battlefield. A few animals remained, mostly scavengers and some aggressive predators.

“So much blood,” Lindha said. “Quickly. We must hurry. The animals are feeding,” she said, with an uncharacteristic lack of tact. Ash winced. The ordeal of the last few days combined with the shocking carnage below seemed to have destroyed her usual diplomacy.

Then Ash saw Larren. He was motionless, rolled on his side. He looked like he was asleep. A large wolf stood over him, staring up in defiance of the airborne machinery, its teeth bared.

A wolf? Still here? Why?

Lindha landed the craft nearby, the other speeders landed further away. Rositha, Ash and Lindha scrambled out, Rositha in the lead.

The boar and other scavengers fled, but amazingly the wolf remained. The animal had not moved. Most creatures were in abject fear of one speeder, much less twenty. The gigantic, red-furred animal boldly stood over the body of Larren, hackles raised, snarling its defiance. Why?

Rositha raised her weapon.

Ash struck her arm aside, spoiling her careful aim. “No. Wait.”

“The wolf …” She blinked. Her lips opened, shut, and opened again. “But …” She blinked a few more times. She couldn’t seem to find the words. “It must be killed,” Rositha finally said.

“No. You will wait,” Ash commanded. His eyes bored into her, the animal in him was close, near the surface. It dared her disobedience.

Trueborn! Inhuman!

Ash was astonished by Rositha’s defiance, but he knew he shouldn’t be. The Lady had a mind of her own when it came to protecting Larren. Though the man lay dead at their feet Rositha was still willing to defy even the Temple Trueborn for him. Had she learned nothing? The woman had taken an oath to obey him. For a moment admiration at her temerity warred with frustration over her disobedience. Ash regarded Rositha’s expression with furious impatience.

Her chin rose defiantly.

Oh, yes, he thought. I have lived this trap before. This is where Rositha defies me, and I lose control of the wolf and strike her, as I did on Kalar. But I am in control now. I will not hit her. And … it isn’t fear that she feels this time. It is hate. He didn’t need mind-touch to know what Rositha felt. She hated him with every ounce of her being. Ash had stopped her from protecting her love. Yet somehow Ash didn’t care what Rositha thought or what she was feeling.

There was a thing here he did not understand. He needed to understand.

Their eyes meet for a moment, each with a murderous glare. Rositha looked away first, bowing her head in submission. “As you wish, Trueborn.”

Ash scrutinized her. Once certain of her obedience, he nodded and walked purposefully toward the wolf. It seemed familiar. With a gentle reach, in an instant he made contact. The large red predator’s demeanour changed. The wolf jumped up, its bared teeth disappeared and its tail wagged furiously. It gave the impression of a faithful hound, glad to see its master arrive home.

Ash laughed out loud and looked back at Rositha and Lindha. They stared at him with a peculiar expression. Awe? This strange godhead they all foisted upon him he had no patience for it. He thought, “Teella? Little sister, it is you?”

Teella grinned with pleasure and excitement. “My brother. You have returned.” She leaped and danced around him, nipping his fingers with joy.

“Little sister,” he exclaimed. He bent to one knee and stroked her, fondling her ears. She always liked to have her ears rubbed. “You’ve grown. I did not know you, now that you have grown so large and strong.” In wolf terms this was an exceptional compliment. “Where is your mate?”

“I have no mate, but soon, soon I think.” She grinned happily, radiating pleasure at his praise. “I am still a pup and stay with mother and father.”

“Seeta and Long Fang. They are well?”

“As always, yes. But they were worried about you after the hunters took you. We searched for you. Seeta said you would return. She was right.”

“As always,” he radiated affection. “Where are they?”

“They track a boar that would not leave. It was drawn by the scent of blood. It is likely that they are eating it right now. But they will return.”

“Good. I want to see them. But why are you here? And what are you doing with the body of my friend? Had you planned to eat it? I would rather you didn’t, for it would upset his mate. I can provide better fare.”

Teella snorted with disgust. “You think me here to eat this one? Never. I am guarding him, according to your wish. I even fought off two boars who found him of interest. You told us that this one was cherished, as precious as one’s own mate. Have I not done well?” She danced with excitement. “Was it not true that this one is loved?”

Ash was overcome with gratitude. He hugged and stroked Teella in thanks, caressing her neck. The young wolf was warm, her coarse hair soft underneath the outer layers. His hands reveled in the familiar texture of her strong, agile body. She smelled like wolf musk, fresh-cut grass and old blood.

“You have done well, little sister. I thank you.” Privately he was full of wonder. He could not recall projecting thoughts of affection concerning Larren, but the wolves had known. They always seemed to know. And they had defended Larren’s body in accordance with his wishes and needs.

“This one,” Teella projected an image of Larren. “He does not move. Is he ill?”

Ash blinked. “Surely you would know. He sleeps forever in death.”

A bubble of surprise came from Teella. “Not this one. His heart beats. Can you not hear it?”

Ash broke contact and bent over Larren with wild hope. He was breathing!

“He’s alive,” Ash shouted. “He’s alive! Come quickly.” He beckoned Rositha and Lindha with his arm. Teella moved a few meters away, and sat down complacently on her haunches, her tongue hanging out in a comical manner. She seemed rather amused by the human’s antics. Rositha threw herself on to Larren. She was crying.

Ash fell to both knees beside him, bent close and said, “Larren? Larren?”

Larren groaned, and shivered. “Ash? Is it you? Really you?” He opened his eyes and sighed. “By the Goddess, I’m not dead after all. Must have been a stun, but not like any stun I’ve ever suffered. It hurts everywhere. Forsaken Worlds, Ash. We have to get out of here. Where is Neopol?”

“Dead,” Ash said with grim satisfaction.

Larren stared at Lindha, who was on her knees beside Ash. He wore a curious expression, and then a look of pleased relief. “Lady Lindha. Thank the Goddess you’re all right.”

She smiled. “You, too. I thought the Trueborn went to Kalar to kill you.”

“Oh, yeah,” Larren said, remembering with a grimace. “Ash did plan to kill me, but he changed his mind. I’ve been dreaming of blood,” he added apropos of nothing. He put his hand to his temple. “Shit. Stunner sickness. My head feels like it’s going to explode. And I’m so cold.” Larren noticed Rositha crying beside him. He weakly raised his arm and patted her back. “Hey. Its okay, sweetheart. Except I think … I think I’m going to be ill.”

True to his word, he was. Rositha wiped him and held him. She dried her own tears on her sleeve and settled down beside him, competently checking his vital signs and scanning for any injuries. Larren shut his eyes and shivered. He seemed utterly exhausted. “I had the most incredible dream,” he opened heavy lids and looked toward Ash, apparently compelled to relate the vision. “You had turned into a wolf and you were standing guard over me. We were surrounded by other animals boars, even hawks. There was lots and lots of blood everywhere. The animals were all fighting. I’m not sure, but it felt like they were fighting over me.”

Ash gave a short bark of laughter. “You’re close. Not a bad guess for a man who took three stun shots simultaneously in thigh, chest and neck.”

Larren’s eyes widened in understanding. “I thought it was laser fire.” He managed a crooked grin. “Three stuns at once? Another first. You’ll have to work hard to catch up with me.”

Ash shook his head. “No thanks.” Ash shot to his feet, alive with powerful emotions, a deluge of emotions that he simply couldn’t contain. He began a brisk pace, back and forth. So stupid. He should have realized. Neopol would have wanted to torture Larren, to make him confess to genocide, not just kill him. He should have thought of that himself. Of course his friend had only been stunned. Three stuns striking simultaneously had confused Larren. It was Larren himself who felt the agonized internal explosion signifying one’s mortal passing. And because Ash had felt Larren’s last conscious awareness, he had accepted his death as a certainty.

Lindha, still on her knees beside Larren, glanced up at Ash. He grinned down at her as he strode past, restlessly working off his emotional overload through vigorous motion.

Ash felt a combination of happiness and divine salvation. Larren is alive. The thought echoed joyfully through his mind. The heavy weight of Dark Sankomin that had been surrounding him disappeared, and his heart swelled. Larren is alive. Alive. He hadn’t realized it before, but he knew now that he needed Larren almost as much as he needed Lindha.

Ash returned to Larren’s side, falling to his knees beside him. He couldn’t do anything about his silly, unstoppable grin. Nothing short of an axe could kill it.

Rositha said, “Larren. Oh, blessed, blessed Jana, you haven’t taken him.”

Larren squinted. Ash saw Rositha move to shade him from the sun, which after a stun would be too bright for his photosensitive eyes. Larren managed a faint smile. “Guess Jana threw me back. Probably didn’t want me.”

“I want you.” Rositha said, hugging him to her. Her eyes flared with anger. “Don’t you ever do that again, do you hear me? I don’t want a polite man. I want you.”

Ash raised a quizzical eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment.

Larren grinned. “I’m glad to hear that … I think.” Suddenly he groaned, and trembled. “I’m going to be sick again,” he said and he was.

Ash helped Rositha hold him until the worst of the spasms subsided. Then she wiped him and they lay him back down. Larren was going to be fine. Knowing that changed everything. Lindha beckoned the waiting Sisters, who came forward with a stretcher.

“We’ll get you to the Temple, Larren, and sit you in front of a burning fire,” Ash said, unable to contain himself. He felt light and carefree, incredibly bubbly inside. “Heat helps. Kind of sweats out the pain, you know?” He grinned cheerfully at the reference. Turnabout was fair play.

Larren, who clearly understood the significance of Ash’s remark, began to chuckle. Then he groaned. His hand went to his stomach. “No. No laughing. Laughing hurts too much.”

Ash frowned. Larren was sweating and extremely pale. Rositha must have noticed it, too. She pulled a stimulant out of a medical kit one of the other Sisters had brought over. It was a fast-acting injection. Rositha injected into his arm, right through his dirty, crumpled shirt. It was one of those general medical pick-me-ups, a combination of vitamins, steroids and adrenaline. It appeared to work for stun victims, because almost immediately a bit of color came into Larren’s face.

The stretcher arrived and, with an effort, Larren sat up a bit unsteadily. He took in his surroundings, the blood and gore from the battle. “Worlds of Perdition,” he swore with wide eyes. “This really is a world of perdition. What is this? It looks like a combat zone. No wonder I was dreaming of blood. I can smell it.” His face fell. “Look at this place! What happened here?”

“Long story, Larren,” Ash said.

Larren stared at him with an incredulous, accusing expression.

Ash said, “Would you believe me if I told you I had, er …” He bit his lower lip while he tried to figure out what to say. What had he had? A nervous breakdown? A psychotic event? A timeless eternity of god-like powers, all experienced within a couple of hours? Ash took a deep breath and finally said, “Um, well, I had a bit of a tantrum.”

Larren looked at him for a puzzled moment then burst out laughing.

Ash started to give details but Larren held up his hand to forestall him. Larren’s eyes rolled skyward, a display of silly chagrin. He gave Ash a mocking, incredulous grin. “No, no, don’t explain, Ash,” he said. “Why does this not surprise me? Seriously. I am offline for only a minute, I just turn my back and look what you do.” He gestured over the gore of battlefield that surrounded them.

Ash stared at the bloody theater of war, of what he had named “Mount Assurance.” He pointedly looked away from a single boot that lay nearby; there was a man’s leg still inside it. Spattered over the meadow were intermittent deposits of blue and red entrails, torn flesh, jutting projections of feather, bone, blood and tatters of unknown materials. Which were human and which were animal? Probably only a forensic technician could tell.

Ash shook his head and said in an accusing tone, “Well, don’t complain to me about how things turned out. Who hit whom on the head?” Larren had abandoned him in that shuttle, tied up. That was the relevant point. The man deserved to be stunned. Ash intended to have words with him later on the subject. But meanwhile, by the Goddess, Ash was glad his friend was alive.

Rositha interrupted them both, motioning toward the stretcher. “It’s getting late and I want to be out of here before the scavengers come back. Get on. We’ll carry you.”

“I can walk now, really,” Larren offered, attempting to get to his feet. She held him down.

“Forget it, mister,” Rositha admonished, with tight, white lips and an expression a seasoned drill sergeant would recoil from. “I’m in charge here. After the stunt you pulled, you had better not push me. Get on the stretcher.”

Ash and Lindha’s eyes met for a moment, hers were bright with laughter. Ash covered his mouth with his hand, hiding his smirk at Rositha’s harrying tone. He certainly wasn’t going to interfere. Rositha was formidable. Besides, Ash was curious. How would Larren handle his own true love?

Larren took one glance at Rositha’s single-minded expression, nodded and meekly complied. Ash could almost hear a “Yes, dear” in that deferential nod. Ash was careful to bury his snigger. Because I don’t want to tangle with Rositha either.

Ash left Rositha bullying Larren, and moved off toward Teella. He wouldn’t have long, Temple Sisters were extremely efficient. They would all be leaving soon. He saw two of them already helping Larren into a speeder. Ash mind-touched a soft goodbye to Teella: “I shall return, little sister. Soon. Thank you for all you have done.”

“It was nothing, brother.” She danced with pleasure. “It was you who saved me from the hunters.” She projected a picture of her certain death, what would have happened if he hadn’t interfered. “I would have watched this one for you anyway.” She radiated awe and adoration.

“I love you, too. Give Seeta and Long Fang my love as well.” He sent her vivid pictures of himself hugging and stroking them both. Teella’s mouth gaped open, showing clean, white teeth and a long, lolling tongue. Ash felt a thrill of joy as he listened to her mental laugh. The idea of anyone stroking Long Fang, their dignified father was amusing on so many levels. With a growling yip of joyous farewell, she bounded off.

He went back to where Lindha stood, and put his arm around her waist. Lindha, despite everything she had been through, was still very much the Prefect. She beckoned one of the Temple Sister’s to her side. Sister Nisha had dark skin and even darker shrewd, alert eyes. “Yes Prefect?”

“Sister Nisha,” Lindha said, “I want you to collect the heads. I need the Icom data banks to be removed from each of the individuals that were here during the massacre. We can’t leave that kind of information around to be found by the wrong people. Besides, some of it may be useful intelligence.” She glanced at Ash.

Ash, following her train of thought said, “Oh, yes. Of course. That’s a good idea.” He gave Nisha an apologetic smile, shrugged and said dryly, “That will be four, um, heads you need to find. They won’t have gone far. “Look,” he pointed. “There are two right over there.”

Capable and composed, Nisha made no obvious reaction to this demand or the gruesome display other than calmly replying, “Leave it to me.” She moved off to attend to her chore.

One head had rolled up near a rock. It faced away from them, and appeared to be a furry sort of dark, bloody ball. The other head had once been Dr. Smith, Medical Aide to Neopol. Ash, recalling an echo of the man’s thoughts as he died, recognized him immediately. The man had been excitable and balding and had not recovered from utter disbelief and astonishment as a wild boar and wolf had worked together to kill him. Now Dr. Smith’s head rested on its side. Something had been chewing on the fleshy bits of his face. It was missing a nose, an ear and part of its cheek. The bodiless head looked toward them with an accusatory glare from its one remaining eye.

Despite his best efforts Ash’s lips twitched as he hid an almost irresistible and hysterical desire to laugh out loud. He cleared his throat in an attempt to avoid a giggle. What was so funny? Seeing the bodiless head of his enemy stare at him? Or the fact that Neopol’s minion still looked surprised? Ash decided that after everything he had been through, perhaps he was just getting a little punchy.

It didn’t take long before they were ready to leave. Ash climbed into the luxurious Temple speeder, and sat back with Larren on one side and Lindha on the other. Larren and Rositha were murmuring to each other in low, soft voices. They made a comforting sound, like a fresh water stream bubbling in the background. Ash had his arm around Lindha. She was quiet and edgy, not at all like herself. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

Lindha shrugged and gave him a faint smile. “I will be.”

Ash studied her intently and nodded. She had been through a lot. He planned to make her drink a strong sleeping draught. Lindha looked tired, but after everything that had happened, Ash knew she would have trouble sleeping. They cuddled around each other. Together. Safe.

As the speeder lifted, Ash shut his eyes. He thought of his mother then. He could almost hear her voice. “Offer thanks, my son, regularly and often. We are only truly alive in those moments when we are conscious of our riches.” So true. I am a rich man, he thought. Lindha is safe. Larren is alive. Thank you, Jana, he thought with sincere gratitude.

Ash sighed as the entire group flew off en masse toward the High Temple of Jana on Opan. There was so much left to be done. Clinton’s predictions and advice had helped in the end. “You were there, Ash, only you weren’t. Then you were tied up tight. No one could possibly escape those ropes, but suddenly … you were free … you rose up and killed the snake.” Yes, the snake was dead. Would he have been able to do what he did without knowing Clinton’s dream? Would he have thought of trying? Clinton told him he could do it, and so he did. The foretelling gave him the courage and the certainty he needed.

Ash made an Icom note to himself. He must inform Clinton as soon as possible that Larren was alive. He understood now that poor Clinton had seen his pseudo-adopted son and good friend’s death in his dreams. Poor fellow. Ash knew how he felt. No wonder he had been so melancholy at their departure.

Clinton and I both saw Larren die.

Ash glanced at Larren, sitting beside him. Larren lay back in his comfortable seat, one hand on his knee, the other squeezed tightly in Rositha’s grip. Rositha was on the other side of Larren, cuddled into him.

Larren smiled. “So Neopol is dead, eh?”

“Oh, yes,” Ash said. They were not out of danger yet, but at least the snake was gone.

“Wish I’d been there for that.”

Ash raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. “You were there for that.”

Larren snorted. “Right.”

Ash rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. “Do you know, for all Neopol’s evil ways, he did have one redeeming factor.”

“Really?” Larren’s tone was sceptical, his face screwed up in a scowl of utter rejection. “You must be joking. Neopol was an evil, sociopathic, sadistic snake. I can’t imagine anything, not one possible good thing about him.”

Ash grinned, “Well, Long Fang assured me that despite his sour soul, Neopol’s flesh was sweet.”

The reaction to Ash’s bland comment was like an explosion in a quiet room. Larren hooted and roared with laughter. Rositha, Ash and Lindha joined in, equally unrestrained. Lindha had tears in her eyes, she had laughed so hard. “I wish I had been there for that, too,” she said.

Ash tut-tutted her. “Some Temple Prefect you are. Seeking revenge is not recommended according to the parables of Jana, but you know I believe there is at least one exception to every rule. In this case, revenge was in fact rather sweet, both literally and figuratively.” He grinned and enjoyed more laughter from is friends.

Larren shook his head. “You have Lindha back, and Neopol is dead. I don’t know how any of this was achieved, but I’m too tired for the whole story just now. I could sleep for a week.” He frowned. “But what I do want to know is what are we going to do now?”

Ash shrugged. “Have a meeting and figure out our options. Conqueror is still in orbit, waiting for Neopol to return. No one will be too worried by his absence just yet. Did you know that Neopol has only one direct superior? A man named Lord Andros?”

“The robot?”

“What are you talking about?” Ash said, wondering if that stunner fire had made his friend a little goofy.

“No, not a robot. Don’t you remember? Clinton’s dream.” Larren bit his lower lip, and concentrated. “We have to check with him. He’ll remember it. Hell, I’ll probably re-dream it tonight. I’ve dreamt it so many times already. Let’s see, there was something about how after you kill the snake the armoured giant falls and loses his right arm. Remember?”

“Yeah. I was more paying attention to what the wolf was supposed to do, not the other stuff. We’ll get Dal Walters to transfer an Icom relay to Clinton.” He hit his forehead with his hand. “Perdition! Captain Walters is in orbit probably biting his nails down to his wrists with worry.” Ash took a deep breath. “He can be notified when we get to the Temple. Later. We can all rest first, Larren. There will be time to figure this all out. Forget about it for now. You look terrible.” Ash thought he looked completely worn out.

“Right.” Larren said. “Good. I’m brain dead stupid just now.” He squeezed Rositha’s hand and kissed it, but didn’t let her go. Then, with a tired smile he shut his eyes and relaxed back into the comfort of the speeder’s seat.

Lindha said, “I’ve been thinking about Captain Pagett and Conqueror.”

Ash turned toward her, “Oh?”

“Yes. It occurs to me that there is something we could do.”

Ash thought Lindha was wearing a peculiarly thoughtful expression, a look he couldn’t quite interpret. Lindha blinked a couple of times and then an odd, slow smile began to spread across her face. It seemed as if some wild, reckless inspiration was running through her mind. After all she had been through, she suddenly seemed unduly cheerful.

Ash stared at her with a frown. He didn’t trust that look, or her smile. He decided it was a wicked grin, as if Lindha was having a really bad idea. Or perhaps a good one.

“What?” Ash asked.

Lindha glanced over at him. There was pure mischief in her expression.

“What? What are you thinking of?” Ash demanded.

Lindha’s eyes, weary as they were, sparkled. “Oh, nothing, really. It’s just that, well … I have an idea …”

Epilogue

I am a force of nature: boundless, extravagant, full of excess. Without pity or justice I am indifferent to individual stories, personal disasters or triumphs. Unlike nature, I have both plan and purpose in my garden. There is the pattern. I am the catalyst and the Master speeding, slowing and varying the face of human evolution.

Lord John Andros, private files

Hettie, the chief house attendant, felt she couldn’t do enough for her powerful master. An extremely prominent historian, Andros was also considered a humanitarian by many. His political position was unquestioned, for he alone had the responsibility of representing the military arm of the UWG Council.

“Lord?” she said softly, looking into her Lord’s proud, tan face, his wavy blond locks free and trailing past his shoulders. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No, Hettie. Thank you.”

Hettie bowed. “As you wish, my Lord,” she said. Quietly removing an untouched cup of coffee, she shut the door softly and retreated down the hall. Hettie was worried. Poor Lord Andros. He had been upset for weeks. And he was such a good man!

Hettie shook her head, still disturbed to witness such a great man fall into the pits of depression. She walked down the enormous hallway, passed a gallery of historic portraits, and entered the capsule to the lower levels. Her journey downward took a few minutes, though that was not due to speed. The tubes were exceedingly rapid, but there were hundreds of floors in the gigantic, modern mansion. Her Lord resided on the upper levels.

Lord Andros had taken the death of his friend so harshly. She wished that she could help him more. It was a shame, really. A man in his position already shouldered heavy burdens and then to find out about the death of an old friend, well, it was too much. She and the others would wait up tonight, as usual, in case he needed them.

Hettie took pleasure in knowing that she always tried her best to be a good, loyal servant. Especially since she saw those nice UWG doctors. They had helped her out with that problem she had. Funny, that. They had cured her so well that she couldn’t even recall why she had originally gone to them. But either way, now more than ever she just never felt that she could do enough to help Lord Andros.

While Hettie was absorbed in her own anxious reflections, High Lord John Andros, of the UWG Council, sat preoccupied in his room watching a full-screen Icom holovid. He was flicking through some historical records of old Earth during World War II. Passing rapidly through some of the ghoulish pictures, Lord Andros stopped, as he always did, to admire the uniform of the SS, and the tall, good-looking young men who wore it. He had traced his family tree; he knew his heritage. Things hadn’t worked out well for the Third Reich, yet to his mind, the initial intention and plans had been well considered and logical.

Human flaws and failings had ruined everything.

Lord Andros switched his viewer off. It was no good. Even watching historical holovids, a favorite interest and pastime, had failed to cheer him up.

Frustrated, he ran his hands through his blond hair pulled up a holo of the High Temple Prefect of Opan, the Lady Lindha. In his last communiqué, Neopol mentioned that he intended to interrogate the good Sister. Andros wondered if he ever did. Andros sent the Icom holo to vidview and leaned back in his chair. The Lady Lindha came up in realistic three dimensions she stood right in front of him.

Andros tilted his head, studying her, turning her figure in a circle in order to examine her fully. Beautiful, yet there was something more. Courage? Character, perhaps? She was High Prefect of the most powerful organization on Opan. A familiar stab of memory squeezed like a fist in his chest as he remembered another Temple Prefect from long ago. The Lady Lindha didn’t look at all like Lady Iritha, but something in her confident expression reminded him of his long lost love.

Lady Lindha is also an un-pulled string in my investigation.

When this Prefect was brought before him, what would she be able to tell him about Neopol’s last days? Had Neopol interrogated her already and given her a memory wipe and implant? Did the Lady Lindha have any idea where Neopol’s data stick was? He hoped she did because it was imperative that he recover it.

Andros had already sent a number of orders through Icom. He didn’t have Neopol to rely on, but he still had others to carry out his commands. He smiled. The Lady Lindha and he would meet, and perhaps she would make an interesting addition to his household staff.

Lord Andros stood up and moved to the windows of his Imperial Palace. New Earth is such a beautiful young world, he thought with a sigh. So much like its predecessor. Quite well named, in fact. It was a shame that rendering Earth virtually uninhabitable had been necessary. Still, some unpleasantness simply couldn’t be avoided in the greater scheme of things. A gardener must not hesitate to pull up the wrong kind of plant, for the ultimate good of the garden.

Frowning, he began to feel a bit sorry for himself. He had hardly taken the time to notice and appreciate New Earth. More pressing concerns constantly drew his attention. Lord Andros had taken well deserved leave from his duties on Council, but even now he wasn’t able to enjoy the freshness and beauty of this world. It was simply impossible.

Not after the news about Neopol.

Lord Andros sat, unmoving. After all this time he was still astonished. How could Neopol have made such a stupid mistake, not expecting that Forseth would bring an incendiary? It was so unlike him. The man had been a genius at predicting behavior. An independent investigation corroborated the details. Neopol had made a fatal error in judgment. The Admiral’s untimely demise was a serious nuisance, a real thorn in his side. Factually, Neopol’s demise had forced him to alter his plans entirely.

Andros pursed his lips and objectively searched his emotions and reactions for the hundredth time since he had received that fateful message. It was ridiculous, but Neopol’s death affected him deeply. If the Admiral could have made such an error in judgment, anyone could. This truth made him feel vulnerable and helpless. Silly, really, because Andros could continue operations efficiently with or without him. Of course it would be better if he still had the strength and cunning of Neopol to rely upon.

Suddenly transfixed, Andros searched within his mind, attempting to isolate the exact feeling that was bothering him.

It was the strangest sensation. And even after all these weeks he continued to perceive that vividly distinct impression, that odd visceral reaction that simply wouldn’t go away. Once more Lord John Andros ran his hands through his long, wavy hair. He shook his head and rubbed his face, but the impression simply wouldn’t leave him.

It was totally unreasonable.

Somehow, in losing Neopol, he distinctly felt as though he had lost his own right arm.

THE END

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List of Characters

In Order by First Name

Anton: Identical twin to Dorian and best friend of Sister Carrah. Light-brown skin, green eyes, with wavy black hair. Damaged by working as a sexual slave in early childhood. Quiet, sincere, and reserved.

Ashton Rynan Chayton: The “Trueborn,” having inherited the priceless King’s Guard from his father, the King of Delian. Known as Ash. Once small and weak, he is now a strong and healthy seventeen year old. Black hair, dark eyes and pale skin, he has a powerful psychic ability for mind-touch.

Brent Jenkins: PhD in quantum physics who discovered Omni-space and Omni-drive in 2050. Half Sioux Indian. Changed his name to Brent Chayton and settled on Delian as King in 2080. Husband of Janice Chayton, the renowned Seer.

Carrah: Sister of the Opan High Temple of Jana. Elvan features, slim, hair tinged with flecks of red. Light brown eyes, and a sprinkling of freckles. Her manner of achieving goals is at one with her personality, subtle and unassuming. Close to her brother, Dwanne.

Ching: Admiral Neopol’s personal physician. Calm and meticulous. Mannequin-like, his Asian features never seem to move only his eyes seem alive. Specialist concerning anything physical to do with the human body. Can tell to the minute when a bone will break or a subject will reach unconsciousness.

Clinton D. Williams: Head of the Alliance on Kalar, gifted seer. Barrel-chested, balding, with slightly crooked teeth. Kind and cunning. Husband to Em, father of four.

Dal Walters: Captain of the Minavera Mover, grandfather to Tina. He is a tall, older, brown-skinned man with wiry gray-black hair and a pockmarked face. Large hands and heavy build.

Dorian: Identical twin to Anton. Light-brown skin, green eyes, with wavy black hair. Damaged by working as a sexual slave in early childhood. Dangerous, high IQ and paranoid. Only trusts the Trueborn.

Emily Williams: Wife to Clinton, known as Em. Lives on Kalar with her husband and four children. Thickset, square jawed, plain faced with prematurely gray hair. Crooked nose, palsy causing one eye to droop slightly. Courageous and kind.

Gene Pagett: Commander, in command of Conqueror. Tall, slim, always clean shaven, having eradicated his beard as a teenager. Brown hair. Pagett genetically altered his hazel eyes to deep green, the better to attract women.

Huka: Vice Regal, ruler of Opan, UWG tool. Cunning, handsome, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, and of average height. Body sculpted. About thirty-five years old.

Janson: Sub-lieutenant, adjutant and aide to Admiral Neopol. Neopol usually destroys his aides, driving them to suicide or homicide. Janson is a mystery because Neopol has been unable to break him. Medium sized, brown hair and eyes, white-faced, taciturn. Follows orders to the letter; never questions anything or offers an opinion.

Jeeha: Temple Second at Temple of Jana on Opan. Dark almond eyes and long dark brown hair. Best friend to Temple Prefect, Lady Lindha.

John Andros: High Lord Minister and most powerful person in the United Worlds Government. In charge of Enforcement, including Freeworld Police, Army, Navy and Cirani (Prison planet). Neopol is his subordinate. Considers himself the gardener of humanity, and the end always justifies the means. Blond haired, but changes his identity and appearance every hundred years or so. Has the secret to eternal life and is two-hundred and fifty-five years old. Practiced boyish charm, hundreds of years of political experience.

Larren Forseth: Captain of Police Freeworld Cruiser 171, Darla Wu. Strong sense of justice, honest cop, intent on helping others. Ash believes him responsible for genocide. Six-four, lean, broad shouldered, brown eyes, with gray in his brown hair. Ill-set broken nose and unsightly pink burn scar from left ear to chin. Neglects physical modification even though “body beautiful” is the norm in the United Freeworlds.

Lindha: Prefect of High Temple of Jana on Opan and Ash’s love interest. Of average height, blonde with sky-blue eyes edged by a deeper blue rim. Intelligent, kind and a commanding presence. Wears Delian Damithest on her right nostril as all Temple Sisters do.

Long Fang: Red wolf of Opan. Pack leader. Adopted father to Ash.

Malcolm Drake: Pilot of police cruiser, Darla Wu and best friend of Larren Forseth. Older man with brown-grey hair and brown eyes.

Neopol Jones: Admiral of the battleship Conqueror. Fascinated with the study of humankind and obsessed with what will “break” an individual. Tall, heavyset, yet also quick and agile. Godlike capabilities in observation and intellect. Always impeccably dressed, well-manicured, with thick, soft hands and heavy golden rings on his fingers. Between forty and sixty year old, black hair in a precise military cut. Once was a tall, muscular woman but underwent a sex change.

Rositha: Temple High Prefect of Kalar. Blonde hair, blue eyes, straight white teeth. A stubborn woman, she has an unusually large, square jaw that belongs more on a man

Seeta: Red wolf of Opan. Mate to Long Fang. Adopted mother to Ash.

Smith: Admiral Neopol’s personal physician. Forty years old, thin, excitable and balding. Has an irritating twitch in his eye that, despite all his science, he is quite unable to cure. Specialist in the mental side of medical pursuits.

Teella: Female Opan wolf pup of Long Fang and Seeta. “Sister” to Ash.

Tina Walters: Five year old granddaughter of Dal Walters, living on Kalar. Brown hair and grey eyes.

Glossary

Absum: Name of the planet that all genetic creations (impure humans) were banished to after gene splicing between species was outlawed.

Age of Expansion: The Age of Expansion, also called the Age of Exodus, is generally considered to have begun immediately after the discovery of Omni-space in 2060 and to have reached its peak in 2200 when 59 habitable worlds had been discovered and colonized. The exodus is considered to be a result of a number of factors, including: the availability of inexpensive, easily accessible food and energy; an increase in viable human lifespan to the age of 150; the use of artificial intelligence, robotics and neural Icom; and the fact that Earth population had reached 13 billion. The Earth Government gave colonists free travel, housing, financial and tax incentives to colonize these worlds. Vast wealth was created by those early settlers. Settlement and travel between other planets became effortless and common.

Age of Perdition: The Age of Perdition, also called the 100 year war, lasted from 2220 to 2320. The population of humankind was estimated to be 15 billion in 2260; by the war’s end, human population was less than 8 billion. During that time 9 habitable worlds were rendered virtually uninhabitable through atomics, including Earth.

Alliance: Individuals who disagree with the UWG and are attempting to bring the Galactic Government down or at least produce major change.

Chinter’s Chance: Name of the biography of William Chinter, a United Worlds bestseller. William Chinter, a fourteen-year-old boy, was kidnapped and sold into an Indentureship. A manuscript filled with unflagging conviction and optimism, it revealed that William Chinter had never given up hope of returning to his family. He had escaped twenty-two times, his punishments becoming more and more severe. The child detailed a recurring dream, a certainty that he would be with his parents again, that they would find him if he only got away. They did find his body hours after his last escape. “Chinters” is a common galactic expression meaning “You’re dreaming.” Also, “Chinter’s Chance” is a common expression meaning “there is no chance at all.”

Cirani: United Worlds Government prison planet. A compact world, with one-and-a-fifth times normal gravity. Normal ratio of oxygen to nitrogen, but thin air. Most exiled to Cirani initially experience serious, often fatal, altitude sickness. By law prisoners are sterilized before internment.

Dark Sankomin: The Dark Sankomin is solid, a heavy mass in the mind, a dark burden to the soul. Unresolved, it will cause madness and despair.

Delian: One of the first worlds colonized during the Age of Expansion. A closely guarded secret, the people of Delian have the unique ability to mind-touch. Mind-touch has always been a healing tool, one that can relieve the Dark Sankomin.

Delian League: Founded in 477 BC, the Delian League was an association of 173 Greek city states under the leadership of Athens, the purpose of which was to continue fighting the Persian Empire.

Delian Damithst: A rare crystalline mineral found only on Delian. A major offworld export; unique, rare, and priceless. Only Royal lines or the extraordinarily wealthy could enjoy the privilege of owning such a jewel, and few sold are ever larger than the nail on a newborn’s little finger.

Device: The UWG made an example of the civil war on Cadell, using “The Device.” The device targeted and atomized living tissue, leaving structures untouched. Footage of the instant disintegration of over 20,000 people over a 50 kilometer radius during the Cadell civil war is still a useful deterrent. The UWG had sent in mediators to no avail. They had warned and threatened. The UWG did not take sides. They killed people who were fighting both sides, instantly and the war was over. If the war had been resurrected, the UWG would have used the device again. War was not profitable; it did not contribute to the expansion or future of the human race.

Forsaken Worlds: Profane term referring to the Age of Perdition, when many worlds were abandoned or lost through atomics.

Ferals or Fringe dwellers: a name given to groups of people who camp on the outskirts of towns and cities from which they have become excluded, often through illegal activities or even personal choice. Generally Ferals do not have Icom, are suspicious of the government, are opposed to modern ways and technology, lack education and are superstitious. There are Ferals on every Freeworld.

Fullsuit: Body-enclosing garment that protects against the heat and cold of space. Also recycles oxygen.

Freeworld: Any of the united worlds colonized by the UWG

Freeworlds Police: The Freeworlds Police are empowered to enforce UWG law, protect property and reduce civil disorder in both domestic and intergalactic arenas. They are a multi-mission service; preventing piracy, ensuring regulated, authorized travel between worlds, protecting trade and at times operating in assistance with planetary governments for civil control. Their powers include the legitimized use of force.

High Command: The ruling body of the United Worlds Government. Each member of High Command is referred to as “High Lord” and has a single area of responsibility, one for each of 12 different arms:

1. Finance and taxes

2. Enforcement: Galactic police, army and navy. Includes Cirani prison management.

3. Scientific discovery and expansion

4. Constitution and Law

5. Icom facilitation

6. Space exploration and expansion

7. Communications

8. Civil liberties

9. Education

10. Medical Research and discovery

11. Government information issue and promotion

12. Colonization

Icom: Acronym for Interface Communications Online Management.’ Thanks to the remarkable cortical plasticity of the brain, signals from the implanted Icom interface can be handled by the brain through natural sensor or effector channels. Full access is managed by brain waves, resulting in the ability to mentally read and create electronic text, watch 3D, listen to music, and communicate to others who have implanted Icom systems. The Icom network is hosted uniquely to each world. The distance between worlds is too great for direct access. Thus the UWG regularly provides information updates to each planetary Icom through info ships. Research on brain computer interface (BCI) began in the 1970s on Earth at the University of California. By 2070, the BCI had culminated with the creation of Icom.

Indentureship: essentially another word for slavery. Those who had no home or position and are unable to maintain themselves are forced into Indentureship for a period of years preferably with a Freeworld government or, in the worst case, a commercial enterprise. After Indentureship, they may have learned some trade and can be free citizens. Indentureships are policed, but one can never look into all of them, and certainly many indentured individuals, a large portion of them children, will never survive to obtain freedom.

Interpretations: Simple styled text, written to explain the original works of the Delian Testimonials of Truth.

Jana: Goddess representing all the best characteristics found in humanity: truth, goodness, kindness, intelligence, courage, tolerance, endurance, persistence, compassion, forgiving heart, humor and thoughtfulness. The Parables of Jana are given as a way to behave in the truth and light of Jana.

King’s Mirror: Also called the “King’s Guard” or “Chayton’s Right Arm.” Almost two centuries old, a flat oval stone, the Delian Damithst is a little larger than an adult eye. Placed into a silver self-fitting arm guard, with smaller crystals set around it, it gives the appearance of a continuous blue ring. Believed to be able to see into a person’s heart, reflecting only truth.

Light Sankomin: The Light Sankomin creates a Godlike feeling of invulnerable certainty and awareness. If one can remain in the present, if the mind remains in attendance, in the now, the Sankomin, cannot seize or bind.

Mindtap: Truth drug. Banned by the UWG except in extraordinary cases of Treason.

Mind-touch: An ability that the Trueborn of Delian possess, giving them the power to contact a mind, to be inside another individual, to in fact be them. Traditionally, mind-touch is only attempted with one’s partner. There is good reason for one to be careful: accidental two-way contact can result in consummation.

Offworlders: Common galactic name for anyone who is not native to a planet.

Omni corridor: There are specific corridors, or entryways, to Omni. It takes time to set up the calculations for locating them while moving in normal space. In some parts of the universe, Omni corridors are few and far between; in others, hundreds of corridors are bunched close together. Corridors, once located, are marked by the UWG. There is ongoing exploration to find corridors further and further away from known space.

Omni-drive: Invented in 2070 after the discovery of Omni-space by Brent Jenkins. Creates the necessary harmonic for entry into an Omni-space corridor.

Omni-space: Omni comes from Latin, meaning “in all ways and in all places.” Omni-space is how people are able to travel to other worlds in virtually no time at all. There are specific corridors or entryways to Omni. It takes time to set up the calculations for locating them while moving in normal space and entry can be effected via omni corridors. In some part of the universe omni corridors are few and far between; in others, hundreds of corridors are bunched close together. Nothing can be seen or sensed in Omni-space, no ship can be tracked.

Probe: Nerve oscillation probe. Outlawed device that, as long as it is used for an hour or less, leaves no lasting injury. It is used for torture.

Red Wolf of Opan: The Red Wolf of Opan is a social animal who mates for life. In winter they live in packs of 2 to 15. The strongest male is pack leader. Only one pup is born biannually, usually in summer. Opan wolves feed primarily on large mammals by chasing down their victims, either slashing tendons or driving them back to waiting pack members. The Opan wolf kills only to survive. The wolf’s only important predator is man.

Shuttle: Versatile space transportation craft capable of moving between planetary atmosphere and planetary orbit, as well as rapid and safe on-world movement.

Sisters of Jana: The Temple of Jana is an order that looks to Jana for guidance. The order uses the parables of Jana and the parables of Taro as a way to live their life.

Software Theory: can be summed up thus: Humans act according to their programming responses and interactions are automatic and culturally conditioned. There are few self-aware, conscious people as most humans are not there at all. Infrequently in this universe does one actual person interact with another actual person.

Speeder: Also known as land speeder, capable of flight, and higher speeds when close to land. Powered by anti-gravity drive.

Taro the Deceiver: Fallen God representing all the worst of human characteristics, pride, abuse of power, abuse of control, manipulation, greed, selfishness, dishonesty, cruelty. The Parables of Taro are given as a way to live in the way of deceit and the shadow of Taro.

Testimonials of Truth: The document is over three hundred years old, written in an older style and rhythm. Its companion document is the Interpretations which are full of modern history and legends. The Testimonials is a small work that provides the knowledge needed to control and master the power of mind-touch. Every Delian, once of age, began to study the Testimonials, through encoded Icom use. It is only after study and training that one can become Trueborn.

Temples of Jana: Temples of Jana (the Goddess of Truth) are large, influential spiritual organizations with teaching traditions concerning the cause, nature, and purpose of life. Temple graduates are sought after throughout the Freeworlds. A broadminded education is pursued with all philosophies respected as academic differences in pursuit of the same truth. Fundamental beliefs include: 1. Humans are inherently good. 2. Within each human body is a spiritual being (soul) that cannot die. 3. The soul of each person inhabits the body they are within in order to make choices and learn from such choices. 4. Humankind is tempted by the Deceiver and encouraged by the Goddess. 5. The Parables of both Taro and Jana should be studied in order to assist an individual to make a choice concerning their own conduct. The Temple embraces individual beliefs with few devotional and ritual observances. They have a liberal moral code governing the conduct of human affairs. There are Temples of Jana on every Freeworld.

Trueborn: Delian term signifying the coming of age, which usually occurs around the 16th year. When one is Trueborn, they have the ability to learn how to mind-touch.

Twill: The native Twill is a large, dimwitted, prolific, flightless bird of Opan. Common Opan sayings include, “You silly twill,” or “She breeds like a twill.”

UWG: An acronym for United Freeworld Government. The Galactic body that oversees each United Freeworld. Does not have a single ruling individual, but is run by a legislative body of 12 members, referred to as High Lords.

UWG Council: This is a group consisting of five individuals from each section of H.C., for a total of 60 individuals. These council members meet concerning their sections, make suggestions, review petitions, etc. For example, if there is a disagreement from one world, say Delian, concerning taxes, a submission would be sent to the council members under the Finance area of HC.

UWG Fleet: Each UWG Fleet is assigned to particular sections of space. A fleet is normally commanded by an Admiral, who is often also a commander in chief. Each Fleet is divided into several squadrons, each under a subordinate admiral. The squadrons are typically composed of the same class of warship, such as battleships or cruisers. The mission of the Fleet is to maintain, train and equip combat ready forces capable of winning wars, stopping aggression and maintaining the freedom of the United Worlds.